Page 60 of Big Balls
“There’s no honor among thieves,” I counter, poking Jackson in the shoulder.
Meanwhile Katy has moved as quickly as possible to the kitchen and is currently telling Uncle Tate everything that happened at the television studio, all from up in his arms, her favorite place to be.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I say somewhat coolly. I still haven’t forgiven these guys for being too busy to help me get to Zoe before she left for California, leaving me to deal with her somewhat scary father, who looked at me with pity and disgust every time his eyes moved away from Katy.
But I deserved it. A real man would have taken at least some part of the last four years to heal from the trauma of his wife dying, preferably before sleeping with someone new.
Jackson gives me a winning smile, all easy charm today. “We came by for a poker game. I know it’s not our usual night, but I heard you need to practice.”
“How come everyone knows about this charity poker event before me? I thought I was the official poker boss of the New Orleans Sinners?”
Jackson shrugs, a little nervous jiggle of his shoulders. I size him up in an instant. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Tate calls out from the kitchen, “Get in here and help with dinner, Jack.”
They’re definitely hiding something from me. But I’m going to find out, and then we’ll have some words about it. Me and my so-called friends.
“Katy, who do you think is winning the pot tonight?” I call to my best girl.
She reaches out and musses up Tate’s hair. “It’s definitely Uncle Tate.”
Jackson and Sebastian try to tease her into changing her mind, but when she’s chosen her side, Katy is as fiercely loyal as I am.
When she refuses to tell me what cards my friends are holding, I tell Katy it’s bedtime. All of the guys take turns giving her a little cheek kiss goodnight, but she saves me for last.
“What should I make these guys do when I win?” I whisper to Katy, loudly enough that they all hear me.
“You’re not going to win,” she whispers loudly back. “I told you—Uncle Tate is winning.”
And sure enough, he is holding the lion’s share of the chips right now. I’d rather it be him than Sebastian, though. We all remember the disaster that was the last time Sebastian won at poker.
My eyes close just long enough for me to let my thoughts drift to Zoe. She’s never far from my mind, and the situation takes me back to when she came here and interviewed with me, after Sebastian had won the right to choose my nanny for me.
“What’s wrong?” Tate asks gently. He’s being unusually solicitous about my feelings today, probably because he—more than any of the other guys—understands my ongoing trauma from overly invasive press and publicity.
“I’m tired,” I say, then shove my chips toward the pot. “I’m going to call it a night, guys. I’m glad you’re here.”
It’s so close to perfect. Me with my best friends, thriving after conquering my anxiety about talking honestly to the press about my special needs child.
But there’s an important piece of perfect missing tonight, and my heart aches because of her absence.
20
Zoe
Everythingin the ballroom is set up perfectly. I’ve been circling around like a small airplane, swooping in to inspect place settings, souvenir poker chips, colored Mardi Gras beads, and the program of events for tonight.
Sheila grabs me by both shoulders and makes me stop moving. “It’s great. Better than great. It’s perfect, Zoe. Now why don’t you go sit down?”
The other members of the Sinners’s WAGs have the event well in hand. Even Reina is helping, although she still looks a little green around the edges, especially when the pots of coffee are placed at the tables and she goes skittering off toward the restrooms.
“Poor girl,” murmurs Sheila.
I nod, somewhat mystified. As the only female in a very testosterone heavy family, I’ve never known anyone personally who was pregnant, so it’s difficult for me to figure out if Reina’s periodic bouts of vomiting are okay or not.
Sheila doesn’t seem overly concerned, so I guess it’s normal enough. How terrible, though, what our bodies put us through in furtherance of the human race.
“Thank you again for helping get this arranged.” I gesture to the tastefully decorated tables. “I’m so happy you were willing to help.”
