Hustler

by Meghan Quinn

  I give her a side-eyed look before saying, “I would if I knew where the hell he was. I’ve called him and texted twice already and he hasn’t answered.”

  “Then track Graham’s ass down and find out. There are cameras all over this fucking hotel. Hell, I’ll go with you just to squeeze his balls until he tells you where the fuck Gavin is.”

  At her suggestion of talking to Graham, I shoot up. “That’s perfect!” I cry, running to my room and sliding my feet into a pair of flip-flops before coming back and placing a kiss on Page’s forehead. “Graham will definitely know. You’re a genius.”

  “Well no shit,” she smiles. “You need me to go with you?”

  “No thanks. I think I’ll get more answers without the threat of bodily harm.”

  “Just sayin’,” she shrugs, going back to the bottle of bright pink polish she’s been painting her toenails with. “You need me, you know where to find me.”

  Making sure my room key is tucked in the waistband of my spandex shorts, I bolt from the room toward the elevators, mashing on the button until the one on my right dings as the doors open. I make a judgment call and press the button for the floor the control room is on.

  It isn’t until I make it to the solid steel door that I realize the flaw in my plan. I don’t have access to the control room. And I don’t have Graham’s number, so it’s not like I can call him and tell him to let me in. Running through my options, I decide on the most logical one that won’t have me turning tail and heading back to my suite without any answers.

  “Graham!” I shout as I begin hitting and kicking the door. “I know you’re in there! Open up! I need to talk to you!” Looking up and to the right, I notice a small camera on the ceiling so I know he can see me. I continue my physical and verbal assault on the door until I finally hear a loud buzzing sound.

  “Damn woman!” Graham declares as he swings the door open and grabs me by the arm, pulling me into the familiar hallway that leads into the massive control room. “You know, I have a reputation to uphold at this hotel. I can’t have women screaming and beating the shit out of doors willy-nilly. It’s bad for business.”

  Yanking my arm from his grasp, I spin around and look him straight in the eyes. “Where is he?”

  “Where’s who?” he asks, playing dumb, but I’m not having it. I’ve been dealing with one man’s bullshit for a whole week and no way in hell am I going to put up with Graham’s dishonesty as well. Turning on my heels, I charge into the control room and begin scanning the screens manically, looking for any sight of Gavin.

  “He’s not here,” Graham sighs, running a hand through his surprisingly disheveled blond hair.

  “Not in the hotel?” I question. “Then where the hell is he?”

  Graham’s hesitance is written all over his face, but the look on mine must convey my warring emotions, because he finally relents and tells me, “He picked up a high stakes game at the Mirage.”

  “What?” I snap. “Why? What the fuck is going on, Graham!”

  He holds his hands up in a placating gesture, and from the corner of my eye I see the other men in the room shifting uncomfortably in their seats, as though they’ve never been witness to a woman on the brink of losing her shit at any moment.

  “Look, I’d tell you if I could, I swear. But it’s not my place. It’s Gavin’s call what he tells you and what he doesn’t.”

  “Well that’s funny, seeing as he hasn’t told me shit for the past week!” I yell, throwing my hands in the air. “All I know is I had this great guy for all of two fucking days before some douche-nozzle showed up at dinner one night and fucked everything all to hell! Who’s Harley, Graham, and what the hell is Gavin’s deal about his dad?”

  “I wish I could tell you, Nell, I really do—”

  “You just can’t,” I finish for him, heaving a disheartened sigh. “Does he want to break up with me?” I ask in a small voice, embarrassed of the tears that have broken free and are sliding down my cheeks, but helpless to stop them. “Is that what’s going on? Because if that’s the case, why can’t he just nut the hell up and do it already, huh? I’m a big girl,” I state, my indignation beginning to rise with the more tears that fall. “It’s not like I’m going to make some scene or beg him to stay with me. I do have some pride.”

