“Nah.” Yet again I folded, watching her frustration mount. GG craved more action than collecting my blinds.
Soon, baby, soon.
Hand after excruciating hand, I wallowed in fantasies and measured my dwindling stack while watching the even rise and fall of her breasts, no matter her cards.
“Mr. Alexander?”
I wanted to demand the name of the bastard who gave her the thin, fine gold chain she played with around her wrist yet was stupid enough not to give her a matching gold band.
“Call.”
Shit. I didn’t mean to start playing for real, but the chain had me distracted.
“Miss?”
“Raise.”
“Call.”
“Raise.”
“Call.”
I didn’t need the dealer to announce my winning hand. A pair of tens beat her high card. GG had no right to play that hand, but she’d learnt lesson three.
Lesson three: leave them wondering when you’re gonna sit and when you’re gonna play.
Damn the woman loved to tease.
An hour after GG had ordered the toasted cheese sandwiches and we might as well have been playing Monopoly instead of cards.
My stack dwindled with blinds and folding.
My stack grew each time I won the hand. If I played the hand, I won.
GG grew bolder. Her moves predictable.
And she was about to—
“All in.”
Yep, just as I predicted. Her red gloss needed repairing where she licked her lips before calling it. Sometimes after the flop, occasionally after the turn card but usually after the fifth and river card. Tempting me.
Her lips and cards sending out the challenge; meet her on the table in a naked test of wills.
Soon, baby, soon.
“Play a bloody hand,” Jason urged me from the back of the room.
Time to go back into my game meditation style trance. I could feel my heartbeat slow and even, no clicking of my jaw or nervous twitches. Jason could scream blue murder and I wouldn’t acknowledge. Dear, impatient Jas should have drunk less and watched more. Easy to ignore as all my old tips and tricks were coming back.
No more looking at my watch. For once, time could bloody well stand still. I refused to let impatience beat me and as delightful as it had been to fantasize about Miss GG, I needed to be at work in four hours.
Time to set a trap of my own.
With a practiced smile, I started lesson four. Waiting a steady forty seconds to call or fold. Regardless of my cards.
The glasses removed GG’s ability to read my eyes. My meditating trance had removed her ability to read my body. Now, I’d removed her ability to read or predict how I intended to take her—or at least take her down.
The woman had me turned on like nothing else.
Sleep be damned. I wanted to finish the game, grab her by that glossy ponytail, pull her lips to mine and bite them. Draw her blood and drain her oxygen. I wanted to grab her by that tiny waist until she begged for it fast and furiously.
All the emotions I’d drowned out in caseloads of Scotch were now unleashed in one direction. Aimed at a woman with no reason to be at this table, my table.
Except, karma was my bitch and my bitch wanted me back. To be the man I used to be. Taking the world, and women, by storm. Making money by blinking.
Fuck, I needed to get a grip on my game and get over the hard-on that was gonna make walking out of here a bloody nightmare. Luckily, GG would never be able to read my poker face.
“Thanks.” I automatically thanked Larissa for another plate of toasted sandwiches. For some strange reason, Jarryd replaced the tapas and sliders with nachos, potato wedges and toasted sandwiches after midnight. Players didn’t stay for the food and the starchy carbs were good for soaking up remnants of alcohol.
“Please excuse me, gentlemen.” GG had waited for me to take a bite before leaving the table, again. Fourteen pairs of male eyes followed her from the room. A collective sigh before embarrassed glances abound.
“Think you can take her?” Jas asked.
“She plays as good as she looks.” Cleese agreed.
“Jarryd, don’t know where you found her, but if there’s any more, I’m gonna be bankrupt within six months. She can clean me out, take my balls and I won’t regret a thing.” I expected Todd to have the eloquence commensurate with his journalist awards, or at least offer his wife the opportunity to cut off his balls.
Still, we were in silent agreement. As a card playing shark, GG was our equal.
My equal.
GG returned with lipstick reapplied and a faint scent of frangipani. No amount of research could have told her it would bring back memories of my grandmother’s garden.
Time for lessons was over.
All I needed was one, good, hand.
The dealer waited for our audience to resettle before flicking the cards across the table.
Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty seconds. I handed over the chips to match GG’s big blind.
GG had been quick to glance at her cards before shuffling her chips, trying to read my face. I sensed her impatience, her tiredness.
Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll be tucked up in bed, soon.
Ace and king of hearts. The hand I’d been waiting for!
“Pass.” GG tapped a black fingernail on the table. A glitter of gold from the pasted-on diamanté sparkled in the reflection of her glass.
The flop was kind; eight and jack of hearts and a nine of spades. Holding my nerve, I counted the seconds before passing. GG quickly followed suit.
Seven of hearts on the turn. If she’d been holding hearts, GG would have called earlier.
“Pass,” I said after the requisite forty seconds.
“Pass.”
An interesting choice. What was the little girl playing at?
Five of hearts on the river. With my two hearts, I’d have an Ace high flush.
Time to teach the little girl how to play.
A lesser player would raise; try and call her on her previous bluffs and then hope GG was so used to calling All in, she’d do it out of practice or spite.
