Out of Aces (Betting Blind #2)

by Stephanie Guerra

  I didn’t move.

  “No, please don’t refuse. Let someone who’s been in your position offer you a little support.” He pushed the money into my hand, and I felt my fingers automatically close over it.

  He nodded. “Good. I do want one small thing in exchange. You’re a nice-looking young man. You live in Las Vegas, where there are plenty of beautiful women.” He smiled. “I want you to leave my daughter alone.”

  I couldn’t control my body; I was shaking as if I was touching a high-voltage wire. I stood up quickly and pushed the money back at him. “N-no!” I stammered.

  He leaned away, holding up his hands. “You took it, son. You can’t return it now.”

  Son. The most insulting thing he could call me. I was boiling with sweat, my breath coming in jerks. I walked fast to the fireplace, yanked back the metal grate, and stuffed the money inside.

  Mr. Petrova jumped up like he was electrified. The cash went up in a shower of sparks, bills twisting and floating in the flames. “You’re insane!” he cried.

  I ran out of the office, through the foyer. I heard the voices in the living room go quiet as I tore open the front door and pounded down the steps. Tears were pricking my eyes, and I slashed them away with my sleeve. I should have known better than to think he’d give me a chance.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I don’t know if it was rage or the root, but I was panting as I walked into McCaw Hall. I’d been sweating like an animal on the drive over, replaying Mr. Petrova’s I want you to leave my daughter alone like a soundtrack in my head.

  He would never say something like that to Micah.

  The lobby was packed with glittering women and sleek men in tuxes. I looked down at my hoodie, and my stomach twisted. Would they even let me in? There was a line at the ticket window, not very long. I went over and got in line, hugging myself. Stop shaking.

  Wheeeeeeeeew!

  I jumped, and an old guy standing nearby laughed. “It’s just a horn. See?” He held up a shiny New Year’s blower.

  Another old guy with him—they were all old—peered at me. “Are you all right? You look pale.”

  I nodded, but I was starting to see halos around people’s faces. Move, line. It started to move, and for one insane moment I thought I made it happen just by thinking it. Finally it was my turn. “One, please,” I said to the lady in the window. It came out in a thin whisper. I cleared my throat and tried again. “One, please.”

  She glanced up. “Would you like to choose your seat, or shall I pick the best available? Everything left is a hundred and fifty.”

  “You pick,” I muttered. My eyes were feeling a little loose, like they might roll back in my head. I blinked.

  “A hundred and fifty, please,” the woman said, giving me a strange look.

  A hundred fifty bucks to crash a party. I slid her some bills and she printed the ticket and pushed it through the glass in a tiny gold envelope. Happy New Year from Seattle Opera.

  I made my way into the hall. It was roaring with voices, an electric, squirming mass of gold and silver and black. I looked at the ocean of people and felt dizzy. I had to figure out where Irina’s box was, because if I didn’t sit down soon, my legs were going to give out.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but your ticket is for the orchestra level,” the usher said. She had short gray hair, sharp gray eyes, and gray metal glasses. Robot woman. Her red bow-tie was square and tight. I couldn’t take my eyes off it; it looked like it was choking her.

  “Please,” I said, pulling on everything I had to stand straight and get the words out clearly. “My friends are in a box. You must have seen them.”

  She frowned. “I don’t recall there being an extra seat in the box. There’s a capacity limit, you know.”

  “Please.”

  She sighed. “I’ll escort you to their box. But if there’s no room, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.” She climbed the winding, shiny black stairs, and I followed her. The boxes looked like alien pods. I had a vision of thin, slimy aliens with huge black eyes, clapping . . .

  Suddenly, Irina’s familiar laugh rang out from a few feet away. I froze on the stairs.

  “Sir?” said the usher. “Right this way.” She gestured to a door. I took a breath and stepped inside.

  I had never crashed a small private party before, so I didn’t know exactly how terrible it feels to be messed up on unknown drugs and have seven people with champagne flutes staring at you as if you’re a zombie.

