Page 15 of No Limits

Memphis quirked an eyebrow up. “How do you figure?”

“You have a cheerleading squad. I have nobody,” she said as she motioned to the five men leaned against various counters around the kitchen and dining area.

“I’m on your side,” Hunter said with a wink.

Memphis just laughed.

“The table is ready, Mr. Foster, Miss Colton,” the dealer said.

A few minutes later, they sat at the table across from each other with the dealer in the middle. The tournament official read through the rules and both of them agreed.

Rylee threw away the first three hands after the dealer revealed the flop, but after that it seemed like the cards were working in her favor.

Six hands later that changed. She got cocky and bet big on a hand she thought was a sure thing. Turned out it wasn’t, and she lost the hand.

“Seriously?” she asked as she stared at her dismally small stack. “That hand was statistically in my favor. Like ninety-two percent in my favor.”

“Ninety-three actually,” Memphis said as he studied his own stack.

She sighed. If he figured out the statistics for favorability that fast, Memphis knew a lot more about poker than he let on.

The dealer slid the cards for their next hand to them, and she lifted them at the corner. Eight of clubs and six of hearts. Not the greatest starting hand but she could work with it. She studied Memphis for signs that he was happy with his hand. He gave nothing away. They both checked for the pre-flop round of betting, and she inhaled and held her breath as the dealer laid out the flop. Eight of spades, Jack of clubs, eight of hearts. Trip eights. She couldn’t have hoped for anything more, other than maybe a straight.

“I’ll check,” she said, hoping he didn’t fold before betting at least once.

He didn’t disappoint and bet the round minimum. She wasn’t sure what that said about his hand. He’d been superb at not revealing anything. To say she admired the skill would be an understatement.

Feeling confident, she raised the bet by double.

Memphis hummed and stacked and re-stacked chips as he mulled over his options. The game had been relatively free of sarcasm or attempts to distract the other with insults, so she refrained from taunting him. It seemed like they had established an unspoken rule not to play that way.

After several minutes of silence, he called and tossed chips into the middle of the table.

The dealer laid down the turn card, a five of spades. It did nothing to improve her hand, but she needed to keep him thinking she had something, so she tossed a bet in.

“Call,” Memphis said, with no hesitation. He was bluffing and had nothing, or he had a mediocre hand that had a lot of potential depending on the river. She hated not knowing his tells.

The dealer turned over the river card, a two of diamonds.

Could she force him to fold? She lifted the corner of her cards again to look at her hand. Leaning back, she watched Memphis carefully. His stack of chips was bigger than hers at this point, so there was no way to take him out on this hand, but she could put a dent in it if she went all in and won.

On the other hand, if he had better cards than she did, that would be all she wrote, and the game would be over. Was it worth the risk? That was the ultimate question for every poker hand.

Triple eights with crap cards on the turn and the river meant the only way he won was with a crazy lucky straight or a full house. She calculated the math in her head. It was an enormous risk.

“All in,” she said, hoping she didn’t regret her choice.

Memphis raised an eyebrow.

“Call,” he said.

When the dealer took his chips and nodded, Memphis laid his cards face up on the table.

Chapter 6

Ryleestaredatthecards laying on the table. Memphis had revealed a Jack of hearts and an eight of diamonds. The bastard had a full house. She flipped up her own cards and tried not to feel angry.

Had she really just lost to an amateur?

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