by Nell Stark
“It happens to at least one of the best, every year. My goal is to make sure that’s not me.”
“If we were drinking, I’d drink to that.”
He smiled. “Why not? It’s free.”
Nova hesitated. Was there any good reason not to indulge? Back at Valhalla, all that waited for her was mediocre buffet food and a night of studying past poker games. Emily had left on Sunday night to make it home in time for her clerkship duties, and since then, Nova had felt equal parts relieved and unsettled. Being with Em had always been so easy, but every moment of their impromptu weekend together had been a struggle. Nova had done her best to act naturally, and she must have succeeded to a point, because Emily hadn’t seemed to notice that anything was wrong. But something was. Nothing felt…right. Even the sex had been an effort, to the point that Nova found herself faking it on their last night together. She’d never had to do that before, and the experience had been disconcerting.
Also disconcerting was the absence of Vesper, who had been actively avoiding her for almost a week. Whenever they did see each other—mostly when TJ had invited Nova to join him in some activity—she would barely say two words before finding somewhere else to be. That Vesper was still angry seemed obvious. What she was angry about, on the other hand, was unclear. There were too many options for Nova to narrow it down.
“Sure,” she told Mac.
They made their way over to the closest bar and sat in the far corner. At Nova’s elbow, a video poker machine twinkled invitingly. In occasional moments of weakness, when the thought of sitting down at a table and rubbing elbows with strangers made her throat tighten in a rush of claustrophobia, she gave herself a break and played against the machine. It was comforting, but not at all useful.
When the bartender stopped by, Mac ordered a rum and Coke. “Just the Coke for me, please,” Nova said. “Diet.”
Mac shot her a questioning glance. “You enjoyed that fancy scotch way too much to be a teetotaler.”
She tapped the side of her head. “Still need to stay sharp today.”
“Heading back to the tables later?”
Nova decided to confess. Mac seemed like a decent guy, and he might even have some pointers. “No. At night, I study. Mostly, I watch former tournaments.”
“You’re working hard.” Their drinks came, and he sipped at his before continuing. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s your goal in all of this? Besides making money, of course.”
Nova weighed her choices. She didn’t want to tell him about the specifics of the sponsorship deal, so she needed a more generic answer. “You used to play online, so you know how it is. There’s just no way to do it anymore in this country. So if I want to keep playing, I have to figure out how to succeed at the live game.”
“True. And it’s not easy.”
“What was the hardest part for you?”
“I’ve always been a fairly conservative player, but when I started playing live, I totally tightened up.” He grinned ruefully. “People like Damon scared the shit out of me. I had no idea how to deal with that kind of raw aggression, and I’d just sit there, frozen, letting the antes and blinds bleed me to death.”
“He is terrifying, isn’t he?” Nova thought back to her experience at the cash game. Damon was the kind of player who took control of a table easily, dictating its pace and the other players’ bet sizes by being heavy-handed with his own chips. “How’d you get over it?”
Mac laughed. “I read his book, for one thing. And then I’d sit at tables like that”―he jerked a finger toward the one they’d just left―“and try to play as aggressively as possible.”
“Did it feel horribly wrong?”
“At first, yeah. It was like pulling teeth. But I made myself do it until I stopped getting queasy every time I went all in.”
“That’s really admirable.” Nova stared at him thoughtfully. “Do you feel like doing that changed your style of play at all? I mean, you’re still a relatively tight player, as they go.”
“I am. And that’s the other thing I realized—that I’d never make it anywhere if I tried to play against my true nature. But now, when I should take a risk, I can actually do it.”
Nova nodded, wondering if she dared to speak so candidly about her own flaws. For a while, they drank in silence. Above the bar, a wavy mirror held the reflection of the room behind them, distorting its lines and shapes like the inside of a funhouse. Mac seemed intrigued, but Nova looked away, her pulse rising as she deliberated. He might be able to offer her valuable advice. At the same time, revealing her Achilles’ heel to an opponent was a terrible idea. Unless he already knew what it was.