  “Gabe?” breathed Irina. She looked like an angel. A long, glowing, sparkly white dress draped off her shoulders. Her blond hair was coiled on top of her head, and the diamonds in her ears sent off beams of light too big to be real.

  Sitting next to her was her perfect match: Micah. He wore a black tux, and his bow-tie was paisley.

  The usher said, “This gentleman says he’s with your party?”

  “Y-yes,” stuttered Irina, obviously in shock.

  The usher’s eyes flitted to the one empty seat, and she finally went away. It was completely silent. Everyone looked from me to Irina and back again. I leaned on the wall, my legs loose. I couldn’t stop staring at Micah. He was huge. Almost not human.

  “Um, can you hold this?” Irina handed Micah her champagne glass, stood, and squeezed past her friends’ knees. She grabbed my hand and pulled me out the door. In the hall, she turned to face me. “What are you doing here?”

  “I—I’ll—Irina.” I pulled her into a hug and she took one quick breath and hugged me back. For a moment she went soft in my arms and rested her blond head on my chest. She smelled so beautiful, so familiar. For the first time in hours, I felt sober. I bent to kiss her, but she pulled away, looking up, her eyes gold in the light. “Seriously. Is this what I think it is?”

  “I . . .” The high roared back. My tongue was numb in my mouth. “I just wanted to surprise you.” I tried to smile.

  Irina shook her head slowly. “Gabe.” She sounded so sad. “This isn’t a ‘surprise.’ I have tickets to see you next week. This is about Micah, right? You couldn’t handle that we were going out on New Year’s Eve, so you came here to mark your territory?”

  I stared at the wall behind her. It was pulsing. My scalp tingled.

  “Gabe?”

  “Yes,” I admitted insanely. “You’re right.”

  Irina stepped back. “Do you know how that makes me feel?”

  The lights dimmed and a voice boomed, cracking my ears. “Please take your seats and turn off all cell phones and electronic devices . . .”

  “I need to sit down,” I mumbled. “I don’t feel so good. I’ve been driving eighteen hours.”

  “Fine,” Irina said coldly. “Since you came all this way to meet Micah, you can sit next to him. Come on.” She marched back into the box.

  I followed her. In some dinosaur part of my brain I knew I had made things a lot worse, but right now all I needed was to sit. I was seriously ill. So dizzy.

  “This is my friend, Gabe,” Irina said to her friends.

  Friend. Not boyfriend.

  “Gabe, this is Micah, Liz, Lance, Molly, Tim, Giselle, and Oliver.”

  Irina’s crew whispered a few “Nice to meet yous,” but it was dark and the curtains were opening and someone was singing a note that sounded like a fire alarm. My mouth prickled. Water. Please let there be water.

  Irina took the empty seat in the second row and pointed at the only spot left, next to Micah. I squeezed past some knees and dropped into Irina’s old chair. Micah looked at me in surprise.

  Hatred seethed up in me. He had a big chin.

  “Glad you could join us, man,” he whispered. He looked over his shoulder at Irina. “You want to switch seats with me so you guys can sit together?”

  “It’s okay, I like the back row,” Irina said. My stomach rolled. “Besides, I think Gabe wan
ts to get to know you better.”

  Micah gave me an uncertain look. “Oh, okay. Cool.”

  Then the singing started for real. It sounded like animals screaming. Was it my high? Or was this really opera? I wanted to slap my hands over my ears and howl along with them. The stage lights were like heat lamps. I could feel drops rolling down my sides. I looked behind me at Irina. “Water?” I croaked.

  She stared at me for a long moment. Then she shoved her champagne glass at me.

  I took a sip—and it wasn’t water, but it was wet, and it felt like heaven on my dry throat, and I . . . I just kept going. I poured it back.

  Micah stared at me as I bottoms-upped, and then looked away quickly when I lowered the glass. I kept my eyes on the stage, where two fat, velvet-covered people were shrieking in another language. My stomach churned. I wiped my sleeve across my forehead and it came back damp.

