by Nell Stark
“You’d be surprised.” Nova’s manner had completely changed. Vesper half-expected to see her insecurity lying visible on the floor, like a discarded snakeskin.
“Oh, I doubt it,” Isabella said breezily. “Vesper, will you be showing Ms. Novarro to her room, or shall I call for a bellhop?”
“I’ll take care of it,” she said, before realizing Isabella had been offering her an out. Not that she needed it. Isabella might be two years her senior, but Vesper had been taking care of herself for twice as long.
“Will do.”
As they walked toward the bank of elevators, Vesper glanced over to see that Nova’s smug expression was still firmly in place. Minutes ago, she’d been down on her luck and ready to check into a Motel Six, and now she was strutting along like a peacock? She needed to be taken down about five pegs.
“Proud of yourself, aren’t you?”
Nova laughed. “Oh, that was just for fun. She’s straight.”
In fact, Isabella was engaged to her long-term boyfriend. But Nova didn’t need to know that and feel all self-righteous about her powers of deduction. “Most everyone is until they’re not.”
“Is that how it was for you?”
The question sent a wave of adrenaline sluicing down her spine. How was she so certain? No one else had ever even guessed. Part of her wanted to argue. Part of her wanted to walk away as quickly as she could manage in heels. But either way, Nova would have her answer.
“I was young,” was all she said. Her fingers trembled slightly as she called the elevator. Hopefully, Nova hadn’t noticed.
“How young?”
The river of mental images rushed before her mind’s eye like white water, catching her up in the current. The chocolate cake, baked by her mother and festooned with fifteen trick candles. The burnt smell of the popcorn machine in the hallway outside the Cheltons’ home theater. The high-pitched chatter of her school friends after Samuel sauntered by in the leather jacket he wore to ride his dirt bike. The flutter in her chest when Sabrina claimed the seat next to hers. The warmth of Sabrina’s fingertips reaching out in the darkness for the first time.
Their palms had been sweaty, but that hadn’t mattered. Nothing had mattered except the way their fingers interlocked like puzzle pieces. Sabrina hadn’t withdrawn her hand until the credits rolled. First to reach out, and first to let go—that was always how it had been with her, Vesper realized. Ever since the beginning.
The elevator doors opened. She stepped inside without answering, and a second later, Nova followed. Vesper watched the numbers light up on the panel, expecting at least a repeat of the question, if not an insistence that she answer. But she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. Her throat had closed up like an allergic reaction, blocking the words.
Nova’s touch on the delicate skin of her wrist felt like the brush of a live wire. “Never mind,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”
“It—it isn’t something I discuss.” The words sounded stilted to her own ears, but they were the only ones she could force out.
“I understand.”
Nova spoke with the same certainty she’d had before, but this time, she had no right. No one could understand, especially when she didn’t fully understand it herself.
Chapter Seven
As the wall loomed ahead, Nova stroked harder. At the last instant, she threw herself into a neat tuck, twisting at the end so the balls of her feet touched the slick tiles. One heartbeat later, she pushed hard off with her legs, kicking as she broke the surface to slice through the water like a knife. Breathing was an afterthought—a swift, efficient turn of her head. The ache in her shoulders, the burn in her lungs—all of it was welcome. Only the taste of chlorine on her lips detracted from her pleasure. There was nothing like swimming in the open ocean, feeling the tug of the tide against her ribs and harmonizing her breaths with the rhythm of the waves.
Three laps later, she hit her goal of one hundred and forced herself to coast to a stop. If she could have carried on forever, she might have been tempted. But work was waiting, and soon even this pool would become crowded. At six a.m., she almost always had it to herself. By seven, a businessman or two might trickle in. Half an hour later, the families started showing up. She could never envy a child his or her fun in a pool, but sharing it with them when she wanted to swim laps was nearly impossible.
