Page 29 of Come As You Are

He snorts. “You know poker’s not, like, an automatic win, right? What if you lose even more money you don’t have?”

“I won’t.”

Silvery-gray eyes narrow to slivers. “Do you cheat?”

“I don’t have to,” I say honestly, because I have exactly one useful skill in the world and this is it. “I’m just really, really good.”

He cocks his head and sizes me up, clearly trying to decide if I’m being serious, and finally, he blows out a breath. “Okay. Fine. You can have your stupid party here,” Salem concedes, “but only because this is something I absolutely have to see.”

“You won’t regret it,” I say sweetly. “Well, unless you try playing against me.”

“Trash talk! From the little Barbie literally kneeling at my feet! I’m terrified.”

“You should be.” But I do get up and dust myself off, heading to the door. “Wear something decent. Jeans, at least, and the cologne you were wearing on Friday. Do not be barefoot. No weed. And clean up. If you want a girl to eventhinkabout getting into that bed, you need to make the damn bed.”

“Weren’t you leaving?”

“Try not to miss me too much.” But when I’m just about to step out the door, I hear Salem’s voice again, so quiet I’m almost not sure whether I was intended to hear it.

“I liked the unbraidable hair.”

My breath hitches, and for this of all things, I don’t have a comeback. So I simply pretend I did not, in fact, hear it, and leave.

I shuffle my favorite deck for the fifteenth time that hour, feeling a fizzing in my blood at the thought of getting to play tonight. I love pretty much all card games, and they love me back, though the people who play with me generally don’t. Sierra hasn’t been willing to play with me since I shot the moon in a family game of hearts without her realizing it when we were eight and nine. Claire used to like to watch me play solitaire and FreeCell—said she found it soothing—buthated anything that had even the tiniest tinge of competition. Even my parents gradually shifted from indulging me in games of rummy or spit to giving me Concerned Parent Talks about gambling addictions.

My love of competitive card playing is something I’ve mostly tried to shut off here, because the money-making games in particular bring out a more aggressive side of me than I need anyone seeing. But if I’m not trying to be Nice Evie, or Good Evie, then who cares?

Let them all see how badass I can be, without any help from Salem.

Ordinarily I’d wear sweatpants and a T-shirt to go upstairs, but with my hair in rare straightened form, my eyebrows newly shaped, and my cheekbones beautifully highlighted, I feel like I have to do my look justice. I don’t want to overdress, but I put on one of my nicer T-shirts with my best jeans, throw on a cute cardigan, and painstakingly refresh my makeup while trying to recall all the instructions from the woman at the makeup counter.

I even contemplate changing my underwear to the expensive Bellas Isabel and Co. insisted I buy in a signature color, just as they each have. (They assigned me “virginal pink,” ha ha.) But it’s not like anyone will be seeing it tonight. By the time I’m done, I barely recognize the girl looking back at me in the mirror. But that’s a good thing, right? I wanted to be someone new. I wanted to be someone who makes you look twice. I wanted to be someone who looks like she regularly stays up past nine on a school night.

And I definitely do, finally, look like a girl who knows how to have fun.

Now, off to have it.

I practically skip upstairs to Salem’s room, visions of royal flushes dancing in my head.

Chapter Eight

ARUMSON HALL DORM ROOM DOESN’Tquite possess the necessary décor for a festive poker evening, but somehow, Salem and Matt have made do, tracking down a round table that’ll work well enough for our purposes and, improbably, a case of poker chips. “Buddy of mine at MCC lent it to me,” Matt said proudly, referring to the nearby community college.

Jason Hammond and Brent Cage from across the hall are already in the room when I arrive, but as we get ourselves situated and start passing around snacks, more and more people show up. Landon and another guy from the basketball team whose name I don’t catch. I meet Nick Ontiveros, whom Jenna’d suggested to set me up with, and wonder if that’s somehow her doing. Even Archie shows up, immediately gracing me with a scowl as he takes a seat across from me at the table. (Duncan, unfortunately, is nowhere to be found, which is ashame—I would’ve loved taking his money, even now that he keeps his mouth shut around me.)

We’re already three hands deep into Texas Hold’em by the time the girls show up and make themselves at home on Matt’s and Salem’s beds, and, in Ashleigh’s case, on Landon’s lap. None of them feign an interest in playing, but Isabel does perch over me and go, “Ooh, is having five aces good?”—which I can tell would piss the crap out of Archie if he weren’t torn between his annoyance at the joke and his gratitude for the view down her shirt.

Meanwhile, I’m keeping things low-key as I pick up everyone’s tells, because this isnota sophisticated group. Archie straight-up smiles and frowns, and tries to hide it quickly. Salem’s foot taps when he can’t wait to make his next move, but if he knows it’s going nowhere, he starts scratching his name into the table with his thumbnail, as if he’s already checked out of this hand. Landon compulsively checks his hole cards—there’s always someone who does, and depending on at what point they do it, it’s a dead giveaway—but even if he didn’t, Ash can’t stop herself from smiling when he has an obviously good hand. Brent can’t remember all the rules, so if he looks confused, he either doesn’t have anything or might have a flush but forgets that’s a thing. Matt always reaches for his chips too early when he’s got a good hand—rookie mistake. Jason’s the only one who’s halfway decent at bluffing, but unfortunately for him, he keeps tilting his cards so they reflect perfectly in his glasses.

I take the fourth hand with three jacks, then bluff my way to a win for the fifth.

“What’d you have?” Archie asks, trying and failing to keep his voice casual as I rake in the pile of chips, including a sizable contribution from him that makes me wonder what he was holding before he panicked after my second raise.

I stack up my winnings. “Your mom.”

“Real mature. Did it beat a straight?”

“Did you seriouslyfoldwith a straight?”

---