“So your weakness is playing too tightly. What’s mine?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Sure you wanna hear it?”
“I’d better, or I’ll never be anywhere near the money in this tournament.”
“Well, you’ve clearly got a good head for numbers, and you’re smart about table position.”
“But?”
“Look, everyone has tells. Everyone. But yours are on par with the flashing neon lights out there.” He nodded toward the exit to the Strip. “Why else do you think we started taking all your money after the break, that night you played in the cash game?”
His words only confirmed what she had suspected, but they still weren’t easy to hear. “You just needed a little time to figure me out.” Nova sighed and bowed her head…and realized her left leg was bouncing. “Shit, I’m broadcasting right now!”
“Mm. You don’t much like to sit still, do you?”
“No,” she said bitterly. “And playing one game at a time is so slow. You get that, right? I tried to explain online play to Vesp—to someone, recently, and she thought I was insane for playing five games simultaneously.”
“Five?” He seemed impressed. “I usually played two. Never went above three.”
“I was at my best playing five. Sometimes I even did more.” She sucked down the dregs of her Coke. “It’s the adrenaline junkie in me, I guess.”
“What do you do, jump out of planes in your spare time?”
“I surf.” Vesper felt her expression turn wistful. There was no sense in hiding it. “Out on the water…it’s the only time I feel relaxed. At peace. I miss it like hell.”
“But surfing is as much about patience as it is about adrenaline, isn’t it? Waiting for the right wave and then timing it properly?” Mac cocked his head. “Actually, that sounds a lot like poker, when it’s being played well.”
Nova blinked at him, teetering on the edge of a breakthrough. “That makes a lot of sense,” she said. “I never thought of it that way before.”
He shrugged and went back to his drink. Nova returned her gaze to the mirror, eyes tracing its crests and troughs. She flashed back to the ocean—to lying on her board, rising and falling in time to the swells, waiting for the perfect moment to begin paddling. Her chest felt hollow with need. What if Mac was on to something? She could be quiescent when she was waiting for the perfect wave. Why not, then, when she was waiting for the perfect hand?
The dealer directly behind them was shuffling his deck in preparation for the next round, his fingers made abnormally long and spindly by the mirror. She imagined sitting at that table, body planted in a chair but her mind free to float in the zone. Tranquil, surrendering to the flow, yet hyper-aware of her muscles, skin, breath. In such a state, she had control of every cell in her body.
In such a state, she might even be able to school her features enough to bluff.
Chapter Twelve
“Girls, a toast!” As Priscilla Beauregard raised her piña colada high, the gigantic oval diamond on her left hand refracted the shimmering lights of the nearby slot machines. Her three friends clinked their glasses with hers and then proceeded to sip delicately at their frozen drinks.
Vesper mentally reviewed their names: Mary, Susannah, Hazel. Mary was the short, stout one; Susannah the tall, willowy one who dyed her hair platinum
blond; and Hazel was the shy, plump one who apologized and thanked people more than she should.
Of them all, Vesper liked Priscilla the best—and not just because she was the one with the money. Unlike Mary, Priscilla kept herself in decent shape, with only a slight bulge around her middle. Unlike Susannah, she hadn’t attempted to color the salt-and-pepper hair that curled around her ears. And unlike Hazel, she spoke her mind frequently and often. In short, Priscilla Beauregard was the enemy of pretension. Vesper found that appealing, perhaps because she couldn’t abandon it herself.
“Shall we continue on?” She gestured toward the room of slots adjoining Sól Bar that was next on their list of tour stops. Priscilla and company had arrived in the early afternoon, and after Vesper had explained all the features of their Celestial Palace, they had wanted a tour of the casino.