  “Look, just… calm down.” His eyes dart around the room like he’s embarrassed at my outburst. “Come here,” grabbing my arm once again, he pulls me from the main room and into the B room, a place I’m starting to get really freaking annoyed at being stuck in. Once the door is closed behind us, he reaches into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out a rolled up magazine, slapping it down on the metal table in front of me.

  “The article’s on page twenty-nine.”

  I open it, completely unaware that magazines solely about poker even existed. “What is this?”

  “World Poker is the top magazine for all things gambling related. It’s like Cosmo, but for gamblers and without all the How to Have the World’s Longest Orgasm bullshit. Basically, if you’re anything at all in this world, you’re in there,” he finishes, pointing at the pages in my hand. Taking his word for it, I flip to page twenty-nine, my lip instantly curling at the large picture of the man from dinner in all his hairy chested glory. God this man is seriously ugly.

  “Harley St. James publically challenges Gavin Saint,” I say, reading the article headline out loud. “Are you kidding me? It’s not enough he made a scene in the restaurant, now he’s putting it in print?”

  “Yep, pretty much,” Graham shrugs. “And because of the way he did it, Gavin has no choice but to accept the challenge. If he doesn’t, he’ll look like a fool. That’s not a risk he’s willing to take.”

  “Oh my God,” I throw my head back in sarcastic laughter. “This is a glorified pissing match, Graham,” I declare, throwing the magazine back on the table. “Of course Gavin can ignore it. This Harley guy just wants to prove he’s got a bigger dick, which he obviously doesn’t. If you ask me, Gavin will look like an even bigger fool cowing to this asshole. He’s a grown-ass man. He can make his own choices.”

  “You’re right about that,” he nodded. “He can make his own choices. And he’s already chosen to accept Harley’s challenge. What you’re wrong about is him being wrong in doing so. Like I told you, it’s not my place to talk about Gavin’s past, but let’s just say, ignoring Harley would have proven Gavin’s legacy right, and he’s busted his ass for years to show everyone he’s nothing like his father. This is something he has to do, Nell. You need to stick by him, show him you support him no matter what, and hopefully, when he beats the shit out of Harley again, he’ll get over whatever mind-fuck he’s currently dealing with. Just give him time.”

  I stare up at Graham, completely aghast. “Did you really just tell me to be the good little girlfriend and stand by my man while he basically ignores me and treats me like shit in the hopes he’ll pull his head out of his ass when everything’s said and done?”

  At least he has the decency to flinch as he reaches up and scratches at the back of his neck. “Well, when you put it like that it sounds pretty fucked up.”

  “No shit!” I spit, pushing past Graham and out of that stupid, God forsaken B room. Fuck the B room. Fuck Graham and his shitty-ass advice, and fuck Gavin Saint if he thinks I’m going to tolerate his bullshit for one more second.

  I stomp out of the control room and into the hall, I jab the button for the elevator as I take deep breaths, trying my best to calm my nerves. I’m giving Gavin one more chance to tell me what the hell is going on. If I don’t get the answers I’m looking for, I’m walking, before I become even more invested than I already am.

  ***

  The door to Gavin’s villa doesn’t open until well after midnight, and unfortunately for him, I managed to find his whiskey stash hours ago and make a little dent in one of the bottles. It’d serve him right if it was the most expensive one.

  “Win big?” I ask in a cold tone as he ste
ps around the corner, coming to a halt at the sight of me sitting at his kitchen island, tumbler of whiskey between my palms.

  “How long have you been waiting here?” he asks, coming out of his stupor. Reaching up, he tugs at the tie around his neck, loosening it just enough to undo the top button. Normally, I’d find the movement sexy, but right now, I’m too pissed to think straight. After I left Graham earlier, I’d pulled the article back up on my phone and noticed one very important thing.

  “Ever since Graham told me you accepted Harley’s challenge and plan to play in a televised game to prove you’ve got bigger balls.”

  He heaves a put-out sigh as he yanks the tie the rest of the way off, throwing it carelessly on the floor. “It’s not as simple as that, Penelope. You don’t have the first clue how things work here.”