The sun had risen well above the horizon while she swam. Even this early, its heat was pounding down on her shoulders and transforming the brick patio into a skillet. She hurried indoors and made two quick turns to reach the door to her suite. Her suite. Shaking her head, she stepped inside. It was still difficult to believe how quickly her fortunes had reversed. One minute, she’d been dragging her bag and herself toward Valhalla’s front door, and the next she found herself ensconced in the third best kind of room offered by the resort. All because of Vesper. Who had, once again, been impossible to find since their previous meeting. Nova could recognize a theme when she saw one. She made Vesper uncomfortable.
But that couldn’t be all of it, she reflected as she rinsed out her swimsuit in the first of the two marble sinks in her new bathroom—which was almost as large as her former bedroom had been. Bypassing the Jacuzzi tub, she jumped into the shower to rinse off. Vesper had been under no obligation to comp her this suite. So why had she offered the room? What did it mean?
When she had called home to chat with whoever was around, Felicia had suggested that perhaps Vesper was one of those rare, truly generous people who enjoyed helping others. Nova had heard Emily’s laughter in the background. Together, they had explained to their naïve roommate that casino hosts cared about one thing: the bottom line. Nova didn’t fit into that at all. For the next two weeks, her job was the exact opposite of the high roller mentality: to make as much money as possible while risking as little as she could.
Later, when Felicia had taken her newfound cynicism off to run errands at the grocery store, Em had wondered aloud whether Vesper might have comped the room as a quid pro quo. But what could she possibly want? In the world of live poker, Nova’s fame didn’t extend much further than her tournament record and her bank account. The former was nonexistent, and the latter wasn’t much better off.
“Maybe you’re an investment,” Em had suggested. “Or maybe she wants you. Is she attractive?”
“Sure,” Nova said, hoping her nonchalance was convincing. Instead, she had been reminded of just how bad she was at bluffing.
“Sure?” Em laughed. “You have a thing for her, don’t you?”
“I don’t have ‘a thing.’ And yes, she’s attractive. But completely unavailable.”
That was the honest truth, but Em hadn’t believed it. Between bouts of teasing laughter and innuendos, she managed to wheedle enough details out of Nova to pronounce that Vesper was deeply closeted and had “issues.” That might be true, but hearing Emily judge her so blithely had annoyed Nova so much that she hadn’t called the house since. She could still remember the pained, fearful expression in Vesper’s eyes when she had asked about her self-discovery. If she was in the closet, there seemed to be a good reason for it.
Forcing her thoughts away from Vesper, she left the shower and ran the single-serving coffeemaker while she threw on a green Maverick’s Surf Shop T-shirt and jeans. Then, she sat at one end of her glass dining table—her own dining table!—and picked up where she had left off reading Damon’s book about the ins and outs of high-stakes poker, in which he analyzed the hands he had played during his second WSOP victory. The book provided a deep level of insight into his mentality and strategies, one that Nova would have been uncomfortable to betray, if she had been that self-aware. But Damon welcomed the challenge. In his introduction, he invited people to read up on his techniques, claiming that if he couldn’t adapt to their knowledge, he wasn’t a true champion.
Nova wished she had that kind of nerve. Instead, she had dedicated an hour each morning to studying his strategies over a breakfast of coffee, fruit
, and scrambled eggs. The latter were cooked each morning in the hotel and delivered by room service. No charge.
It hadn’t taken her long to realize that the math Damon used was similar to her own techniques. Calculating pot odds and probabilities was second nature to her. Reading other people, on the other hand, was not. Math could reveal whether they were a loose or tight player; whether they enjoyed taking risks or played conservatively; whether they adjusted their strategy for table position. But the only way to learn their physical tells was to be in the same room with them, which was why once her study hour was up, she forced herself out of her room and into a poker hall.
Since moving into the suite, she had avoided Valhalla’s poker room. Even after less than a week, she knew the regulars there already, and in order to succeed at the WSOP, she needed experience against a wide variety of players. She’d spent that first afternoon at the Hilton and the next day at the Bellagio. Yesterday, she had run into Mac at Caesars. Her table was full, so he’d sat at another, but they’d chatted for a few minutes between hands. Their conversation had been perfectly pleasant, but Nova had felt self-conscious the entire time. No doubt, he and Kris and Damon had shared a good laugh about her spectacular flameout in the cash game.
