by Meghan Quinn
“You know, Gavin, we’ve known each other for a long time now. I’ve seen you go through a lot. From winning big in Monte Carlo to visiting your father’s grave with you. I’ve watched countless women slip in and out of your villa with no intention of returning that night. I’ve seen you depressed and going through the motions of life instead of actually living it. But I’ve never seen you genuinely happy, like sappy fucking happy to the point that your smile stretches from ear to ear. That is, until Nell came along.”
“We’re not talking about this,” I warn, my heart pounding against my chest with every mention of Penelope’s name.
Never in my wildest dreams would I expect Graham to approach me about Penelope. He’s a self-centered asshole who spends more time looking at himself in the mirror than the people around him. So for him to stop being vain for two seconds and see how I’m doing is more than a little shocking, and seriously unwanted.
“Why is this so important to you?” Graham asks.
“Me?” I point to myself, rounding the kitchen to wipe my hands. “Why is this so fucking important to you, Graham? When have you ever cared about a woman I’ve slept with?”
“I haven’t and Nell isn’t just some woman you slept with, Gavin. She’s more than that. So my question to you is why are you letting her go over some goddamned poker game? You already know you’re the best, what’s the point?”
Wiping my hands, I stare Graham directly in the eyes, my hands twisting the towel painfully tight. “The point is simple, Graham. I’m not interested in anything long term.”
“Bullshit. That’s such fucking bullshit and you know it. Is it because you’re scared?”
“Why the ever loving fuck would I be scared of a woman? I would think you knew me better than that.”
“You’re not scared of Nell, dipshit, you’re scared of people believing you’re your father.”
Well if that’s not the God’s honest truth, then I don’t know what is. I’ve spent my entire adult life doing everything possible to not end up like my dad, losing his game and his life over a woman who forgot about him the second his body grew cold, why would I start now?
“I’m not scared of being like my father, I just don’t want people to see any correlation between us.”
“And why the hell not? From what I can remember, your father was a passionate man, a good man, he might not have shown it in the best way, but he was someone who loved you dearly…”
“He didn’t fucking love me!” I shoot back, cutting Graham off. “If he loved me, then he wouldn’t have spent every waking hour at the table chasing after something he already had.”
Stepping back, Graham taps the counter in front of him and then sticks his hands in his pockets. “If that’s the case, then you are your father, Gavin.” Shaking his head, he saunters over to my front door. “You’ve won it all, you’ve proven yourself. There is nothing left on your docket of success.” Taking a deep breath, he says, “Don’t be like your dad and keep chasing after a dream you’ve already accomplished. It’s time for you to live your life outside of cards and poker chips. I just hope Nell will be there for you when you finally pull your head out of your ass. That is, if you actually do.”
Not saying another word or waiting for a response from me, Graham leaves, the click of the door lock echoes through my very empty, very cold apartment.
“Fuck,” I mutter, gripping my forehead with my hand, feeling an intense headache starting to form at the base of my skull.
As I head back to my bedroom and start stripping out of my clothes, I think about Graham’s final statement. Am I so fucking fixated on not falling for a woman like my dad did that I’ve been blinded to the fact that I’m chasing after something that will never truly make me happy? Suddenly questioning everything you’ve based your life around is a fucking disconcerting feeling, and I feel the tension begin to build in my body as my stomach sinks at the questions swirling around in my head.
Making quick work of getting ready for bed, not even bothering with dinner, I slip between the cool sheets and stare up at the ceiling, my hands behind my head, images of Penelope running through my mind.
When I first saw her, I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to fuck her more than any woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. So I did what I do best, I hustled. I chased her, captured her, and branded her.
But that wasn’t enough.
For some foreign reason, I needed more. I needed to make her mine, to make sure she screamed my name every single night, to see her bright smile when I woke up in the morning, and to feel her petite, lithe body pressed against mine just to get a good night’s sleep.
And you know what? Fuck if I didn’t enjoy every aspect of having her around.
But it was bound to end. I knew that going into it. Being labeled as following in my father’s footsteps is a daunting fear of mine and I refuse to paint that on my shoulder like a scarlet letter.
But why does it feel so fucking wrong? Why do I feel like I’m spiraling out of control? Why does it feel like I can’t catch my breath? I pinch my eyes closed as images of Penelope flip through my mind, pictures of her hair floating over my bare chest, her sweet smile and sassy attitude cloud my brain just as a sharp pain shoots to my very fucking core.
This bed is so cold, so empty, so lifeless without her. Everything in this room seems so dark, bleak, and worthless without her.
“Fuck!” I shout, slamming my fists on the mattress.
Breaking, I grab my phone and pull up my text messages. The last one I sent to Penelope was over two weeks ago.
Two fucking weeks ago!
Shit.
Because I’m a masochist and need some sort of fix, I type out a message to her.
Gavin: I miss you.
It’s not a lie; it’s the God’s honest truth. I fucking miss her. I miss everything about her from her broken heel on her worn out shoes, to her spitfire attitude, to the way she moans my name at the point of climax.