  “You’re right, I don’t!” I bark, standing from the barstool and stomping in his direction. “And you know what? I don’t give a fuck! I don’t care how things work or whatever your fucking ‘legacy’ is,” I say, using air quotes to get across just how ridiculous I find this whole thing. “All I know is some hairy gorilla talked shit about your dad, and because of it, my boyfriend’s turned into an asshole. And I’m sick of it! You don’t have to play him, you know. You could just walk away, Gavin. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

  “You don’t fucking get it!” he shouts, startling a jump from me. “I can’t back down! That’s exactly what he wants. I’m the best goddamned player there is. Only one man has been better than me, Penelope. And you know who that was?”

  I shake my head at the venom in his voice.

  “It was my fucking father!”

  “So, what?” I ask, raising my arms at my sides, “You’re doing this to prove you’re better than him? Come on, Gavin! Don’t you see how childish that is?”

  “You’re fucking right I’m doing it to prove I’m better! He was a shitty father who only cared about one thing, the fucking game. At least until a woman out of his league started sniffing around, making him think he was more important than he actually was. He might have been the best, but he was still fucking stupid enough to get involved with a woman who was using him for his money. He was stupid enough to get himself in some shit he had no business being in, all because he let some gold digger lead him around by his dick. And he was stupid enough to get himself killed over that same woman who wasn’t worth it! No woman is worth that, and I’m going to prove once and for all that I’m not only a better card player, but I’m a smarter man than my father ever was!”

  I take a step back as a hysterical laugh bubbles from my throat. “Is that what you really think of me? Oh my God,” I gasp as tears begin trailing down my cheeks. “That’s really what you think of me.”

  “What?” Gavin’s brow furrows as if he doesn’t even realize what he just said. “No. No! Christ Penelope, I’m not talking about you. I just…”

  “Then don’t play against him,” I interrupt, lifting my chin defiantly.

  Gavin freezes before me. “What?”

  “Don’t play against him. Prove you aren’t your father by not playing at all. Put me before a stupid fucking poker game.”

  His eyes go wide as he shakes his head frantically. “I can’t do that.”

  My heart cracks at his words, because somehow, I figured that’s what he’d say. “Do you even realize when this game is?”

  “I—it’s Wednesday,” his expression is a mask of confusion, the date not holding a single ounce of significance to him at all.

  My laugh is bitter as it passes my lips. “Wednesday, yeah. Figures you wouldn’t remember anything that didn’t have to do with you,” I poke my finger in his chest. “You agreed to play Harley in a televised game in Hotel Paragon’s high roller suite the exact night as my first performance with La Magie.”

  “Shit,” he hisses, raking his fingers through his hair. “Shit! Penelope, I forgot. I’m sorry—”

  I hold up my hand to stop him. “Save it. I don’t want to hear your fucking apology. What I want to hear is that you’re going to back out of this game.”

  Anguish. Complete and total anguish washes over his handsome features as he gives his head an almost indiscernible shake. “I can’t,” he whispers in a ravaged voice.

  Doing the best I can not to break down completely, I blink back the deluge of tears that want to fall, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin, because when I walk out of here, I’m doing it with my pride intact, goddamn it. “Then, good luck. I hope beating him gives you what you’re looking for.”

  I step past him, only to be stopped by his hand on my arm. “Penelope, just… goddamn it! Just, wait, okay? Please. You have to understand—”

  “Nope, that’s where you’re wrong, Gavin. I don’t have to understand anything. See, I grew up with parents who showed me that when you love someone, really love them, you’d be willing to compromise anything you could to make that person happy. That’s what they did for me my whole life. And that’s what I was willing to do for you.” My bottom lip trembles as I slowly pull my arm from his grasp. “I’d have done anything to make you happy, Gavin,” I whisper in a pained voice. “But what I’m not willing to do is settle for a man who isn’t willing to do the same for me. Play your game, and I mean it when I say I hope you win. I really do. I want you to win. Because the knowledge of that is going to be the only thing you’ll have to keep you warm at night. I hope that can be enough for you. But it’s not enough for me.”