As she led them along the path through the heart of the slots, she explained what would happen when—never “if,” of course—one of them hit a jackpot. They emerged from the twinkling, musical maze into the long rectangular hall that held the table games from blackjack to baccarat to Pai Gow. Where the path became a T, she paused to tell them about the daily lessons and tournaments, before guiding them down the right fork and into the room that housed the craps pit and cashier’s cage. It was always noisy here, as high rollers tossed their dice and onlookers hooted and hollered in encouragement or sympathy.
“Oh, that looks so difficult,” Hazel fretted, watching those huddled around the nearest table place their bets as a male shooter massaged the dice in his hand.
“The betting rules are a bit complicated,” Vesper said, “but we offer daily craps lessons as well, if you’re interested.”
After a brief overview of the cashier procedure, they retraced their steps. This was the moment Vesper had been dreading. For the past week, she had assiduously avoided the Valhalla poker room, but she was obliged to at least mention it to her newest clients. Nova didn’t play there every day, she knew, but the risk of running into her was still much higher than elsewhere. Vesper had seen her only twice since that last, heated conversation—once in the lobby and once at Sól having a drink with TJ—but on both occasions she had managed to extricate herself quickly.
Each time, she had been struck first by a bolt of pure, physical desire, followed by waves of anger, jealousy, and guilt. The feelings pursued her into sleep, where she found herself repeatedly plagued by an erotic and deeply disturbing dream. In it, she was lying naked in the pitch-dark beneath the lean, powerful body of a woman who was making love to her. Vesper always melted beneath her mystery lover, hands clenching and toes curling as the woman expertly stroked her toward climax. A heartbeat before her orgasm, a spotlight suddenly revealed the woman’s face: Nova’s, but where her beautiful eyes had been, bone-white dice showing snake eyes gleamed in the empty sockets. Vesper opened her mouth to scream, but instead she would wake—gasping, wet, and aching.
Never had a nightmare felt so good. She might be ashamed of the deep, visceral urges of her body, but there was no mistaking what it wanted. There was also no mistaking the risk in that desire. Vesper didn’t need to be a psychologist to know that the dice were highly symbolic. Her reptilian brain might crave Nova, but the more highly evolved parts sensed danger.
With a start, she realized that she had led the ladies all the way to the threshold of the poker room, when her original plan had been to point it out from a distance. She cleared her throat and gestured toward the double doors.
“And here is our poker hall. Lessons there, as everywhere, are daily and free. We can take a closer look if you’re interested.” In the ensuing pause, she silently prayed that no one would speak up.
“Interested? I’ll say we’re interested!” Priscilla raised her half-empty glass for emphasis. “Aren’t we, girls? Poker is so sexy. We watched Casino Royale on the private jet to get in the mood.”
“I’d like that Daniel Craig to teach me poker.” Susannah sounded wistful. “He has the most amazing eyes.”
“I’ve played once or twice,” Mary said, “but it’s been years.”
“I played strip poker in college a few times,” Susannah said with a giggle. “But I don’t remember the rules.”
“Oh, I think I’ll just watch,” Hazel said nervously.
“Oh, no you won’t!” Priscilla was adamant. “We’ll get lessons.”
Vesper, who had been trying to prepare herself, realized she was out of time. “Here it is,” she said, every nerve tensing as she pushed open the doors. Immediately, she scanned the room for Nova’s honey-colored hair and lean, bronze arms. Nothing. When the surge of disappointment trumped her relief, she knew she was in trouble. “Lessons are offered throughout the day, seven days a week,” she added in an effort to stay focused.
Priscilla raised one eyebrow. “Private lessons.”
Vesper’s first thought was that she should have anticipated that demand. Her second was Nova. Her third was that now she had an excuse to go and see her. Her fourth was that Priscilla would probably prefer a male instructor. Her fifth was that she didn’t care. Her sixth was that if she did break her silence with Nova, she would have to guard against any kind of emotional attachment.