  I licked my lips, searching for a last drop of wetness. I almost licked the inside of the glass. I checked out Micah again from the corner of my eye. There was no way Irina wasn’t attracted to him. He filled the air with testosterone every time he breathed out.

  My stomach spun again. I wasn’t going to make it. I lurched to my feet.

  “Gabe, wait,” said Irina. “It’s not intermission yet!” There were halos around her face, bluish green.

  “I . . . I ju-ust . . .” I slurred. All their faces turned to me, shiny white and pulsing under the lights. They were aliens. My stomach was boiling. I leaned over the edge of the box and looked into the sea of writhing, sparkling people.

  “Gabe, what are you doing?” Irina sounded desperate.

  “He’s drunk,” said Micah.

  I turned around. His face was splitting into two handsome bastards with whitish hair. “F-f-fuck you,” I said.

  “It’s okay, I’ll handle this.” Micah stood up. Tall. Taller than me. “Listen, man, you had a little too much to drink. Let’s get you outside for some air,” he said in a friendly voice.

  I couldn’t answer. I was trying not to puke.

  He put his hand on my arm, and I pushed him off.

  “Stop it!” gasped Irina. “Gabe, please!”

  My stomach flipped and I retched. A bitter taste raced into my mouth. I tried to hold it back but—

  “Oh!” Micah’s arms flew up as puke splashed his tux.

  “Oh, no!” said Irina in a horrified voice. The others were squeaking in disgust. My face was hot as an iron, my whole body pounding. I felt another wave of puke on its way. I stumbled toward the door.

  Micah was right behind me. “Bathroom’s up the stairs,” he said.

  I threw up again on the stairs. And again on the floor in the bathroom. Then I got to a toilet, and for a while it was just me and my porcelain friend. I heard the water running, and then the hand dryer.

  When I was finally spitting clear, I crumpled to the floor next to the toilet. I couldn’t have moved if somebody kicked me. The tile was so cold, it was the only thing keeping me alive.

  “Are you okay?” Micah asked.

  I grunted.

  “Dude, are you lying down?” Micah opened the stall door and crouched, frowning. “Do you have to throw up anymore?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Okay, that’s good. What if we try to get you out to the parking lot and I’ll give you a ride home?”

  I opened my eyes and looked at his healthy, handsome face. The guy was nice. A cosmic joke.

  There was a knock, and a light creak of hinges. “Is he okay?” It was Irina.

  “He’s pretty sick.” Micah backed out of the stall.

  “Is anybody else in here?”

  “No.”

  Footsteps. I peeled open an eye and looked at her face peeking in the stall. “Oh, Gabe,” she whispered. Then she disappeared.

  I heard them talking in low voices as I stared at the base of the toilet. It was sparkling white, the cleanest toilet I’d ever seen.

  Irina looked into the stall again. “I’m taking you home. Can you walk?”

  I tested my body and managed to slither backward. But I couldn’t quite stand. “Too dizzy,” I mumbled.

  Micah crouched and slid his neck under my arm. “Okay, just lean on me. We’ll get you to bed soon.” He stood up, supporting my dead weight, and we hobbled out of there. The smell of his aftershave sent my stomach rippling, but I had nothing left to puke. This is my worst nightmare, I thought as we lurched past the ushers.

  “Give me your keys and I’ll take him home,” Irina said.

  “No, I don’t want you driving on New Year’s. I’ll take you guys,” said Micah.

  I managed to grimace at him.

  “I want to talk to Gabe alone,” Irina said firmly. “I only had two sips of champagne. I’ll be back by intermission.”

  “Irina, come on. Let me take you guys.”

  “No.”

  I smiled to myself. At least she didn’t listen to him, either.

  Micah pushed open the glass door, and we stumbled into the night. The winter air bit into me. It felt good, so cold. As we made our way slowly down the sidewalk, a laugh bubbled up from my chest and spilled out my mouth.

  “Stop it,” said Irina. But I couldn’t. This was too screwed up. Micah looked away tactfully. What a prince. The “Walk” sign flicked on, and they dragged me across the street and into a lot. Micah clicked his keys and the headlights flashed—of course, on a sports car so sweet I didn’t even know the make.

