Page 55 of Wild Card (Advantage Play 1)

Chance attempts to explain, “Well—”

“I’ll do it,” I say, surprising myself.

Both sets of eyes, along with every single one in the room, turn to me.

“Are you sure, miss?” Chance prods.

“Yup. Five hands. Winner takes all.”

Burlone’s arrogance is almost palpable as he zeroes in on me. “Perfect. Shall we start with this one, since we’ve already seen our cards or…?” His voice trails off, keeping his expression blank in hopes of preventing me from reading him.

It’s interesting to be on this end. He thinks he’s won, yet he’s giving me exactly what I want. I knew I could make him bleed his chips slowly if I had no choice. But getting the opportunity to cut to the chase is exactly how I would play this if I had the chance. And he’s giving me exactly that. The knowledge that I’m so close to getting what I want seems to supersede the anxiety that normally weighs around my shoulders whenever he’s near. I savor the lightness that’s been absent since the first time I found him sitting at our tiny kitchen table with a cigar in his hand.

I’m so close. I can almost taste it.

“Yup,” I reply, reminding myself that I’m not that little girl anymore. “I think this hand sounds great. Since I don’t want to miss my bedtime and all.”

With a syrupy sweet grin, I push a thick stack of chips into the pot and wait for him to fold. Like a puppet, he does exactly that.

“Then I think I’ll sit this one out.” With a flick of his wrist, he tosses his two cards into the center table, then adds, “Four hands left, Ms. Johnson.”

“Yup. I’m glad you can count.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Jack

This girl. I shake my head as the same question runs through my mind for the thousandth time in one night. What the hell is she thinking?

Four hands? There’s over three hundred thousand dollars on the table, and she offers to win or lose it in four hands? My nostrils flare in frustration as I take a closer look.

The dealer, Chance, starts handing out cards to both Burlone then Ace. With a grin, Burlone tosses in his ante, and Ace does the same.

Chance moves the game along quickly as he places three cards face-up on the table. That same confident smirk is plastered on Burlone’s face. He’s not even trying to hide the fact that his hand is good. Ace, on the other hand, looks nervous. She’s trying to hide it, but I can see it in her gaze, shifting from her hand, back to the community cards, then back again.

It’s Burlone’s turn to lead the bets, and he does so by throwing nearly half his stack into the center. He’s either an arrogant prick who expects Ace to fold, or he’s reading the situation the same way I am. Ace doesn’t have anything, and instead of dragging it out, he’s forcing her to the next hand.

Anxiously, Ace tucks her hair behind her ear then matches his bet before calling it, which means it stops Burlone from adding any more money to the pot before Chance can show another card.

Chance places another one onto the center of the table. There are now two aces, a king, and a jack laying face up. Watching Burlone’s reaction, I can only assume he’s holding a queen and ten in his hand, giving him a straight, because his face is nearly splitting in two from his reaction to the community cards.

Pushing the rest of his chips into the center pot, he boldly announces, “Your move, Ms. Johnson.”

Again, Ace fidgets in her seat before brushing her hair with her hands and tucking a few of the strands behind her ear. It’s the same motion she did at the beginning of the game when she bluffed hard and lost.

She’s either an absolute idiot who doesn’t know who she’s playing against, or she’s an utter genius. I can’t decide which one is more accurate when it comes to the enigma of a girl I met all those nights ago.

Pushing the rest of the chips to the center of the table, she mutters, “Call. Obviously.”

Chance turns the last card onto the table, completing the river before asking Burlone to show his hand.

Triumphantly, he turns over a pair of kings. “Three of a kind. King high. Sorry, Ms. Johnson. You put up a good fight, but I guess my undefeated title will have to remain intact for now.”

Lifting his hands into the air, Chance stops Burlone from collecting the chips from the center pile.

“Ms. Johnson?”

Ace pins Burlone with her stare. It’s filled with so much animosity that I’m surprised Burlone isn’t burnt to a crisp where he sits. As if in slow motion, she tosses a single card onto the pile of chips. An ace, which brings her to two pairs. Ace high. But it’s not enough to beat Burlone’s three of a kind.

---