Page 114 of Dating Goals
“I’ll see your six million,” I announce, pushing a stack of plaques into the center.
The Texan lets out a low whistle but doesn’t hesitate. “I raise one million more.”
Durand lifts an eyebrow, the first real expression I’ve seen on his face all night. “Call,” he says smoothly, matching the seven million.
Malcolm chuckles. “Gentlemen, we’re finally getting serious.” He makes a show of counting out his chips. “I’ll see your seven million and raise you…two million more.”
“Nine million,” the dealer confirms.
The bet comes around to me again. The tension cranks up another notch. My collar feels suddenly tight against my neck. Sweat beads on my forehead.
“The bet is nine million to you, Mr. McGregor,” the dealer says.
My mouth goes dry. The weight of every decision I’ve made in my life seems to funnel into this single moment. I need to trust my hockey instincts. The Titans never won a game just sitting there playing it safe.
“All in,” I announce, pushing my entire stack forward.
A collective gasp ripples through the room.
“Thirty-eight million, five hundred thousand.” I dig into my pocket and toss my lucky Canadian Loonie into the pot. “And one Canadian dollar,” I add with a wink at Anika.
“The bet is thirty-eight million, five hundred thousand…and one Canadian dollar…to you, Mr. Chase,” the dealer announces.
The Texan barks out a laugh. Durand’s lip quirks upward.
“You must have quite a hand, McGregor,” he says. “Or perhaps you’re desperate.”
I shrug. “Only one way to find out.”
“One can only wonder,” Malcolm says coolly. “Where does a hockey player like you get off betting his life savings on a poker game? Or do you have a silent benefactor in that pretty little bartender?”
It takes every ounce of control not to fly across this table to strangle that creepy grin out of him. But for Anika, and only for Anika, I’ll settle for strangling all the stolen money from him and then hand him over to the Feds. So I play it cool. For now.
“Tell me, Malcolm,” I say. “Can I expect another Christmas card this year with you and your perfect family on the front? Or will you send a Season’s Greetings from you and your sidepiece?”
Malcolm’s top lip twitches, a rush of blotchy red creeping up his neck to his eyeballs.
He glowers at me murderously as he shoves all his chips forward, knocking over his neat piles in the process. “All in.”
“Mr. Chase is all in for forty-four million, two hundred thousand,” the dealer confirms.
Malcolm holds up his hand to the dealer. “Wait.” He reaches into his pocket, producing a sleek key fob.
“Sorry, I don’t carry Canadian Loonies. But in the spirit of your dramatics…” He tosses the fob onto the pile. “My Bugatti La Voiture Noire.”
The dealer looks uncertainly between us. “Sir, the house rules do not allow…”
“The house will accommodate me,” Malcolm snaps. “Won’t you?”
The floor manager hurries over, whispers something to the dealer, who nods reluctantly.
“The vehicle has been accepted as part of the wager,” the dealer concedes.
The Texan guffaws and pushes his entire stack forward. “Blast it all. I reckon you Canadians are bluffing.”
“All in for twelve million,” the dealer confirms.
After a moment’s hesitation, Durand announces, “For a Bugatti, I’m all in as well.”