As much as she tried to tell herself she didn’t have anything to prove to him—or to anyone—she couldn’t help wanting to be taken seriously by the professional live players. Just knowing he was in the room had rattled her, and her play had dropped in quality for a while before she finally got her head back in the game. That was good practice too, of course—maintaining her focus despite strong emotions.
The hardest part was having to sit still for eight consecutive hours with only a short break for lunch—a routine she forced herself to follow to build endurance for the tournament. When playing at home, Nova had fidgeted and paced her way through hours spent in front of her computer. Even while relaxing, she had trouble sitting still for long, so much so that Monique had often called her “the perpetual motion machine.” But live poker demanded that she keep her ass in her chair for hours on end and that she move as little as possible, lest she betray anything to her opponents. It was torture.
Swimming in the morning curbed some of her restlessness, but by the time her eight hours were up, she was always going out of her mind. A hard ride on the stationary bike in the VIP gym followed by another few laps in the pool usually settled her down again, though, and she had taken to spending her nights watching video footage of past World Series. That was fun as well as work, but she wished she had someone to sit next to on the couch—someone who would analyze and debate strategy with her. Someone like Vesper.
Nova rolled her eyes at her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror and headed for the door. She had already decided to stay put at Valhalla today. Playing against some of the regulars might help shed some light on whether she had actually learned anything over the past week. She might also be able to play more aggressively against people whose styles she knew, and that was important. Even playing eight hours a day, she had only managed to recoup a third of her losses so far. The tourist tables were relatively low stakes, which suited her budget but not her demand. If she was going to have enough to buy in to a few other World Series events, she needed to pick up the pace.
The poker hall was mostly empty when she arrived, with only one table up and running. The dealer greeted her as she sat, and while the players finished their previous hand, she took stock of each of them in turn, alert to anything in their mannerisms that might clue her in to what they were holding. Only one was familiar to her—Bill, a middle-aged, balding man who tended to play quite conservatively from what she had seen.
The rest of the table, she soon learned, was comprised of novices. A husband and wife from Maine asked the dealer every procedural question under the sun, and an elderly woman wearing a white cardigan over a hideous flower print shirt couldn’t remember the ranking order of hands to save her life. As the morning wore on, Nova grew increasingly impatient with the snail-like pace of the game. And when the woman asked for the third time in an hour whether three of a kind outranked a flush, she thought she might scream.
“Is this seat taken?” a baritone voice asked from her left.
“No, not at all.” She turned to size up the new player. Tall and broad-shouldered, with hair the color of the pristine sand at Año Nuevo, he was one of those muscular, all-American boys everyone found attractive. Vesper was standing behind him, her bone white sheath dress setting off the red in her hair. A sand dollar pendant hung from a silver chain to nestle in the hollow of her throat. Blindsided by the urge to trace her delicate collarbone with one finger, Nova cleared her throat and almost sat on her hands. What was she doing here? What was she doing here with him? Was he her boyfriend? Had she been wrong? But no, Vesper had confessed…
“Nova!” Vesper’s smile seemed forced, and her eyes were wide in surprise. “I didn’t recognize you from behind.”
“It’s good to see you,” she said, hoping Vesper could hear the authenticity behind her politeness. She folded her cards, even though she’d been dealt a jack of hearts and ace of diamonds, and stood to shake the boy’s hand. “I’m Nova. In case that wasn’t clear.”
He laughed, his grip warm and firm. “TJ. Nice to meet you.”
“Nova is an online poker champion.” Vesper was clearly hurrying to make up for her lack of introduction. “She’s making the transition to live poker and plans to enter the World Series this month. TJ is…well, he’s my oldest client.” The fond smile she gave him was more sisterly than amorous, Nova was relieved to see. “And it’s his twenty-first birthday.”
