Page 17 of Dark King (Advantage Play 2)

“I know how to get through a hand and what the little blind and big blinds are, but that’s about it.”

“So…you’re familiar with basic strategy,” she teases. “Alright, there’s a lot that I could teach you, but I think one of the biggest things you need to learn is the importance of seating placement, and how it can affect how you bet. A lot of players raise the same hands no matter the position. That’s not what you should do. For example, if you’re in UTG, you should open twelve to fifteen percent of hands at equilibrium. But, when you’re on the button, which is the dealer, you now need to open fifty percent of hands at equilibrium. The reason for this is the number of players who will play after you.”

My eyes glaze over instantly. “I’m sorry, what?”

With a soft laugh, she sets the cards on the table and grabs a notepad and pen. After drawing an oval that represents the table, she begins to scribble out different seating positions, definitions of what they are, and the statistics I’m supposed to consider with each hand I’m dealt based on the seating placement.

My jaw nearly hits the floor as I say, “You’re a smart little shit, aren’t you?”

Ace grins then playfully shoves me. “Don’t sound so surprised, King.”

“I’m not. I’m just…” I hesitate, searching for the right word which only makes her gasp in outrage.

“Whatever! You can’t be that surprised I know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m not surprised you know what you’re talking about,” I correct her. “I’m surprised there’s so much strategy based on shit I never would’ve thought about. And I’m not going to lie; it’s sexy as hell hearing it delivered from your pouty little mouth.”

That same pouty mouth tilts up in amusement. “You think I’m sexy when I talk poker?”

“Fuck, yes. I knew you were gorgeous, Ace, but brains too?” I lift my arm and wrap it around her neck, pulling her in for a slow kiss. She sighs and leans into me, almost melting into a puddle at my feet. “That makes you the perfect package.”

“You’ve already gotten into my pants, King. There’s no need to keep laying it on so thick,” she argues sarcastically before wiggling out of my grasp and shuffling the same deck of cards from earlier. I know she’s full of shit by the way her cheeks are tinged pink, so I decide to keep arguing. She’s cute when she gets all riled up.

“Lie.”

Rolling her eyes, she changes the subject. “Stop distracting me. We have work to do.”

“Then let’s get started, oh wise one. Consider me your star pupil.”

Deck in hand, she deals the cards between us and goes over a few more strategy techniques. A couple of hours later, my brain is swimming with new information, and I feel like I need a tumbler of whiskey to soothe the headache that’s starting to pound behind my eyes.

“Alright, King. That was a good hand to end on. Next time, we’ll play with chips and bring a few of your guys in here to help mix things up. Do you have any questions?”

“Just one.” I drop my chin to the tattered cards in Ace’s hand. “What’s with the cards?”

She shrugs, trying to act innocent. “What do you mean?”

“They’re Allegretti cards. The same ones they play with at Sin.”

“Yup. They sure are,” Ace acknowledges, her eyes bouncing around the room like a pinball.

“And why do you play with Allegretti cards? Looks like they’re pretty worn.” I’m not sure why I’m pushing this, but it seems curiosity is getting the best of me.

Her fumbling fingers screw up the shuffle, scattering a few cards along the table before she sets the rest down. Part of me wants to back peddle and let her out of the impromptu interrogation, but the other part of me needs to know. I need to see the real her. All of her.

“Tell me, Wild Card,” I push, keeping my tone gentle.

With a look that guts me, she says, “They’re his.” Her voice cracks at the mere mention of him, and I don’t need to ask who it is she’s talking about––just why she cares.

Placing my hand against her knee underneath the table, I probe, “And?”

“And they were left on my kitchen table the night I woke up to find my mom missing.”

Shit.

“I learned how to play on these cards. I would spend night after night in my foster homes, flipping them over and using the moonlight to master card counting.” With a soft laugh, she adds, “I used to have dreams where all I would see were the faces of the kings and queens in my head, only to wake up and start all over. These are the cards that I’ve carried in my bag for forever. They’re the only connection I have to my past that helps me remember the nightmares were real.” Her eyes are glassy as she looks at me. “It’s kind of screwed up that I carry them around, isn’t it? I mean…who in their right mind would want to remember that shit?”

Squeezing her knee, I really look at the situation from her perspective. She was so helpless. So young. Yet she did what needed to be done, and I couldn’t be more proud to call her mine.

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