Page 8 of Wild Card (Advantage Play 1)

“I thought you said you’re not supposed to draw attention when playing blackjack, Little Miss Red Dress,” Gigi notes before shoving a bite of pancake into her mouth as soon as I step inside Dottie’s.

Rolling my eyes, I walk into the break room, grab my ratty backpack from an unassigned locker, then head to the bathroom. Changing into a baggie hoodie that swallows me whole and a pair of jeans, I stand in front of the mirror and take in my appearance. A stranger’s gaze meets mine before I bend at the waist and splash water from the faucet against my face in hopes of erasing a woman that looks way too similar to someone I used to know and grew to hate.

My mom.

Peeking into the mirror again, I deem myself regular ol’ Ace then pat my face with a paper towel.

The bathroom door squeaks as my feet carry me toward the same corner booth from the night before.

I was hoping Gigi wouldn’t see me in the red dress, but it looks like I’m about to get a tongue lashing if her pursed lips are anything to go by.

“Something you wanna say?” she starts. Her arms are crossed, and her back is pressed against the vinyl booth as she waits for my response.

“Well—”

“No, no, no. You’re not allowed to come up with excuses. Not when you told me yesterday,” she drags out the word to emphasize her point, “that I couldn’t come ‘cause I was too pretty. You. In that dress? Girl, I’m surprised you were able to walk here without getting picked up by a few lonely men looking for a good time.”

My cheeks are on fire as a huff of laughter escapes her. “Wait! You did get hit on, didn’t you?”

With a scrunched up face, I search for a few words that will shut her up. “Look, the red dress is a good persona when I need to bet big and quickly. People think I’m too stupid to actually count cards, and that I’m playing with someone else’s money, which means I don’t care if I lose it or not. I don’t use it often, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Desperate measures as in…you haven’t been laid lately?” she razzes.

I haven’t been laid ever, but that’s beside the point.

“Shut up.” I reach for her plate and finish off her pancakes since Dottie’s too busy with other customers to serve her most loyal one.

Brat.

“For real though,” G continues. “What do you mean by desperate measures? I thought you were close to saving up enough for the buy-in.”

“Shh.” My gaze shifts over my shoulder.

Rule #8: Don’t discuss private shit in public. It’s bound to screw you over.

With a sigh, an apologetic Gigi leans forward and releases a hushed whisper. “Ace, you’re being paranoid. Everything is fine. Plus, no one knows or cares what we’re talking about. And let’s be honest, you haven’t seen any advertisements for the tournament yet, anyway. You’ve only heard rumors.”

With the mention of the tournament, my appetite disappears. I put Gigi’s fork back on the table and rest my elbows on the solid surface before tangling my fingers in my long hair and groaning in frustration. “I know, but it might be my only shot.”

“You’re only shot at what, Ace?” Gigi probes.

This is the part she doesn’t know. The why. The who.

Rule #6 is obnoxious as it flashes to the forefront of my mind. Never reveal your true identity and don’t get personal.

Not even to your best friend.

My silence is palpable; my lips forming a thin line as the truth begs to slip through.

Gigi cuts me some slack and asks another question. Well, two, if her forefinger and middle finger that are raised in the air are any indication. “One. Why are we dealing with desperate measures all of a sudden? And two. Who hit on you, and was he hot?” Her lips stretch into a grin of epic proportions, and I grab on wholeheartedly.

“One.” Mirroring her, I lift my forefinger. “I may have slipped some cash to Eddie last night. He’s the homeless guy that hangs out by my apartment. Remember? Anyway, he needs it more than I do, and it’s not like I can’t scrounge up some more money with a little lipstick and a red dress.” She scoffs as I raise my second finger. “And two, a guy named Jack. He stumbled into me while I was cashing out, and we talked for a second. He said I looked familiar, though. I think he might’ve noticed me in the past.”

“When you were counting?”

My teeth dig into my lower lip. “Probably.”

“Hmmm….” With a pucker of Gigi’s lips, she voices the same thing that’s been running through my mind all night. “Is he going to be a problem?”

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