Page 33 of Gambler's Fallacy

“No, I don’t want to drink piss,” he says, deadpan, and it takes me a second to realize he’s talking about the beer.

“I can assure you, this is a high-grade imported beer,” I say, my lips twitching. “You don’t have to drink the beer, though.” An ideaoccurs to me. “Actually, why don’t you grab the cards, and we’ll play a few rounds of poker with Trent?”

Seven perks up, finally looking interested. “Yeah, I can do that.” He gets up and heads into his bedroom to find the cards.

Trent watches him leave. Once Seven is out of sight, he asks, in a low voice, “This is the guy you got into hot water over, right?”

“I wouldn’t call it hot water,” I answer mildly. “A tepid bath, really.”

Trent chuckles in amusement, but Seven returns with the cards in hand before he can say anything.

Seven takes the long way around so he doesn’t have to pass by Trent, then hands me the cards before plopping down into a seat at the table. He pulls it closer to me, his gaze steady on Trent.

“Seven is a beginner, so don’t go too hard on him.” I start shuffling the cards, then hand them to Trent so he can cut the deck. “What should we wager for?”

“Start at fifty?” Trent pushes the cards back to me and pulls out his wallet. “I’ve got three hundred cash. That’s pennies, I know. We can do IOU’s if you want to go higher.”

“Fifty is fine. It’s just a friendly game,” I answer. I reach for my own wallet, where I’ve only got two hundred and thirty dollars. I pass fifty to Seven and add fifty to my own pile, then I start dealing.

Seven hasn’t spent any time at the poker tables, so I know his grasp on the rules is still shaky. He makes a good show of it, though, and to all appearances, he seems confident in his hand.

I wonder with amusement how bad it is, though, because I can read him better than he thinks I can.

“So this thing between you two, it’s long-term?” Trent asks as he scrutinizes his cards.

“I couldn’t leave if I wanted to,” Seven says, as deadpan as he’d been earlier. This is a side of him I haven’t really seen, and I’m not sure if it’s because he dislikes Trent or because he’s growing more the longer he’s here.

“That makes Caleb your ball-and-chain, then,” Trent says with a laugh. “That’s legal now. You could get officially married.”

I raise my brows. “I am aware, yes. It’s been legal for over a decade.” I select cards to discard and replace. The new cards net me three-of-a-kind, but nothing particularly exciting.

“I only meant, if you’re keeping him around.” Trent places his bet. “Alice would be happy for you.”

She’d probably be the only one. I’m aware that my parents only tolerate my sexual preferences and that my grandfather would disown me if I was even more overt than I already am.

“We’ll see how things turn out,” I say lightly. “Anyway, who’s folding?”

Seven’s brows are furrowed as he stares at his cards. “I’m not,” he says, and to anyone else, he probably sounds confident.

He definitely has a bad hand.

“Oh, sounds like you got a good one,” Trent says, grinning wildly. “You can’t beat me, though. I raise.”

My eyes flit between the two. If Seven has a bad hand, and Trent has a mediocre hand… I guess I might as well take my chance.

“Call,” I respond.

We all show our hands, and after a few moments, Trent groans loudly.

My three-of-a-kind wins, by nature of being a set of three eights, while he has three sevens. Seven only has a pair of aces.

“I could’ve told you sevens were unlucky,” Seven informs him with a shrug. “Here, let me see the cards. I’ll shuffle.” He’s not good at it, but he’s been practicing, and I’m proud of him for making the attempt in front of someone else.

I cut the deck and let Seven deal out to everybody. The game continues to flow while Trent chitchats about useless things. The money keeps going around, nobody coming out as a clear winner—although I do make sure to let Seven win a few times to keep his pool of money viable.

Several hours later, Trent is on his fifth beer and Seven’schair has inched closer and closer to mine, so that any movement from Seven gives me a peek of his cards.

“You really should let me handle all the fights,” Trent mumbles. He glares at his cards, then at the cash pool. “Aww, fuck it, all in. Let’s end this.”

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