by Sierra Dean
How sad was it that a woman he’d known so briefly was the most reliable person in his life?
“Let’s try again.” He shuffled the deck as she sighed and flopped backwards on the couch.
Sam picked up her cards, once again demonstrating her total inability to maintain a poker face. “What do your parents think about your job? Do they know what you do?”
Ethan fidgeted with the river card, flicking the cardboard edge with his thumbnail. He wasn’t sure why she was asking, but maybe she was as desperate for a change in subject as he was. “I have two brothers and a sister. Two of them are lawyers and my younger brother is in his residency to become a cardiac surgeon. My mom is a university professor, teaching medieval history, and my dad is, shockingly, a lawyer. It’s safe to say who the black sheep in the Silver clan is.”
“But you told them anyway?”
“Of course I did. They always said we should do what we loved. Turns out they meant do what you love as long as it earns you six figures and makes them proud.”
Sam threw a hotel soap into the pot. “Did you ever think of doing anything else?”
“You own a bookstore, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you ever think of doing anything else?”
“Sure. I wanted to teach overseas after university, but then my mom got sick and since Dad was already gone there wasn’t anyone around to help out. Patrick, my brother, he was married and had moved, so it was just me and Mom. When she died, I had to figure out what to do with the store so…other plans went by the wayside. I did what I thought was right. I don’t regret it.”
Ethan stopped playing with the cards and stared at her, absorbing the way her face and voice changed when she talked about her parents and the responsibility she’d taken on.
“I never thought I was good at anything else,” he said, allowing the words he’d never spoken before to be set free.
“You really thought sex was all you had to offer the world?”
He shrugged and held out his hand for her cards. “I guess I never put a lot of thought into seeing if I could do anything else. I knew I had skills.” He winked, but the gesture felt hollow. “Anyway, I ended up here, and I’m okay with that. I like my life most of the time. Just not when I’m being harassed by a balding shithead like Julian.”
“Well, hopefully after tonight you never have to hear that name again.”
She’d bet on two pairs, which depending on the hands around her wasn’t the worst idea she’d had all night. “The threes were a bit low—you might want to be careful on those next time—but the kings were good.”
“So I did okay?”
“Yup.”
She made a delighted squeal, an unexpectedly joyous sound considering their previously serious conversation, and clapped her hands.
“Don’t get too excited yet. You’re going to be playing against some heavy hitters. I want to go a few more rounds before I’m comfortable letting you swim with the sharks.”
“Do you have to make it sound so ominous?”
“It’s a serious situation, Sam.”
“I know.” She stared at his face, her gaze lingering on the bruises instead of his eyes as she whispered, “You think I don’t know that?”
“I need you to focus.”
Sam picked up one of the plastic-wrapped soap packets and hurled it at him, landing a direct hit to his chest. “Did you figure this was my idea of fun? That I wanted to come to Vegas and help a porn star pay off his bookie? Trust me, this is not my idea of happy-happy-fun times, okay? I’m doing this to help you, so try to remember that before you get snippy with me.” Tears were welling in the corners of her eyes, and her voice had gotten high and shaky.
Where had all the fire come from all of a sudden? The Sam he knew was mostly timid with an occasional bitchy streak, but otherwise personified the ideal of girl next door. This Sam had spunk and a serious sassy side to her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you’re helping me. I’m just a little freaked out.”
“You think I’m not freaked out?”
Ethan tapped the cards, too startled by her intensity to meet her gaze, especially when it looked like she might cry. Her commitment to helping him was surprising, even to him, and he was touched by her concern so much it made his chest hurt. Why did she care so much what happened to him?
There was work to be done before he’d have an opportunity to get philosophical about Sam’s emotional attachment to him and what it meant.
He still needed to teach her how to recognize when she had a good hand, which was proving to be more difficult than he’d anticipated. She quickly grasped the basics of the game, but it was the various combinations—full houses and flushes—she hadn’t gotten a handle on quite yet. With the night growing later, he needed to get her ready so she could play and hopefully win.
If she didn’t win, he could royal flush his life down the drain.
Chapter Sixteen
Sam toyed with the hem of her dress, trying to pull it lower to give some illusion of modesty.
“Where’s the rest of it?” she asked, touching the back of her thighs and wishing they weren’t so damned bare.
“Stop playing with it.” Ethan lightly slapped her hands away from the bottom of the dress and stood back to give her an assessing look. “I don’t know how, but you manage to make even that dress sort of proper.”
Sam glanced at herself in the mirror and met Ethan’s gaze before he did another once-over of her body, his eyes seeming to lock on to her ass.
Which was dangerously close to claiming its freedom.
“What was wrong with the one I had on?”
“You looked beautiful in that dress. Men would have admired you, but no one was going to be distracted by you in that thing.”
She tugged the new dress again, dreading how much it would inevitably rise when she sat down at the gaming table. As it was, the thing barely covered both cheeks. There was a very real possibility she’d flash her underwear at someone when she sat down.
