Page 27 of Wild Card (Advantage Play 1)

With a snort, I murmur, “Whatever. See you then.”

After the call is disconnected, I head to the corner booth when Dottie stops me. “Usual order, doll?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Dottie.”

“No problem, darlin’. I’ll bring it over in a few.”

I take a seat across from Gigi and prepare for the inquisition in three…two…one….

“So, who’d ya call?”

My teeth dig into my lower lip in hopes of containing my smile at the predictability of the conversation. “No one. French toast today, huh? Are they all out of pancake batter? Ya know, with how much shit you give me for ordering the same thing, I’ve never seen you eat anything that isn’t drenched in butter and syrup. Just sayin’.”

“Well, maybe I need a little something sweet in my life. Ever think of that?”

Raising my hands in surrender, I nod my thanks to Dottie as she places a hot plate in front of me. “Thanks, Dottie. That was fast.”

“I put in the order when ya walked in, doll.” With a wink, Dottie moves along to her next task for the evening, leaving Gigi and me alone in our booth.

“Ha! Now that’s what I call perfect timing,” Gigi teases. “So how’d tonight go? You’re here earlier than usual. Was it bad?”

My face nearly splits in two from my grin as I remember why my night was cut short.

“I take that as a no,” she quips.

“It’s a definite no,” I reply, feeling giddy. “The tournament is official. They must’ve announced it in the last few days, but I just saw the billboard tonight.”

The realization that my plan is finally coming to fruition is enough to make me dizzy with anticipation. It’s so close that I can almost taste it. The revenge I’ve been plotting for years is in reach. I just need to finish strong and grab onto it with both hands.

As I take a giant bite of eggs and hashbrowns, G starts probing, “So, are you going to make the buy-in? I know you were worried about the deadline…” her voice trails off.

After swallowing my bite, I lean forward and keep my voice low. “Yeah. I’ll have enough. I can’t believe it’s only a week away, though. I thought I’d have more time to mentally prep.”

“I thought you’ve had years to mentally prep to face him again.”

“Yeah, but this is different. Initially, I was simply counting to get by. It’s the only thing I knew how to do, and it was fun sticking it to the man. But then I saw Burlone and pieced together he owned the place during the last poker tournament a few years ago, so I started saving up.” The memory surfaces as if it were yesterday, making my stomach churn with anxiety. I know I’m not the little girl he abused all those years ago, but it doesn’t stop the fight or flight response from flaring up every time I think about him. Shaking the feelings off, I continue. “I never felt like I’d actually have a chance to take him down, ya know?”

“Yeah, I get that. Do you think you’re ready?”

Now that’s the question. I don’t know what else I could’ve done to prepare for this tournament. I’ve practiced. I’ve watched. I’ve learned. I’ve put in enough hours to last me a lifetime. Now, I just need to pray it’s enough to make him hurt.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” I shrug, taking another bite of eggs.

As Gigi watches me devour my breakfast, I can see the wheels turning in her head before she works up the courage to ask me something. “Do you think he’ll recognize you? I mean, you’ve said you’re the mirror image of your mom.”

The eggs nearly get stuck in my throat as I contemplate the answer. “I’ve been dying my hair for years, and my arms are track-mark free. Other than that? I don’t know what else I can do to keep it from him.”

“To be fair,” Gigi offers, “he probably doesn’t even remember her. The guy’s a slimeball and has been doing shady shit for a long time. I mean, we’ve all heard rumors of what he does even if no one’s able to prove it. I doubt he recalls everyone he’s screwed over in the past. And like you’ve said, you usually hid out in your room when he was there, anyway. Maybe he doesn’t remember that your mom had a daughter in the first place.”

I stare into the distance as visions of his fist connecting with my face as a kid––and the night my mom wasn’t home––scream their rebuttal, but I choose not to voice it.

After a few heavy seconds, I murmur, “Maybe.”

The eggs and hashbrowns I’d eaten a few minutes ago roll in my gut, so I push my plate away.

“Do you want me to come to the tournament? To show some support?” Gigi’s smile is hesitant, and I think she knows it isn’t a great idea, either. We both have our reasons for only ever meeting at Dottie’s even if neither of us has voiced them out loud.

“No, it’s okay. Meet me here, though. We’ll celebrate with a kickass waffle smothered in butter and syrup.” I grin, and she returns it with one of her own.

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