Page 62 of Kings Against the World

“Not even the slots?”

“Do I look like someone who would be caught inserting coins into those things?” She angles her head at me, lifting a brow.

“Good point. Put some pants on. Time for another first.”

“Pants on… for what? Where are we going?”

“Pants on first, then where we’re going when we get there.”

I tug at her elbow as I leap off the bed and search for her pair first. I toss it at her before scooping up my own. She hesitantly obliges, sliding one leg at a time into her pair of jeans. As soon as she’s got her t-shirt over her head, I’m grabbing her by the hand and pulling her with me out the hotel room door.

On our way down in the elevator she repeatedly asks what we’re about to do.

I keep her guessing with cryptic answers and a sly grin that drives her batshit crazy.

The elevator doors part to reveal the ground floor of the Azure Sol casino. We’re a few steps out onto the floor when Zoe starts digging her heels in and protesting with shakes of her head.

“Gallagher, I didn’t mean I wanted to gamble tonight!”

“One or two games can’t hurt. You might win big.”

She scoffs. “You realize I wasn’t born yesterday, right? Casinos are a scam.”

“I’ve won millions over the years.”

“And yet you still ow?—”

“Don’t say it,” I interrupt. “You don’t get how Boone operates, do you? Everybody owes him. It’s impossible to work off a debt, because there’s always something with him. How do you think he has a hold over so many people?”

I pull her farther out on the floor. Since she’s a beginner, I take her to the Black Jack tables, the easiest game to learn with the highest probability to win.

“I don’t know how to do any of this.”

“That’s why you’ve got me.” We’ve stopped at a $15 minimum table. I pull out a chair and pat it. “Sit. I’ll be right here. Deal her in.”

She gives me one last skeptical look before sitting. The dealer—a skinny guy with a fitted vest and a neat goatee—nods and shuffles for the next round.

Zoe’s still tense as hell, shoulders stiff, fingers laced together on the table like she’s at a business meeting. “You sure about this?” she mutters.

“Blackjack’s the easiest game in the house. You just gotta beat the dealer. Don’t go over twenty-one. That’s it.” I lean closer ’til my lips graze her ear. “Trust me, babe.”

The dealer finishes the shuffle and starts dealing. Everyone gets two cards face up, except the dealer—he keeps one card down. Zoe peeks at hers: a pair of eights. I glance down.

“Sixteen,” I say, leaning closer. “Alright, you’re in a tricky spot. Dealer’s showing a five. That’s a weak hand.”

She squints. “So I should stay?”

“Nah. Hit.”

Her eyes widen. “Are you trying to sabotage me?”

I chuckle. “Babe, trust me. Hit.”

She huffs, lifts her hand to tap the table, and the dealer gives her a card.

An ace.

“Those are worth a one or eleven. You’re at seventeen.”

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