He licks his lips, and his head lifts. I almost laugh as he tries to play it off, play it cool, like I can’t see right through him. Christ, I’m a hood rat, and can read a room, a situation, an opponent with my eyes closed, and if he thinks I’m not aware of his stress, of every muscle twitch in his body as he tries to beat me at poker, he’s out of his fucking mind. I guess he figures a baller like me, a kid from the streets, must suck at math. He’d be wrong. Cards come naturally to me. Joining in the monthly underground secret game at Wolf House, however, was not my thing…until tonight.
“Are you going to play or look at them all night?” I taunt, shifting a little deeper into my seat, not at all worried he’s going to win. I have a straight flush, and he’s shit out of luck, in more ways than one. Rumor has it Daddy cut him off, put him on an allowance, because he’d been draining his account. The truth is Cochrane—I prefer to call him Dick, a play on his name, but mostly because he hates it—has a gambling problem.
But it’s not the douche bag’s money I’m after. Rich boy just needs to be taken down a notch or two for treating me like trash when we roomed together first year. Guess he’s not the cock-of-the-walk tonight. Back in our freshman year, he’s lucky I didn’t give him a Burnside beatdown—that’s what we called it back in our Burnside neighborhood—but my scholarship to bigger and better was far more important to me. Plus, revenge really is a dish best served cold, and while I’m quoting proverbial phrases…Karma is a bitch.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters and swipes at his face. He might be rich, and tall and good looking, and might know how to charm the girls, but everything about him rubs me the wrong way. There’s more to him, something insidious lurking beneath his perfect exterior. Maybe the girls are too dazzled by his perfect white teeth to see it.
“Come on, Dick. We don’t have all night.”
He glares at me through beady blue eyes and I grin. My confidence is shaking him to his core and I almost—almost—give a shit.
“The name is Cochrane,” he seethes through clenched teeth.
I glance around the basement of Wolf House, at the other intense, and illegal, games going on around me. I turn to our dealer, Andrew, as he waits for Cochrane to make a move. Andrew was the one who told me Cochrane was broke and looking to win back some money. He’s really one of the good guys. Rich, but treats everyone equally. We bonded my first year at Wolf House, when I was roommates with Cochrane. I have no idea who made that mix-up. Putting a scholarship baller in with the captain of the college’s elite rowing team? Obviously, someone mixed the papers up or had a brain tumor. I suffered through freshman year at Wolf House—I never belonged there to begin with—then switched houses during sophomore year, going off campus with a few of the guys I met on the football team. It was a much better fit, and I never looked back, until Andrew, the only guy I ever liked from Wolf House, sent me a message about tonight’s game. He never was much of a Cochrane fan either.
“So, where’s that girl of yours tonight?” I ask, knowing it will just rattle him. “Such a sweet thing.” Reagan might be sweet to look at, the perfect California blonde and a killer body, but I don’t like her much either. I don’t hate her. She doesn’t deserve that harsh label, but she is one of the rich girls, following in her folks’ footsteps. Truthfully, I don’t begrudge her that. Good for her for having the grades and ambition to aim for the senate like her parents. I don’t know why I know that about her, only that I do. Really, she means nothing to me.
Then stop thinking about her, Rocco.
“Where she is and what she’s doing is none of your business.” He turns his attention back to his shit hand, and the table begins to vibrate with the nervous shaking of his foot.
I go silent, and just smirk at him. He takes a fast breath, and I’m pretty sure he’s throwing up a silent prayer to God, which makes me laugh. Where the fuck was the mighty being when I was getting the living shit kicked out of me when I was barely a teen? Never mind that, where was my mother? Oh yeah, I remember. She fucked off when I was a toddler, leaving me with a mean bastard of a father, who resented everything about me and blamed me for her departure. When I got older, he used to like to show me how much he hated me, either with his fists, or his belt. He said it was to toughen me up, make a man out of me. He used to say that’s what his father did to him, and he turned out just fine. Wrong. He did not turn out just fine. I was taken away in my early teens, and have no idea where he is today. I don’t care.
He plays his hand, and I stare at the pair of kings. I exaggerate my movements, slowing everything down to drag out the moment as I lean forward and lay my hand out, showcasing a gorgeous straight flush. Cochrane goes so silent, I think he might be having an out of body experience, and not a good one. His head lifts slowly, and his nostrils flare. He stares at me for a long moment.
“Pay up, buddy.” I say, breaking the silence between us as the other games go on in the basement.
He glares at me, his blue eyes hard, and almost…pleading. Man, it really shouldn’t give me pleasure to see the guy