“Hey, congrats!” Nova clapped him on the shoulder. “Bet you’re beyond ready to sit in that chair.”
“You have no idea.”
As he sat, Nova looked to Vesper. “I can move down if you’d like to sit, too.”
“Sadly, I can’t stay long.”
Nova frowned, wondering if she was putting them off, but her disappointment seemed genuine enough. Then again, Vesper had probably mastered the art of seeming sincere a long time ago. Casino hosts were salesmen, and salesmen needed to make you feel like the only person in the room. Especially when you weren’t.
“You work too hard,” TJ said as he arranged his chips—all five thousand dollars of them, Nova realized at a glance. The first time she’d ever played online poker, she had all of two hundred dollars in her account. Did this kid appreciate his silver spoon or take it for granted?
When the hand ended, TJ congratulated the winner and introduced himself to the other players. “Did I hear that young lady say it’s your birthday?” asked the elderly woman.
“She did, ma’am.” That wide, genuine smile was back.
“Happy birthday, son,” said the man across the table, his wife echoing him.
“But don’t go easy on me,” TJ said above the rustle of cards. “I’m here to play some real poker.”
That earned him a laugh from several players. What a charmer. Nova smiled, when what she really wanted to do was lean over and whisper to him that he wouldn’t find anything of the sort at this table. By then the dealer was passing out cards, though, so she bent her head and tried to concentrate. When a peek at her hand revealed the ace and queen of clubs, she took a half-second to school her expression before looking around the rest of the table. The elderly woman looked confused. The wife seemed dismayed, and her husband was peering down intently at his cards. He did that whenever he had a decent hand, as though he was afraid to make eye contact and give it away. Ironic.
Bill looked the same as he always did, so Nova glanced at TJ. He seemed eager, but he had also just been dealt his first hand of poker in a casino. He probably would have been excited to see an unsuited three and eight. The husband bet out fifteen dollars. The wife folded. The elderly lady took forever before calling. Bill folded. Nova called, figuring the only person she had to worry about was the husband, and maybe TJ. He also called. Relatively s
peaking, the pot was pretty rich, and they hadn’t even seen any community cards, yet.
When the dealer flopped a rainbow—two of diamonds, eight of spades, and queen of hearts—the husband gritted his teeth. Nova guessed that like her, he’d been dealt two face cards of the same suit, and had been hoping for something closer to a flush. His clenched jaw probably meant he hadn’t flopped a pair, either. Unless TJ had somehow managed to pair both his cards, her position was looking good. A glance at the kid revealed him deep in thought, which might mean anything. He was an unknown quantity, and he’d walked in with double her number of chips. She had to be cautious.
The husband checked, the elderly woman inexplicably folded, and Nova slid two green twenty-five-dollar chips into the middle. TJ called. Not raising when he had position on her was an ambiguous move. Did he want to see the next card as cheaply as possible, or was he trying to lull them into a trap? If it was the latter, his technique was working beautifully, because the husband stayed in.
He appeared to regret that choice a moment later, when the turn card appeared as the three of clubs. Scowling, he checked with a sharp rap on the lacquered wooden edge. A three didn’t help Nova either, but with a pair of queens and an ace for her kicker, she was feeling solid. The only question now was whether it would be better to bet aggressively. The husband looked like he was on the verge of bowing out, but he might hang around for a small raise.
Nova pushed forward one hundred in chips. That represented almost half the pot and would probably drive out the spooked husband. She wanted to keep building the pot but at this point, every card to hit the table had a chance of beating her. She needed to weed out the weaker hands. As she waited for TJ to act, the space between her shoulder blades prickled from the knowledge that Vesper was watching. Winning this pot would at least show her that she wasn’t a complete hack.
TJ called, and after a long pause, so did the husband. They all stared expectantly at the table as the dealer flipped over the river card to reveal the beautiful ace of hearts. Two pair, aces over queens. Nova struggled to maintain a neutral expression. Unless she had completely misread TJ, this pot belonged to her.