Before my mind can wander anymore, my phone dings with a response, pulling me back to reality.
Penelope: Save it, Gavin. Are you still going to play in your game tomorrow?
I don’t even hesitate.
Gavin: Yes.
Penelope: Then there is no reason for us to talk. Have a good life.
Because I can’t fucking help the asshole that comes out of me, I text her back out of pure spite, refusing to let my wounds show.
Gavin: You too, Miss Prescott.
***
This is too easy.
Harley sits across from me, flipping his chip in his hand, stuttering with his flip every time he has a good hand, as if his fingers are shocked he’s been able to grab ahold of decent cards. There are cameras all around the room and under the table, showing the viewing audience what we’ve been dealt.
Easily after the first few hands I’ve been able to knock out Ramos – fucking moron – Samuelson, and Baker. Now it’s myself, Harley, and a new guy by the name of Tucker Reed, who actually shows a lot of promise but is way too fidgety. At least he’s been smart enough not to go in for a big bluff just yet, it’s the only reason why he’s still around.
Before I came into the suite today, dressed in one of my impeccable suits and sporting a fake smile, I had a conversation with Scott about my intentions going into this game. The jackass must have spoken with Graham because I received the same pep-talk Graham gave me the night before. Him telling me I didn’t need to do this, I had nothing to prove, and by no means would I ever reflect the man who raised me. Blah, blah, fucking blah.
He then proceeded to tell me that he wouldn’t be staying to watch, and neither was Graham, they were all headed over to the theater to watch Penelope perform her first show. I was fucking cast aside by my own friends. The traitors.
I can still hear the entire conversation on replay in my head.
“Gavin, what is the point of doing this? You have nothing to prove.”
“I’m not going over this again,” I seethe to S
cott. “Fucking drop it.”
“I love you man, but you’re being an idiot. You’re just too stubborn to see it.”
“You don’t get it.”
“Oh no, I do,” Scott cuts me off. “I get it, man. You grew up in this atmosphere, you watched it destroy your dad and you’ve made it your mission to make sure it doesn’t happen to you as well. Message well received, but what you don’t realize is that you’re following in your father’s footsteps more than you ever have. You’re casting aside everything that’s ever meant anything to you and attempting to beat a loser like Harley who means absolutely nothing in your life. Be the bigger man, be the better man.”
I have no response because I know, deep down inside that Scott is right.
“Here,” he hands me a ticket. “If you change your mind, there’s a seat waiting for you. Hopefully I’ll see you there.”
Scott left with a disappointed and sorrowful look on his face. Everything about it made me sick to my stomach and that nagging feeling that kept telling me over and over again that I was making the wrong choice grew stronger, to the point now that I can’t even take a sip of my whiskey I feel so nauseous.
“Mr. Saint, are you in?” the dealer asks. Davies opted out of this game, just like everyone else, so she can see Penelope perform, so there’s a strange man talking to me now, asking whether I want to participate.
Shit.
“Yeah,” I respond, flipping my chip to the center like every other ante I’ve ever made.
As the cards are meticulously dealt, I look around the table, the spark in Tucker and Harley’s eyes is the same spark I once had. I used to feel a rush with every hand shuffled, with every card flipped, now, all I can feel is a burning hole in my jacket pocket from where the ticket rests, singeing me to the point that my entire body starts to heat up.
Trying to ignore the feeling of self-hatred and regret coursing through me, I take a look at my cards with a slight lift at the corners. Double aces, fuck that’s a good hand.
Glancing around the table, Tucker seems calm, not excited or fidgety, just calm. Harley is flipping his chip casually glancing down at his cards and waiting in anticipation for the community cards to be laid out.
Normally, after seeing two aces in my hand, I would be elated, having a party inside, ready to take down the table, but right now, I feel nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. I’m empty, there is no excitement, no thrill, just… nothing.
Keeping a blank face, I watch as the flop card is dealt. Six of hearts. No use to me. As if I’m watching from above, in an outer body experience, the game plays out, bets are placed and the turn and the river cards are dealt. Leaving me with three of a kind, aces high. A fucking good hand, a winning hand, especially since the rest of the cards are crap.
Eyes fixated on the cards, Harley flips his chip in the opposite direction and then raises the bet, turning in a hundred thousand. I resist from shaking my head at his outlandish way of bluffing. It’s clear from this tell that he has nothing for cards but is trying to use leverage from the ace facing toward the sky on the table.
I can take him down, right here, call him out on his bluff, so I do just that. I raise him another two hundred thousand just for the hell of it. Tucker is out, smart move, but Harley? He raises me again while his fingers fidget with his poker chip, stumbling occasionally.
I pause and reflect on my next move. Do I raise? If I do, he’ll no doubt match and raise again, trying to scare me away. If I call, I can end it here and take the winnings, add more cash to the pile and continue to move forward with destroying Harley until he’s out.
But where does that leave me? With a fuller bank account and the knowledge of being the best player in the world, a fact I’m already aware of. Do I prove that I didn’t let a woman affect me, that I, for once and for all, am better than my dad?