  With that, I fly from his villa like the hounds of hell are nipping at my feet. It isn’t until I’m in the sanctuary of my room with my face buried in a pillow to muffle the sounds, that I let the gut wrenching sobs break free.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  **GAVIN**

  “You look like absolute shit,” Graham says, walking up next to me as I push the button to the elevator to head back up to my villa. It’s been a long fucking day going through press junkets, interviews, and sitting in for another pickup game over at The Bellagio.

  Now that my name is plastered all over the headlines again—thank you Harley St. James, you asshole—every hotel on the Strip and outside of Vegas is offering me a spot at their tables, wanting to get a little piece of the media frenzy swarming me.

  Every hand I’ve played has been a joke. Every man who sits at my table, a sparkle in their eyes as they hope to strike it big against the best in the world, leaves sour, salty, and with a huge hole in their pocket. I’ve earned more money in the few days than I did all last year, and it keeps coming.

  It isn’t about having a good hand when it comes to these games. It’s about being smart. There are times I fold because I’m not dumb enough to raise someone who has a good hand. I take my time, I read my competition and then I annihilate them when the time is right, just like the repeat performance I’ll make when I play Harley.

  “Thanks, asshole,” I respond, waiting for the elevator to open. “Is there something I can help you with?” We both step in and I press the button to my floor, one hand in my pocket and exhaustion written all over my face.

  I haven’t played this much poker since I was young and just starting out, wanting to get my hand in any game I could. Back then, I would even sink to the level of touristy gambling tables, just to feel the cards in my hand, to feel the thrill of winning yet another deal.

  Now, there is no thrill. Every time I’m awarded with the pot, I don’t feel the electric buzz coursing through my veins, I don’t feel the pure elation of once again taking down another opponent, and I sure as shit don’t feel like celebrating with a random fuck up in my villa.

  “I haven’t seen you in a while, thought we could catch up,” Graham says tentatively.

  “Not in the mood,” I shoot back, walking out of the elevator to my villa where I use my key card to get in. Without an invitation, Graham follows behind me and sits in one of the barstools at my kitchen island.

  Ignoring him, I go to my bar and pour myself a glass of whiskey, two fingers.
Staring out the window at the neon lights that brighten the Strip on a daily basis, I ask, “What are you really doing here, Graham?”

  Sighing, he says, “Scott and I are concerned about you.”

  “Why?” I turn to him, an indignant look on my face. “There’s no need to be concerned.”

  “You’ve been closed off recently. We haven’t heard from you in a while and the only time I really see your fucked up face is when it’s on TV.”

  Stepping up to Graham, I pat his face, sarcasm dripping from my lips. “Aw, does my little lady friend need some attention?”

  “Don’t be an ass,” Graham says, pushing my hand away. “Have you even talked to her at all?”

  “Talked to who?” I ask, knowing damn well who he’s talking about but I want to stall because every time I think about Penelope, I can only picture her beautiful face, crushed and bruised from the words I spat at her. The hardest part is knowing she’s still living in the hotel, so close to me, yet completely unreachable.

  “Nell,” Graham answers without skipping a beat. “Don’t act like you don’t know who I’m talking about. Have you spoken to her?”

  “Why would I need to talk to her? She made it quite clear that we’re done, not that there was really anything between us. She was a good fuck for a while, but those things only last so long before you get bored.”

  Every word uttered out of my cold, fucked up mouth is a lie, a lie dripping with so much self-hatred that I can barely listen to what I’m saying. It’s easier to get angry, to let that anger ferment, and then use it against anyone who tries to “fix” your problem. There is no fixing of anything where I’m concerned.

  This is my life.

  I’m a hustler.

  I was born a hustler, raised a hustler, and I will be damned if anyone takes that away from me. Even a little brunette with hazel eyes and a heart of fucking gold can’t shake who I am.

  Coming up from behind me, Graham pushes my back, sending me forward into the crest of my couch. “What the fuck,” I seethe, looking down at my hands where some of my whiskey has spilled.