Page 8 of Big Balls
I sigh. My mother is a half saint on any day, and the amount of crap she’s had to put up with from me and Katy is probably enough to get her direct access into the VIP section of the hereafter.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, already feeling a headache coming on. “Well, then, I guess it’s good you won’t be staying with Nana while I’m at my away games.”
Katy scowls. “I like staying with Nana and PopPop.”
I sigh. It’s definitely a sore subject for both of us, because my parents have always taken care of her whenever I had to travel.
But now that my mom is sick, I’ve sent them both off so my mother can get the absolute best medical care that money can buy. My mom tutted and fretted, but that’s how she shows love, right?
“Don’t worry,” I’d told her as I patted her hand, so small and fragile. “I’ve got everything under control.”
But I don’t haveanythingunder control. I’m due to leave for a two-week-long away stretch, and I don’t have anyone lined up yet to take care of my Katy. That’s why I am going to win the pot tonight and make my best friends take care of her while I’m gone.
The list of people I trust to take care of my favorite person is very, very small. But since I trust these guys with everything about me, they are the obvious choice for taking care of my daughter. Now all I have to do is talk them into it.
Tate calls, and I turn over the flop cards.
I watch Sebastian and Tate carefully, trying to determine what the right move is. Right now I’ve got a pair of jacks after the flop, but there are still two cards left to possibly improve my hand.
Sebastian shoves his entire pile of chips into the middle of the table. “All in.” He licks his lips, his eyes sparkling.
Tate lets out a low whistle and folds. Katy hugs him and pets his long lion’s mane of hair. “You did good, Uncle Tate. That pair of twos wasn’t going to get any better for you.”
“Darn right,” I mutter. “Katy, go sit with your Uncle Sebastian and tell me if I should call his crummy bet or not.”
She turns to me, giving me her most indignant glare. “Daddy, that’s cheating. There’s no cheating between friends.”
Jackson lets out a cough that sounds suspiciously like it has the word “bullshit” in it. I raise one eyebrow at him.
Then Sebastian turns his attention to me. “Well, what will it be, Big Balls? Are you in or do you already know you can’t makethisbig play work either?”
Another dirty, low blow. Everyone here knows the Sinners lost their last game, in part because I hadn’t been able to complete on a long-ass Hail Mary pass from our second string quarterback.
And I know, I know. It was a wild throw, and it wasn’t my fault. Except that’s literally what I get paid to do. I get paid to make that kind of miraculous catch and turn it into points and win.
I like winning just fine. But I hate losing with every single fiber of my being. And I’ve been stewing over the loss for almost an entire week now.
I can feel my pulse pounding in my temples as my anger rises from Sebastian’s taunt, especially coupled with that shit-eating grin he specializes in. I want to either beat him or beat his face in, whichever comes first.
But worst of all, I hate the look he’s giving me. Like he’s already won. I know if I blow this hand, he’ll be cashing in some astronomically embarrassing favor against me. Sebastian has a difficult time with determining what’s appropriate sometimes. Or, more accurately, he enjoys occupying the space just past what’s appropriate.
His ruthlessness is what made him the richest attorney in New Orleans. He is fearsome in the courtroom and has nothing but ice water running through his veins. He likes to joke around about how he had his soul removed in law school, but with him, it does seem like maybe he’s not entirely kidding.
When it comes to Sebastian, I already know he doesn’t give a single solitary fuck about the rules or what people expect from him. He does whatever he wants and lets people suffer the consequences.
The last time he spent the day with Katy, she ended up with some fire-engine-red lipstick and her very own bottle of Chanel No. 5. Once I’d been able to formulate words again, I’d asked her how it had happened. Katy had batted her long eyelashes at me and told me in her little warbling voice that Uncle Bash told her that every woman needed a red lipstick and good perfume.
“Damn it, Sebastian. She’s only five.” I’ve practiced my mean dad face often enough over the last few years that I know I can be pretty scary when it comes down to it.
Remember? Media makeover due to my apparently less than stellar attitude and alleged grumpiness.
But Sebastian had simply shrugged and given me the same taunting smile that he was handing me now. “Quit acting like a little baby about your not-so-little baby, Big Balls. I bought her the lipstick because she thought it was pretty, and I bought her the Chanel because she’s five. Get it?” And then he’d strutted out of the house, flipping me off as he left.
All the guys like to tease me about the ridiculous name the media cooked up for me, but whenever Sebastian says it, it feels particularly mean. He’s always got that little edge in his voice, like he’s laughing at you right to your face but you’re too stupid to figure it out.
But maybe that’s just because of who he is. Professionally heartless, and it’s almost impossible for him to shut that all the way off.
I size him up, weighing the smug look on his face against my hand. I’ve got two more cards to make something bigger happen, and I really do need a win. I can’t just leave my daughter with some stranger.