Thankfully, considering what she’d hoped to be doing with Ethan that night, she had opted for her fanciest, laciest pair of panties, so if someone did see them, at least they’d think she had taste. Unfortunately the person they were meant for was too busy trying to keep her from fidgeting to notice the effort she’d gone to.
“I don’t see why this is necessary.” In addition to the barely there hem, the dress was cut low in the front, giving the world a good eyeful of her assets both coming and going. She looked more like the girls she’d met at the AVAs than herself.
Her height didn’t make matters any better either because the dress made her stupid legs look about a foot longer, so she felt like a baby giraffe in a black bandage dress.
“If you’re wearing something like this, it helps you. The other players will be too busy looking at all this.” He indicated her cleavage, which had already been enhanced with a little help from the fine folks at Victoria’s Secret. “If they’re distracted, your other tells won’t be as obvious.”
He’d mentioned her tells on several occasions through the evening, giving her the indication she might as well have a neon billboard on her forehead whenever she had a good hand. Sam had thought she kept a decent straight face, but according to Ethan she was terrible at hiding her reactions.
He might have a point about the dress. She was already staring at her cleavage. Perhaps the men at the table might have a similar—or better—reaction to it. She adjusted her boobs in the dress, trying to display them to their best advantage.
“Don’t muck around with it so much. You have to look comfortable.”
“I’m not comfortable.”
“They don’t need to know that.”
Sam lifted her arms then dropped them, unable to manage a good shrug in the binding material. “I think I look ridiculous.”
“You look fuckable.”
She didn’t want the compliment to impact her, especially because
of how filthy it was, but it was hard to ignore. Ethan was easily the best-looking guy she’d ever spent time with, let alone been intimate with. He put Kyle’s goody-goody All-American vibe to shame. Not to mention, Ethan had been with a lot of girls. That was a matter of public record. So for him to find her attractive somehow meant more than it might from another man. She felt special, like she stood out.
Samantha Hart had never stood out before, unless she counted being a head above everyone else in her grade-school photos.
The simple ego boost did wonders for her, making her feel lighter and more confident.
She could totally do this.
“You ready?” he asked.
“As I’ll ever be.”
He handed her a small stack of purple chips. He must have had someone collect them for him, since by his own admission he was banned from the casinos. Maybe the concierge had helped while they were arranging to have the world’s tiniest dress sent up to her room. “This is two thousand dollars,” he explained.
Sam examined the plastic circles in her hand. Each one was worth five hundred dollars. How could something so insignificant be worth so much? She clenched them in a fist, her palms beginning to sweat instantly. The bravado she’d felt moments earlier was fading fast.
This wasn’t her money to lose.
Two thousand dollars was her living expenses for an entire month, and Ethan had just handed it over to her.
“All you have to do is win a few hands. That’s it.”
“That’s it,” she repeated, barely able to hear her voice over the pounding in her ears. “That’s it.”
“Once you hit ten, cash out.”
She nodded. The chips bit into her skin, feeling heavier than they had when he handed them over. Now they meant so much more. This was his life in her hands, and if she fucked up, it was Ethan who would pay the price.
“Ethan, I…”
“What’s up?”
I can’t do this. I’m going to screw it up. Why are you trusting me?
“Wish me luck.”
He leaned in and kissed her, a soft graze of his perfect, pillowy lips against hers, making the back of her neck flush with heat and her head spin in a drunk, happy way.
When he pulled away, he held her chin with his thumb and forefinger and favored her with his luscious, wicked smile. “Luck, be my lady tonight.”
Sam wobbled on her heels as she moved across the indoor boardwalk, through the casino and towards the high-limit gaming area. It felt strange, not having to leave her hotel in order to complete this half-brained scheme.
Inside her beaded clutch—the one thing of her own Ethan hadn’t insisted on ordering from the in-hotel clothing store—the stack of chips rattled merrily. It was a hell of a lot of money to fit into such a small bag, and she was going in with the intention of quintupling it.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and reminded herself it was just a game, and one she had the basic skill set to win. As long as she kept a clear head and played it smart, she’d be able to win Ethan’s money. Bet big, win big. That was the idea.
Sam made her way through the throngs of people, trying to ignore the stink of smoke. Chubby middle-aged tourists sat side by side with overdressed women who looked like plastic dolls, all glassy-eyed as they fed their money into slot machines. Different movie themes glowed out from the neon, offering her a chance to win The Hangover or Sex and the City jackpots, as long as she could find the right shoes to woo Mr. Big.
Giving her dress one last downwards tug, she skirted the main gambling pit and crossed in front of the entrance until she arrived at the high-stakes area. She lifted her chin to give her best impression of a haughty woman who was accustomed to throwing money away, and marched up the stairs like she owned the place.
Two men were seated at a blackjack table, one tapping his cards while the other glared solemnly at what he’d been dealt. A few high-roller slot machines dotted the room, and to one side was a series of poker tables. One was full, but the other had three seats open, so Sam wove her way around the tables.
“Is this taken?” she asked, indicating one of the empty seats.
The man beside the chair shrugged and grumbled a “No.” Then he gave her a glance, and his red-rimmed eyes widened slightly, his gaze cruising over her like she was a car he might want to take for a test drive. Ethan was right, the dress might come in handy after all.
