Page 6 of Wild Card (Advantage Play 1)

My turn.

A king of clubs is placed in front of my first hand, and I dig my teeth into my lower lip to contain my excitement. For my second hand, he turns over an ace of hearts. The dealer places a six of diamonds in front of him before he goes around again. I couldn’t ask for a better set-up. It’s practically a card counter’s wet dream.

Ten. Six. Three. Eight.

Again, it’s my turn.

A rush of adrenaline spikes through me as I watch it unfold.

Ten of spades for my first hand, which means I’m at twenty. It’s damn-near perfect. The only thing that beats a twenty in blackjack is twenty-one. Any more than that, and you bust.

I nibble my fingernail to contain my anxiety before glancing at the dealer’s face and smiling nervously.

It’s an act. I’m not nervous. I’m going to win. Hell, if I could put another five grand on the table, I would. But I can’t, so my measly four hundred bucks will have to do.

Next, the dealer slides a card off the top of the deck to pair with my ace of hearts. With bated breath, I watch as he flips over a king of spades.

Yes!

“Yay!” I clap my hands in front of me while bouncing in my chair. After all, I’m playing a peppy ex-cheerleader who loves spending her boyfriend’s money. Might as well have fun while I’m at it. “That’s good, right? I mean…it’s twenty-one!”

The people surrounding the table laugh.

“Yeah. That’s really good, miss,” the dealer confirms. “As long as I don’t beat it, then you’ll get paid three hundred for it.”

“But,” I play dumb. “I thought I put down two hundred?”

“If you get dealt blackjack, then you get paid out three to two, so it looks like it might be your lucky night.”

Or it’s statistics. But sure, we’ll go with luck.

I grin widely.

The dealer flips over his card on the bottom, displaying a six to tag along with his other six. He takes the top card from the deck and turns it over to reveal a queen of spades.

He busted.

“Yes!” With a squeal, I clap my hands again as he hands over five hundred dollars worth of chips.

I risk another hand and win another six hundred bucks when the alarm on my phone vibrates.

With an innocent smile, I lift my forefinger to the dealer and silence the alarm before pretending to read a text.

“It’s my boyfriend. Apparently, he had too much to drink and needs me to take care of him.” I roll my eyes. “You know boys. Thanks for the fun night!” I wave my fingers his way then gather my chips up from the table and head to the information center to cash out.

It feels super crowded for a Thursday night as I weave between sweaty bodies toward my destination. When I’m shoved from behind, I stumble forward, nearly twisting my ankle.

Damn heels.

“Shit,” I mumble under my breath. With a clenched jaw, I look over my shoulder to find the culprit with his hands in the air.

Asshole.

Chapter Three

Ace

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

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