“Yeah. I’d love to.”
Spinning on my heel, I march back into the house. Lincoln sees me emerging from the back hallway and shoots me an assessing look, but I ignore him, taking a long pull from my beer before heading over toward the kids from my Business and Econ class.
I don’t get these guys. One minute, they’re assholes to me, the next they’re defending me. Then when I try to reach out, they’re jerks again.
Maybe that’s the lesson here.
I should be keeping my distance from all four of them.
9
I largely ignore Lincoln and the other three guys throughout the next week. It’s a little harder to avoid Lincoln since we’re living under the same damn roof, but it’s a big house, and it’s easy enough to find an excuse to leave a room if he’s in it.
On Friday, there’s another poker game in the same warehouse I went to last time. I sneak down the west wing stairs—the bedroom next to mine is empty this time, thank God—and slip out the front door. The ATM won’t let me withdraw more than a thousand dollars, which is too bad because I’m feeling lucky tonight. Ah well. If I can at least double it, that’ll help make up for the money Mom spent fixing her car.
When I step inside the warehouse, adrenaline spikes in my blood, sending pleasurable tingles over my skin. I live for this shit. The therapist my mom made me see a few times after I was officially declared cancer-free said a craving for adrenaline is common in survivors of life-threatening illness or accident—as is the complete opposite, where they worry constantly and become cautious about everything.
Maybe the therapist could’ve helped me work through it or something, but my mom couldn’t afford to keep sending me. And besides, I’m not sure I want to work through it. I almost died before my life ever really got started. If I’m still here, I’m sure as hell going to really live.
The guy who greeted me last time, Carson, scoffs when he sees me approaching. “You really think we’re gonna let you play here again, Pool Girl?”
Dammit. I open my mouth to try a little sweet talk, but before I can say anything, a voice comes from behind me.
“Sure, she can play. Why not?”
Lincoln grins at me when I turn to him. He’s flanked by Dax, Chase, and River, and they all look pretty fucking smug right now. They weren’t here last time, so either they were busy that night or they don’t usually come to these games. But their friend Ethan was here, and I noticed him watching me. He probably told them he saw me.
And if that’s the case…
They just came here to fuck with me.
The thought irritates me, but then I decide it really shouldn’t. I can take their money as well as anyone else’s. In fact, it’ll be a damn pleasure.
“Yeah, all right,” Carson grumbles, and I hand him my neatly folded bills in exchange for chips. “She’s sitting at your table though.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Lincoln says with an almost feral grin.
I wonder if these guys are any good, or if they know how good I am. Well, guess we’re all about to find out.
We all end up at a table with two other guys and the steely-eyed girl from last time. Within the first round, I start to get the lay of the land. The kings of Linwood came here together, and they seem to function as a group in pretty much everything, but they’re definitely not all playing at the same level.
Dax and Chase are pretty much equally bad, which makes sense—they’re both too impulsive and expressive, too reckless and easy to read. Lincoln is decent, with a good poker face but iffy strategy. River, though? He’s good. I guess that makes sense. He’s the quietest and most observant of the guys, the most likely to be slightly apart from everyone else, watching, taking things in.
I lose the first hand on purpose, even though I know it’s too late to try to convince anyone I don’t know what I’m doing. But even if they know they’re playing a skilled opponent, winning bolsters people’s confidence. And confidence makes them stupid.
Sure enough, River smirks in satisfaction as he reveals two pair and rakes in the pot.
We play a few more rounds, and between counting cards and learning people’s tells, I’m doing well. I’m up at least a thousand, but I want to double that.
I get my chance in the next round, with pocket aces and an ace on the flop.
Dax drops out almost immediately, which is a smart call because I’m pretty sure he’s got a shit hand. Chase hangs on for a little while longer, then folds too. I’ve got four of a kind, and I don’t think River’s got much, if my math is right. He’s looking down and to the side like he has every time he’s had a bad hand before, and the corners of his lips are pinched.
The steely-eyed girl, Monica, folds next, and Lincoln calls once then follows her. Finally, it’s just me and River left, and the pot has gotten big.
I have him. I know I do.
“All in.” I push my remaining chips to the middle of the table.
He narrows his thoughtful gray-blue eyes at me. But instead of just calling, he reaches into the front pocket of his dark-wash jeans and pulls out a quarter.
“What, are you going to raise me twenty-five cents?” I ask sardonically.
“No.” He smiles at me, and it looks like he’s actually having fun. I can relate to that; I am too. Because I’m about to take all his money. “This is a marker. Worth one favor. Anytime. Anywhere. No questions asked.”
“And you think that’s worth more than twenty-five cents?” I arch a brow, and he chuckles.
“Depends on the favor, I guess. But, yeah. You accept?”
I shrug. I just really want this fucking pile of chips. If it comes with
