Page 108 of Dating Goals
“Mr. Durand?” the dealer prompts.
Durand sighs dramatically. “I believe discretion serves me better tonight.” He tosses his cards face-down on the table.
The Texan grunts something unintelligible and raises.
Chase leans back in his chair, observing me with the calculating stare of a predator.
“I’ll call,” he says smoothly, matching the bet.
Now it’s my turn again. Victor whispers urgently, “Go all in. Trust me. The Texan’s bluffing with garbage.”
“All in,” I announce, shoving my entire stack forward.
A ripple of excitement passes through the spectators lining the walls of the private gaming room. Among them, I spot Anika by the bar, stunning in a silver cocktail dress. Our eyes lock for half a second before she turns away, pretending I don’t exist.
Women. One minute they’re kissing you senseless in an elevator, the next they’re conspiring with mysterious British Pierce Brosnan wannabes.
“Bold move, McGregor,” Malcolm says with a sly grin. What a tool. He really thinks he’s going to win this thing.
“Like my grandma always says,” I reply with a wink. “Go big or go home.”
If the man paid any attention to the Titans games, he’d know I play to win.
“Show your cards, gentlemen,” the dealer announces.
We reveal our cards. My flush beats Chase’s two pair, but Mr. Song turns over pocket aces, giving him a set of three.
But the Ace of Spades on the river completed my flush while improving his hand to three of a kind. Not enough.
“Flush beats three of a kind,” the dealer announces. “Mr. McGregor wins this hand.”
The Texan slams his fist on the table hard enough to make the chips jump.
“Sorry, boys,” I say, “The ice isn’t the only place I can win.”
Mr. Song stands, adjusting his glasses and designer jacket.
“This has been most illuminating,” he says, his thick Korean accent clipped. “My followers will find my misfortune quite amusing.”
He pulls out his phone, positions it for a selfie with the poker table behind him, and begins recording…in perfect unaccented English.”
“Omigosh, you guys! I can’t believe what happened! Poker vibes were not on point today! Hashtag poker fail. Hashtag High Roller Problems. Hashtag Win Some You Lose Some. Hashtag Still Richer Than You.”
He flashes a peace sign, captures his sad face for posterity, and continues his performance. “Make sure to swipe up for my Patreon! Love you all! Hashtag Poker Life.”
“We will take a fifteen-minute break,” the dealer announces.
The Texan pushes back from the table, his face red as a watermelon.
Chase maintains his composure, but his knuckles whiten as he grips the edge of the table.
He narrows his eyes at me. “Luck favors the bold. Or perhaps…the assisted?”
My stomach drops. Does he suspect the earpiece? He doesn’t wait for my answer before he gets up to go for a smoke.
As the players disperse, Song continues his theatrical social media meltdown, now filming himself walking backward out of the private room. “Remember to like and subscribe! Even when you lose ten million euros! Hashtag Real Life. Hashtag Transparency Matters.”
With a small bow to the remaining players in the room, he exits, followed by his entourage of women.