I waited the full forty seconds. No tell, no breaking sweat. In this moment, I didn’t care if all I got was the pot. The point was to prove she couldn’t treat me like one of her little fanboy patsies. She couldn’t flirt her way into winning. No matter how deliciously I wanted to suck those full red lips she kept licking, or feel her tremor at my touch.
“Nah.” I tapped the table, hoping the rest of the room couldn’t hear the pounding of my heart, and hoping my shirt hid any bulging veins.
She’d go all in. It had been her predictable play all night. She’d go all in. Thinking she could steal another pot.
“All in,” the soft and predictable purr.
During my forty seconds of consideration, I mentally calculated the similar size of our stacks. GG might not even have enough to put down the next blind.
“Call.”
I turned over my winning ace and king to the knowing sighs of our tired audience. GG would need a miracle.
Instead of folding and handing over my new stash like a grown-up; taking her punishment like a card player, GG removed her glasses. Seconds passed while she shuffled her cards, building the suspense.
The table waited and I heard the collective holding of breath. Each man here wanted me to win. Wanted me back in the game. They knew I deserved to win at something after my self-imposed hell.
Fuck. No.
I knew. A fraction of a second before she turned the cards, her light brown eyes softly dilating, giving away her hand.
Only one hand could possibly beat me.
GG turned over the ten of hearts and held the final card close to her chest.
“I think we’re done here,” GG shrugged, handing me the card before collecting my chips.
I didn’t have to look to know she’d held the Queen of Hearts.
Gorgeous.
Smart.
Now, my reason to be sober.
Five hours and thirty-two minutes.
Pair
Scott
Sunday morning and I awoke with a clear head and energy to burn.
Welcome to the land of the living, asshole!
I might have lost to GG at the poker table two nights ago—but something about the way she challenged me had kick-started more than my erection. I’d gone straight to the office, cleaned up a backlog of shit that had been waiting for this moment. To finally put my broken pride aside, and rejoin the living and the winners circle, again.
I’d lost the game, lost my stack, but won back respect from my playing peers.
For bonus points, I’d scared the shit out of my team when they finally rolled into the office at eight to see the old Scott back on top. They’d let things slide—no—I’d let things slide. Time for letting the children pretending to be adults was over. It’d take me a couple of weeks, a month tops, and it would be like I’d never mentally checked out.
Sunday-bloody-morning and no hangover. I didn’t even crave the caffeine heart starter.
My old running shoes were still waiting patiently for me at the back of my closet underneath a pile of old reports. Proof it had been months since I could grapple the energy to lace them up. At least my shoes still fit comfortably. Shame couldn’t be said about my shorts and old running shirt which showed the signs of sloven and drunken hell. No exercise other than bending my elbow.
The Sydney sun promised a glorious day, if I could get to the cross fit park before everyone set off without me.
Sunday-bloody-Sunday. Loved the song, had a love-hate relationship with exercise. At least I dragged my ass down to the park with enough time to do half a dozen rounds of five pullups, ten pushups and then fifteen squats before dozens of bodies filled the space. About to unleash hell with a run, my legs and arms were already burning.
Damn, I grinned to myself, I hadn’t felt this alive in months.
“What the hell?” Jarryd greeted me at the Park Run start. Neither of us needed to listen to the prep talk. What could they say this week that hadn’t been said hundreds of times before? “Do you realize what time it is—and what have you done with my friend?”
“Seven on a Sunday. The game only went until eleven, so consider me pumped.”
They said confession was good for the soul. I didn’t bother admitting how I’d chosen this Park Run for the privilege of accidently running into Jarryd. No better way to prove I was back, with a vengeance.
“You cheating on me?”
“Did a friend a favor and made up the numbers at his table.”
“And?”
“Like I said, the game finished early so consider me rested enough to leave you behind.”
The first set of runners started off and I quickly refound my rhythm. Today wasn’t about attempting a personal best or even keeping up with the pack. No, today would be about reclaiming my technique and trusting that the fitness and times would follow.
Patience.
Yeah, nah.
Patience.
Fine. Fuckit.
Patience.
All the same endorphins from playing cards I also got from beating my own personal best times. Competing against myself had always meant striving for perfection. In work, in love and life.
Four nights ago, I’d gotten my mojo back. Now, I was ready to grab life by the scruff of the neck and claim my rewards.
“Man,” Jarryd panted, catching up to me at the end. “Which club have you been running with?”
“Scotch and whiskey, in no particular order.” Okay, I’d meant to pace myself, but I was a competitive asshole who hated watching the backs of others.
“Well, welcome back—and don’t forget whose been in your corner these past months.”
“You set up the game and I’ll be there.”
“How about next weekend?”
“Maybe, I might be going down to Melbourne to pick up a new car.”
“What! You only got the Lexus a year ago!”
Panting didn’t stop me from grinning. I’d gotten the same reaction from my boss and my secretary. Seemed like everyone had an opinion on me trading in my longest relationship.
“You want to buy it? I’ve got a dealer willing to take it on consignment, but if you want mate’s rates, make me an offer.”
“What are you getting? A Tesla or something?”