“Please have a seat,” he said, amending his original monosyllabic grunt.
The chairs were bolted in place, so it was impossible for him to pull out the seat for her, but he put on quite a display of angling the seat towards himself.
Sam spun it back in her own direction, not wanting to give this guy a free show, and hopped up onto the leather seat. Her thighs stuck to the cool material, making her all too aware of how high up the dress had gone. She adjusted it in front to keep things PG-13 then turned towards the dealer.
The group was still mid-hand, meaning she was forced to wait a round. Ethan had suggested she might want to use any available opportunity to scout her enemies for weaknesses, so Sam kept an eye on each of the three men she’d be playing against. Two of them were stereotypical businessmen—balding, a little paunchy, wearing expensive suits. But the third was how she imagined a card shark to look. He was young and wore a pair of sunglasses, even though the light inside was quite low.
She bit her thumbnail and watched the three of them play. They barely glanced at their cards, just peeking at the corners and leaving them flat on the table, throwing their chips in and waiting for the dealer to draw the river card.
After upping their bets once, the guy next to her folded, and the two remaining players showed their hands. Creepy-sunglasses guy won, though he apparently took no pleasure in it.
“Bets,” the dealer instructed.
A small screen next to the table announced a small blind of two hundred and fifty dollars, meaning she’d need to put in at least five hundred if she planned to play her hand. All the tables on the floor had similar screens, only their small blinds were five or ten dollars.
Sam unclasped her bag and withdrew one five-hundred-dollar chip—a month’s mortgage payment—and placed it in front of her. She’d start as cheaply as she could, at least until she had a feel for it, then she’d bet more vigorously once she got the hang of how these guys played.
Cards were dealt, and Sam snuck a glimpse of hers as she’d seen the men do, then stared at the dealer’s hand. She had a pair of queens. The dealer’s flop was a ten, a seven and queen, giving her a pretty decent three of a kind. It wasn’t out of the question for one of the other men to have the other queen, so she wasn’t counting on a four of a kind. Sam wasn’t sure what the odds of that were, but she was guessing low. The dealer flipped a four, and Sam bit the inside of her cheek. She fought the urge to show signs of nervousness or uncertainty, and threw back her shoulders, giving the whole table a bored look.
One guy folded, the other raised. Sunglasses called.
Sam was going to have to up the ante, literally, if she wanted to stay in the game. She pulled out another chip and threw it on the stack, trying to give the oh hell, it’s just money impression. Meanwhile she was practically shitting herself with anxiety.
She’d thrown in half her money on one hand.
The dealer flipped the river to show a queen of clubs, and Sam let out an internal shriek of joy, struggling to maintain her outward façade of calm. Four of a kind. She’d won. Unless Sunglasses or Baldy Number Two had the most stellar, brilliant, amazing hands in the world—and she couldn’t see anything trumping her four of a kind—she’d won the round.
Sunglasses gave a small smile of defeat, handing over his unturned cards. Baldy flipped his own, a pair of tens. Three of a kind. Not bad, but it wasn’t enough to beat her. Sam turned hers over, displaying her twin queens to match the ladies in the dealer’s hand, and the men all nodded with approval, accepting her victory silently.
Once the money was stacked
and ordered neatly in front of her, Sam was looking at nearly seven thousand dollars in chips.
She’d almost done it in a single hand.
Added to the thousand still in her purse, all she needed to do was win two thousand more and she could walk away. Two thousand couldn’t be all that hard.
Except her next hand was a flop. And the next two after that, putting her deeper into the hole again with each turn. When a pair of eights looked promising she upped her bet, only to lose to a three of a kind from Sunglasses.
With each new round her stack of winnings grew smaller and smaller, and the elation of her beginner’s luck started to peter off. Once again she was left wondering if she wasn’t making a huge mistake, and hoped like hell she wasn’t about to ruin Ethan’s life.
Back down to five thousand dollars, Sam knew she had to be smart. There wasn’t room for stupid plays anymore. Every dollar had to count. She waved away a cocktail waitress who refilled her companions’ whiskeys, and waited for the next hand to be dealt.
Please God, I know it’s not traditional to pray about gambling since I’m pretty sure it’s a sin, but I hardly think this is the first time you’ve heard a request like this. I don’t ask for much, I don’t even talk to you much, but if you could see fit to give me an amazing hand, I’d be truly grateful to you. Amen.
The dealer passed her two cards, and she kept them face down, afraid to check as he turned over his own hand. When she finally did peel up the corner to assess the damage, she damn near choked on her tongue trying to keep her reaction quiet.
With the flop, she had two pair, tens over sixes.
It was no royal flush, but it was a damn fine hand.
She looked from her cards to the men around her, none of whom showed any response whatsoever. But Sunglasses folded first, and he’d been a tough bugger the whole time, so his hand must have been awful. The Baldy Twins hemmed and hawed, then the guy next to her decided to ruin her life.
“I’m in,” he announced, shoving a huge stack of chips to the center of the table.