Graham and Scott’s words ring through my head. I’m no better than my dad at this very moment. There is nothing fun about this, there is nothing exciting. I’m just an empty man inside, reaching for something he already has.
But there is something I don’t have, something that’s replaced the thrill of a hand of cards, something that’s awakened me, something that makes me so fucking alive, and I’m the world’s biggest ass for not realizing it sooner.
Penelope is everything I should be chasing after, everything I should be focusing on, but instead, what am I doing? I’m sitting around a table with a bunch of men who I used to share a like mind with, accomplishing absolutely nothing.
Jesus.
For the first time ever, I show a tell, giving myself away. What Harley must think is a show of uncertainty over his raise, it’s actually realization that I am a goddamn moron and could have possibly thrown away my future over a stupid game.
I grip my forehead and try to calm the pounding of my heart that’s waging a war inside my chest. This is all wrong, I don’t belong here… not anymore. Looking up at Harley, I call.
Shock floats over his eyes as I nod at his cards to flip them over. He sets his chip down that’s he’s been manhandling for the entire length of the game and uses one of the cards to flip the other over, revealing a pair of sixes. What an idiot.
The audience already knows I’ve won, they can see the cards we have because the special cameras in the table. But this isn’t about winning, this is about moving on from this game and showing everyone once and for all, I don’t need this. This isn’t me anymore. My reign of the poker world comes to an end tonight. Nodding, I toss my cards face down—I don’t need him to see my hand was actually better—in the center is false defeat.
Tipping my whiskey back, I say, “You got me.” Then I lift from my seat and flip a chip at the dealer. “I’m out gentlemen. I have another engagement to attend.”
“Where the fuck are you going? We’re not done.” Harley spits, clearly not happy that I’m leaving.
Turning to him and buttoning my suit jacket I say, “You just won, why don’t you celebrate before the little vein in your head pops?”
“You still have over a million left to play.”
“Yes, I realize that. But unlike you, poker’s no longer my life. I have nothing to prove here.”
Leaving, I know security will take care of my money and I take off to the entrance to hail a cab. I might not have something to prove at the poker table, but I sure as hell have a lot to prove when it comes to Penelope.
***
The heavy beat of death defying music pounds through the theater just as Penelope finalizes the wrapping of her ribbon. Lights flash all around her and the two other women who are all hanging in the air, upside down in nude, skin tight leotards. In tandem, just as the music crests, they let their grip on the ribbons loosen and they spiral down to the floor, stopping a few feet from the bottom just as the lights go off and the crowd erupts in cheers.
Chills spread over my skin because of how magnificent she was. I made it to the theater just in time to catch her act and I couldn’t be happier with my decision to leave the game, I would have hated myself forever if I missed this. This is more of a thrill I’ve ever gotten with a game of cards.
Thanks to being the best poker player in the world, the producer of the show allowed me to stand in the wings to watch Penelope. Yes, Scott got me a good seat, but it wasn’t good enough, I want to be the first person to congratulate Penelope on her first ever performance. Plus, I had a pretty good angle to record the whole thing for her parents.
The crowd continues to cheer while the lights are dimmed and I wait in anticipation for my little brunette to approach me.
Unlike all the other acts during the show, the ribbon performers are the most natural in their costumes with their flesh-like leotards, wavy undone hair, and barely there make up. From what I could see, they had a few diamonds encrusted on their suits and framed around their eyes, but that’s about it. She looked beautiful up there, magical, and fuck if I didn’t get hard watching her. Her fluid movements, the way she gripped the material with
her thighs. What I wouldn’t give right about now to have those strong legs wrapped around my waist as I pound into her relentlessly, her eyes scorching up at me with lust…w ith love.
“That was amazing ladies,” someone calls to the side as Penelope and the two other girls approach, laughing and congratulating each other.
The smile on her face is priceless and right at this moment, I realize, poker is my past and Penelope is my future. I would do anything for this woman, and I mean anything. Even if it’s throwing a game to my biggest competitor, anything to see those beautiful eyes looking up at me.
She’s full of glee as she walks toward me but the minute her eyes connect with mine, her face falls and the once jovial expression she shared with her friends is nowhere to be found.
“Gavin,” she says, looking around and stepping to the side. “What are you doing here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I ask, placing my hands on her hips only to be pushed away. Clearly this is going to be harder than I expected.
Wanting some privacy, I pull her into an alcove off to the side and trap her against a wall, the only exit being behind me. If she wants to flee, she’s going to have to get through me first.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Without skipping a beat, I press my lips against hers and get lost in the feel of her mouth moving against mine. Fuck she feels so good. Every last bit of tension in my body flees as I grip her face with my hands and melt into her, getting lost in the best way possible. Pure euphoria encases me as her tongue reaches out to mine, searching for more. It’s an indication that she hasn’t given up on me yet. It’s all I need. It’s everything.
Reluctantly, I stop the kiss and rest my forehead against hers, trying to look into her eyes. I’m about to tell her how sorry I am when her hands meet my chest and pushes me away, sending me backwards a few steps, shocking the hell out of me.
“You can’t just kiss me like that, Gavin!”