“Hell, no.” I shook my head, concentrating on my pulse returning back to normal. Not bad. Not bad at all.
“Then, what? A Merc?”
I understood Jarryd’s guess. The executive car parking was full of Teslas and most of the players last night were bitching about how long it was taking to get their new beast on backorder.
“Nah, going back to my roots and bringing back a GT Mustang. It’s been done up to the max and it’ll give me more power under the engine than I’ve had in years.”
“Bloody hell, mate,” Jarryd whistled his appreciation. “With that baby, you’ll be living the dream. But don’t get rid of the Lexus until we’ve had a chance to talk.”
“You interested in my car? Fine, but I still want you to get me on the invite list for a game the following week.”
“Of course, there’s always a seat with your name on it.”
“Yeah, well consider yourself warned I won’t be taking any prisoners. I’ll be in the mood to shed some blood and it won’t be mine,” I only half joked.
“Woman or job?”
“Nothing so dramatic.” I laughed through clenched teeth; sibling rivalry never got old. “My war hero brother is back in town and wants to reconnect.”
“You talk about your sister but never a brother. Do I sense a little sibling rivalry?”
“Nothing that can’t be cured by getting fit enough to kick his ass—but while he’s around I’ll need a steady menu of card players.”
“Fair enough, I’ll be in touch.”
Ed: Up for a challenge?
After last night, I needed a coffee before dealing with a text from newly promoted Lieutenant Colonel Edison Alexander. If only Ed waited another half an hour, I’d have been pointing my new baby in the direction of another Park Run. Only two weeks of daily running and both my fitness and old body had returned. With another week and I’d be back to kicking Ed’s ass at any sport.
Scott: What have you got in mind?
Ed: Rock climbing.
Scott: When?
Ed: Pick you up at 0630.
Surely my baby bro didn’t mean in thirty minutes?
I frothed up milk for my well-deserved coffee while checking Jarryd’s deposit had come through. Last night had been a whitewash. The other players didn’t stand a chance. Over so early, Jarryd and I decided to share a bottle of Scotch while watching some EPL.
Just another lazy Saturday night about to bleed into Sunday-bloody-Sunday.
Ed: Yes, I meant 0630. White with 2 2 go.
Smug bastard.
Crap.
Then again, Ed was old enough and ugly enough to make his own coffee while I woke up with a shower.
Scott: Great. Assume you’ve still got your key. Let yourself in.
Ed: Great. Assume you don’t need a moment to kick a woman out of bed.
Scott: Screw you.
Ed: No thanks. Screwing with you is all the fun I need.
Okay, I missed my brother.
Few people actually called me out on my bullshit. It took an actual legit hero to give context to my life’s accomplishments. I made money. He made the world a safer place.
I looked around my home, ready for the one-man invasion. Yes, he had a spare key, but I couldn’t remember the last time Ed had been here.
Years after we’d all left home, the only times we came together was at my parents’ home. Our family home still filled with familiar smells and sounds. Something I’d tried to replicate within my penthouse apartment. Not large and flashy, but with all the comforts of a home rather than a
showpiece.
A penthouse home for a Chief Financial Officer who one day wanted to be a family man. One journalist article had allowed me to write off the furnishings as a business expense. Buried deep in the bowels of a two-bit paper, the circulation doubled when my friends decided to paper my office.
Family man. Yes, all men had dreams. I already had the job, the bank balance, and now the car.
All you gotta do is find the right girl.
I quickly killed the bitter thought.
Still, Ed would have to be at least a little impressed with my latest remodeling. Wood paneling in the living areas was the perfect offset to the modern kitchen and practical study. Polished jarrah floorboards were protected with imported Turkish rugs. Discrete mementos from mountaineering adventures. Nothing beat training for six months with one goal in mind; picking the right day to climb the impossible mountain.
At least Ed would understand why my favored treasures were from so called, failed, expeditions. Fighting death’s gnarly grip on my sherpa, getting our team back to base camp without casualties would forever beat a moment standing on top of the world.
Lucy, or was it Lacey? A girlfriend had decided I lacked necessary ambition because I’d prioritized life over a goal. Which was why she quickly became an ex.
I wiped a fingerprint from my stainless-steel refrigerator. The kitchen had sealed the purchase and remained my favorite room. Experimenting in the kitchen was my jam. Twenty-four-hour slow cooked brisket or lamb shanks. Treating friends to six course tasting menus showing off my take on menus from the best Australian restaurants.
Tax time would find me destressing in the kitchen, only to reward my staff with home-made croissants and layered cakes. Hours of dedication while I mentally mulled through board papers. My secretary had joked about factoring in baking marathons against board meetings.
I still had time to jump in the shower, but I hesitated at the bread machine. Time to have a loaf waiting for us in a couple of hours?
Yes or no?
A sniff of my armpits sent me to the shower. On the way to the bathroom, I closed the door on my home office. A week’s worth of work intended for the weekend would have to wait. Then again, I might give Layla the heads-up we’d be working from here for the next week.
Reckless Gamble: a billionaire high stakes suspense romance (City Sinners Book 4) Page 3
