Page 3 of Never Date A Player
“Zach,” Nessa says. The guy with the baseball hat looks up and smiles at her. Wow, kind of an adoring smile if I’m reading it correctly, though Nessa never mentioned a boyfriend. “This is the friend I told you about. Gen is a cocktail waitress at Blue for the summer.”
I recognize Zach as one of the dealers in the blackjack pit. “The food smells amazing,” I say.
He grins. “Glad you could make it. This is Mira.”
The girl beside him gives me a weak smile and takes a sip of her drink.
“They’re Washoe,” Nessa adds, elbowing me in the side. “Mira and Zach go way back. Their families have known each other for, like, a hundred generations.”
Zach adjusts his hat and scratches his forehead, his thick brown hair peeking through the hole of his backward ball cap. “Why do you always refer to us as Washoe?”
“It’s interesting.” Nessa shoves him playfully and walks back into the kitchen.
He shakes his head at her retreating figure, but there’s appreciation in his eyes.
Zach empties the Quarters glass. “Join us, Gen. Have you played before?”
“I have, but I’m driving. You mind that I’m not drinking?”
“Nope,” he says. “You can help me get Mira toasted. She isn’t nice until she’s had a few.”
His comment receives a scowl from Mira that resembles a runway pout, because the girl’s face is stunning. Her dark-chocolate hair hits mid-back and tapers around a face that’s not quite heart-shaped, not quite oval. It’s symmetrical and interesting, and I’m seriously jealous of her defined cheekbones.
I sit in one of the granny-style wooden dining chairs, and Zach slides a quarter my way. Holding it between my thumb and forefinger, I glance at the cup in the center. I line up my shot, and slam the side of my palm onto the high-gloss wooden surface.
The quarter bounces off the table and sinks into the empty juice glass.
“Nice!” Zach smirks in Mira’s direction. “We have a ringer.”
In college, we used a wide-rimmed cup to catch as many quarters as possible—hence, getting people drunk quickly. The small, respectable glass in the center of Zach’s table is so sophisticated. I feel very grown up.
He hands me another coin, and I prepare my next shot. “So, Washoe? You’re Native American?” The next quarter lands in the cup as well, and I gesture for Mira to take a drink.
She shoots me a look that burns my corneas. For someone so pretty, she has a hell of an evil eye. I hope Zach is right about her demeanor improving with liquor.
He nods. “We’re all part Washoe, the local tribe, including Lewis, who’s running late. Mira’s the only true blood. Both her parents came from the Dresslerville reservation. Though I’m sure somewhere along the line one of Mira’s relatives hooked up with an outsider.” He winks at Mira and she rolls her eyes.
“Whatever,” she says. “You wish you were full-blooded.”
Zach looks at me and shakes his head as if to say, You see what I’m dealing with?
He frowns at the full margarita on ice in Mira’s hand. “If Gen lands the next three in a row, you drain your girly drink.”
Her eyes narrow. “Make it five.”
Five? Child’s play.
Mira is stunningly beautiful. Guys wouldn’t notice other girls with Mira in the room. She’d be the perfect buffer at parties, and since I’m all about hiding from the opposite sex after my last boyfriend, that sounds excellent. But crap, the girl needs to smile a little.
Mira huffs out a sigh. “Lewis is such a workaholic.” The first of my five quarters sinks in the glass. Yes. “I can’t believe he’s not here yet,” she says.
Zach glances at the time on his phone. “He’ll come.” Ping. Quarter number two goes down. Three more left. “He doesn’t leave the office until now.”
My highest sequential quarter dunking was seventeen—and I was half drunk that night. I slam my fist on the table, and the third coin lands in the cup. I’m just getting warmed up.
Mira frowns at Zach. “That’s not funny. He said he’d be here.”
Is she pouting? Lewis must be Mira’s boyfriend—and number four drops in the empty glass.
