Page 32 of Gambler's Fallacy

I grit my teeth and shut the door. “Trent, I told you, don’t touch that fight. There’s too many eyes on it.”

Seven looks between the two of us, and if he understands the implications of what we’re talking about, he doesn’t show it. I don’t think he does, though. He’s a good liar, for the most part, but he’s not good at keeping things off of his face when he’s relaxed.

Trent shakes his head. “Nah, that’swhywe should. There’s so much money involved.” He keeps tapping on his laptop. “You could even—” He trails off and seems to notice Seven for the first time. “Uh, why is he here?”

I let out a bemused snort. “Really? Did you already forget that I introduced him as my boyfriend?”

Seven’s eyes are narrowed, and I can see him trying to put the pieces of our conversation together. “Yeah. The better question is whyyouare here right now, when Caleb is off of work for once,” he snaps.

“I thought you meant he was like, a fuck buddy or something.” Trent sets his attention back on me. “You don’t actually do boyfriends, right? You’ve never had a boyfriend.”

“I have one now,” I say, biting down anger. “And I don’t even feel the need to tell everybody how much I want to cheat on him.”

“That’s different.” Trent makes a dismissive gesture. “Alice and I get along, but we both know what our relationship is. Anyway, I bet she’s fucking the new poolboy. Maybe you should do him too.”

I’d be more annoyed on my sister’s behalf if I didn’t know how uninterested she was in Trent. Still, he’s feeling very secure in himself if he’s willing to complain about my sister so openly.

Seven stares at him, and his voice is quiet but savage as he says, “Maybeyoushould. Maybe you should stop assuming Caleb is a whore just because you are.”

The comment is so unexpected that I burst out laughing.

Trent grins too. “Damn, catty little bitch you got yourself there, Caleb.”

“Apparently.” I walk over to Trent and sit down next to him at the table. The laptop is open to projected earnings for the fight, including the payouts we’d earn from the rigged version.

It’s a decent sum, and I can already see my grandfather’s claws all over it.

“I’m still rejecting the proposal, Trent,” I tell him. “We’ve got the sports betting app set up to push all the notifications for the fight. It’s lucrative enough even without the other crap. Do you know how much we earn from the app alone?”

“Uh, app? What app?” Trent asks. “Grandpa was all on board when I suggested it.”

Because my grandfather has not kept up with technology, and he doesn’t understand how much money we earn with all the highly addictive apps.

“Look, the install base on the app is already half a million, and we only launched it earlier this year. The app is set up to remind people to watch their favorite games—including the MMA match. We have odds for stupid parlay bets that will never pay out,” I explain. When Trent looks at me with confusion, I sigh and explain, “Where they bet on a very specific set of events occuring. The fighter wins with an uppercut in the first round, then gets knocked down via takedown slam, thenalsogets up before the match is called, etc. The payoutslook great but let’s be real, you’d need to be the luckiest bastard in the world to win.”

I glance at Seven, who looks as bewildered as Trent had.

“Uh, okay.” Trent opens up his note app to start writing things down. “So what you’re saying, if we rig it to have those exact specific events, the payouts for us would be astronomical?”

I groan and shake my head. “Can you drop it for tonight? I was in the middle of something.”

What I really want is time to figure out how to divert his attention, but knowing Trent, this has only made him more determined—especially since he seems to have my grandfather’s blessing.

Trent’s gaze goes back to Seven, and the TV where the anime is still blasting. “Is that um, that show. The one Lori is watching and won’t shut up about?”

“No,” I tell him flatly. “It’s a different anime.”

“Eh, one cartoon is the same as any other.” Trent closes the laptop and sits back in his chair. “Fine, no work. You gonna offer me a beer, at least?”

“No,” Seven says, finally pausing the show.

I had no intention of it, but I also realize this might be a good opportunity to find out exactly what my grandfather has asked of Trent.

“You don’t have beer at home?” I ask Trent as I move to the fridge. “I won’t cover for you if Alice asks where you are.”

“Eh. She’s at some gala right now.” Trent pokes at his phone. “Yeah, a fundraiser for some homeless shelter or something. Why is your sister such a bleeding heart? Where does she get it from?”

“Not our parents, that’s for sure.” I grab several bottles of beer and set them on the table. “Seven, you want to join us?”

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