“Of course,” she found herself saying, as much to quiet her racing mind as to answer Priscilla’s question. “I can arrange for a poker champion to visit your suite.”
“A champion?” Susannah sounded excited. “What’s his name?”
There it was—the gender bias. “This is a woman, actually. Her name is Nova. She won the largest online tournament in the world last year, and will be entering the World Series of Poker in just over a week.” As she listened to herself brag about Nova’s accomplishments, Vesper felt as though she had entered some kind of warped parallel universe.
“She’ll do,” Priscilla said. “What time tomorrow?”
Vesper almost laughed. Priscilla was the definition of impatience, and why not? She had the money to make things happen whenever she wanted them to. Even so, Vesper wouldn’t go so far as to make an appointment on Nova’s behalf.
“Let me check in with her tonight, and I’ll let you know right away.”
“Excellent.” Priscilla was staring at the nearest occupied table, eyes gleaming in fascination.
Vesper agreed, with the exception of the voice of reason in the back of her head warning her this was a terrible idea. For once, she wanted to follow the example of the gamblers arrayed all around her and drown out that voice.
For once, she wanted to take a chance.
*
Nova sat on the edge of the couch, practicing her square breathing even as she watched a younger, slightly less muscular Damon bully the other players at his table. The sound of crashing waves filled the room, broadcast from the suite’s sound system connected to her iPod. After returning from her chat with Mac last night, she had downloaded dozens of hours’ worth of ocean sounds. Hopefully, the rhythmic sigh of the water breaking along invisible beaches and cliffs would help her remain relaxed and calm as she studied past games. Tomorrow, she might even try taking her iPod and headphones to a table. She had never made a habit of listening to music while playing online—sometimes she did, sometimes she didn’t—but plenty of the top professional players wore headphones. Some also wore sunglasses. Maybe she should try that, too, not only because they would hide her eyes, but also because they were a staple of her beach attire.
For that matter, maybe she should wear board shorts and a bikini top to the tournament. Or a wetsuit. The mental image made her laugh. Only then did she realize she had been zoning out for the past several minutes. Grimacing, she leaned forward for the remote. “Focus,” she muttered. “You have to focus.”
The doorbell chimed. The unfamiliar sound startled her, and she dropped the remote. Its back panel fell off and batteries went skittering across the coffee table. “Damn it!”
She jumped up and hurried to the door, mentally cataloguing the possibilities. She hadn’t placed an
order for room service or housekeeping, and she hadn’t told TJ her room number. A sudden thought made her blood pressure spike. Had a legitimate client just arrived, who actually deserved the suite? Was this a member of the casino staff, telling her she had to leave?
When she put her eye to the peephole, her heart tried to leap right out of her chest. Vesper was standing outside, dressed in a dark blue suit that made her hair seem as red as the sun setting over the Pacific. As Nova watched, immobilized by her own desire, Vesper frowned and began to turn away. As if released from a spell, Nova fumbled for the door handle and yanked it open.
“Um. Hi.”
Vesper’s eyes met hers, and Nova watched her pupils expand, swallowing up the green of her irises. Attraction. It was there, but only in the flickering of tiny muscles Vesper couldn’t control. Otherwise, she seemed cool and professional as she turned back toward the door with a practiced smile.
“Hello, Nova. May I come in?”
“Sure. Of course.” Nova backed up, trying to pull her act together as she held open the door. Vesper’s arm brushed hers as she passed, and Nova’s skin tingled as if from an electric charge. As she let the door close, Vesper took a few steps toward the sitting area, paused, and cocked her head.
“What exactly did I interrupt?” she asked, a note of laughter in her voice. The cry of a seagull punctuated her question, and Nova hurried to turn off the sound system.
“I was studying,” she said. “And meditating. Well. Trying to.”
“By doing physical violence to your remote control?”
“Oh, that.” Nova turned to see her gathering up the batteries. “I dropped it when the chime went off. Still not used to a hotel room with a doorbell.”
