Page 47 of Gambler's Fallacy

“Night,” I say, closing my eyes.

I could stay like this forever.

TEN

HAVOC

I’min a shit mood when I get back to the casino.

I’d stopped by my mother’s house, and once again, she’d pretended that everything wasfine. Would I like some tamales? Or a drink?

Never mind the obvious bruising on her arm.

I wish I had doors to slam, but the casino operates with revolving doors, automatic doors, or those doors that slow the movement. It’s like Caleb went out of his way to ensure all the doors are un-slammable.

I’m ready for a few drinks, even though I know getting drunk will bar me from seeing Seven tonight.

He doesn’t need to see me like this anyway.

I steer clear of the blackjack tables and head toward the bar. I do a double-take when I see Seven sitting at the counter, sipping on what looks like a fruity cocktail. His eyes are glued to the TV screen suspended in the corner, currently advertising tonight’s MMA fight.

“Seven?” I ask, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching TV,” he says, glancing at me with a smirk. “All of youkeep harping on me about doing something other than playing blackjack, so… Here I am.”

The way he says it, it’s clear there’s more to it. I get closer, crowding his personal space. “So, you’re still banned from blackjack?” I tease.

His smirk turns into a scowl. “I’m notbanned,” he mutters. “I just have to slow down.”

In other words, I’m willing to bet Caleb cut the amount he’s able to spend by at least half.

I turn my attention back to the TV screen, which is now advertising the casino’s gambling app. I had it installed on my phone for a while, but realized after I’d lost a few hundred bucks that it was a bad idea to keep it.

It’s probably a good thing Seven doesn’t know enough about technology to download new apps.

“Are you betting?” Seven asks.

I turn my attention back to him. “Betting? On what?”

“The fight.” Seven takes a sip of his colorful drink. “Everybody’s been talking about tonight’s M-M-A fight.”

He says the letters slowly, like he’s not sure he’s getting them right.

I shrug. “Nah. I like watchingmixed martial arts, but I’m trying to cut back on the gambling thing.”

“Mixed—” Seven seems to catch on to what I’m talking about. “Oh. Yeah. M-M-A. And the gambling thing.” His expression is sour, and he takes another big gulp from his drink.

I eye it, wondering if he got the bartender to add alcohol or if Caleb’s ban on it is still outstanding.

He catches me looking at the drink and rolls his eyes. “It’s a drink, Havoc. It doesn’t even have alcohol in it. The bartender—” he scowls at the woman behind the bar “—wouldn’t give me anything else.”

“So, since you’ve been watching, what can you tell me about the fight?” I ask, motioning the bartender to get me a drink too.She rolls her eyes, but hands me my usual Mexican beer. Maybe that’s a cliche, but I do think it tastes better than the American brands.

He launches into an animated summary of the fight that will take place tonight, gesturing with his hands. It’s surprising to see him so into something like this, but at the same time, it’s nice to see him show interest in anything but card games and sex.

It gives me an idea of how to wash away some of my anger, at least. “You want to watch it live?” I ask, already pulling my phone out. “I’m sure there are empty seats.”

Seven tilts his head, biting his bottom lip as he considers. “Do you think it’ll be too crowded?” he asks cautiously. “I mean… I want to.”

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