  I managed to stop laughing and collapsed into the passenger seat. Micah closed the door on me and stood talking with Irina in the parking lot. I had the twisted thought of looking for something—anything—that would mess up his Prince Charming cover. I tugged open the glove box. A stack of papers. A pack of gum. Of course.

  Irina got in the driver’s seat and slammed the door. She peeled out, raced up Mercer, flew up the ramp, and merged into freeway traffic like a psychopath. I had the sick wish that she’d crash Micah’s car.

  She let a puff of air from her lips. “Thank you for marking your territory. You made a great point tonight.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “By the way, when did you stop showering?”

  “Huh?”

  “Yes, you stink.” Irina sounded like she was about to cry. She weaved around a car that was going the speed limit. “And you’re drunk.”

  “Not drunk,” I said, leaning my cheek on the cold window.

  She glanced at me, her eyes shining with anger. “Then what? High?”

  “Sort of. But not my fault.” I could barely get the words out. I was slipping away.

  “I’m taking you to your mother’s house,” she snapped.

  Another laugh bubbled up. I’d see Phil. A perfect end to a perfect day. I closed my eyes.

  “Gabe, are you okay?” Worry had crept into Irina’s voice.

  “Mmm.”

  “You didn’t take anything dangerous, did you? Should we go to the hospital?”

  “I ate a root,” I mumbled. “Don’t buy roots from the gas station.”

  “You’re not making sense! I’m taking you to Urgent Care!”

  “No!” I managed to open my eyes. “Take me to my mom’s.”

  Irina glanced at me, slowed down . . . and then went ahead and passed the last downtown exit. She was taking me home to my mother. My eyelids felt like clay. I let them slide down again. The root was still keeping my brain awake, but my body was giving up.

  “Gabe, don’t go to sleep. I’m worried.” Irina shook my leg, and I looked over. Her cheek was glittering with silvery lines. Tears? I reached for her hand, but she pushed it back. “Why didn’t you trust me? I was coming to see you in a week. Why did you have to ruin everything?”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  C
an you walk?” Irina cut the motor and clicked open the locks. “Gabe!” She shook my shoulder hard, and my eyes snapped open. “We’re here. Can you walk?”

  I opened the car door and swung out my legs. I took a few deep breaths and tried to gauge the distance to the fence. I needed to hold on to something if I was going to make it up the sidewalk.

  Irina came around to my side. “I’ll help you.” She slid an arm around my back. It was too much, having her so close. I pulled her tight and buried my face in her hair. She took one quick breath and hugged me back. But she let go almost immediately. “Come on,” she whispered.

  We stumbled up the walk together, and I leaned on the fence while Irina rang the bell. The cold air was helping. The town house looked smaller than I remembered, an ugly gray rectangle attached to two more just like it. The little bushes in the garden were thin and bare.

  After a minute, the door opened and Mom peered out. “Gabe?” She was out the door in a second. “Honey!” She didn’t care that I stank of puke. She squeezed me breathless. “Oh, Gabe!”

  “He’s sick,” Irina said quietly. “He should probably go to bed.”

  “Gabe, this is such a surprise!” Mom held me by the shoulders, staring joyfully.

  “Well, I have to get back,” Irina said to nobody in particular, and headed for the car.

  I twisted to look over my shoulder. Irina was opening the car door. “I’ll call you!” I said.

  She didn’t answer.

  “Are you okay, honey? What’s the matter? Are you drunk?” Mom was squeezing my shoulders so hard, she was throwing my balance. I reached for the door frame.

  “No,” I said. “Sick.”

  “Oh, you poor thing. You threw up. Look at you. Okay, let’s get you upstairs.” Mom did just what Irina had done, slid an arm around my back and tried to support me. She was strong for being five foot four and about a hundred pounds. We made it up the stairs with the help of the railing, the sequins on Mom’s dress scraping my arm with every bumping step.

  “Where’s Phil?” I asked as we eased onto the landing.

  “He got held up at a work event. He’ll be home soon.”