Bad Beat

by Carolina Mac

  “Sure we have passports. Kind of a requirement. Never know when you might have to split.”

  “Guess so. Never thought about it in that light.”

  “What’s going on down here?” Jackson stuck his head in the bedroom door.

  “I’m trying to get Portia into bed, but she’s a tough sell,” Rusty laughed. “I’m so bloody hard to resist, too.”

  “Let’s have a couple of beers and decide our plan of action,” I said, slipping my arm around Jackson’s waist and walking to the living room. “Are you guys tired, or do you want to go over to the strip for a couple hours?”

  “I want to see the hot chicks and play poker,” said Billy.

  “Me too,” said Rusty. “We tried to talk to a couple of hot ones on the plane, but they weren’t too friendly.”

  Jackson laughed. “With you two hitting on them, they probably locked themselves in that little airplane bathroom.”

  I held up my beer for a toast. “Here’s to a great Vegas weekend,” I said. “Cheers.” We clinked our bottles to ward off the devil and chugged our beer. Jackson seemed to relax a little, but since I brought him home from Yuma, he had never let his guard down for a second.

  “How’s everything going with the boys at the club, Rusty?” Jackson asked.

  “Not too bad, considering,” he said, trying not to make eye contact with me.

  “It’s okay, Rusty. I know you guys are having a tough time without George and now without Jackson. Some of the boys blame me, and I can accept that.”

  “We don’t blame you, Portia. We know what went down, and we’re good with it,” said Billy. “The club misses the boss. He was the glue that held us together.”

  Before things got more sentimental, I jumped up and said, “Let’s go have some fun.”

  Friday night would be a traffic nightmare on the strip, so I called a cab. Ten minutes later we were standing in front of Caesar’s Palace and the boys were in awe.

  “Look at all those fuckin’ statues,” said Billy. “Who are they?”

  “Some old Romans,” I said, giggling at Billy. He always made me laugh. “Where do you poker pros want to play tonight?”

  “Mirage,” said Billy.

  “Bellagio,” said Rusty.

  “Jackson? What’s your pleasure?”

  He smiled. “After Annie, I’d say Bellagio. We can do the Mirage tomorrow, Billy.”

  Billy acquiesced and we walked to Bellagio and put our names on the list. While we waited, the boys amused themselves playing blackjack and tried their luck at a few slot machines. They were dazzled by the free drinks and the outfits that the waitresses wore. Jackson couldn’t keep from laughing at their antics. This was exactly what he needed. We played poker for a couple of hours and the boys won a few bucks. They had downed so many free drinks that they were pretty drunk by the time the cab picked us up in front of the hotel.

  “Here’s our ride, boys,” I said, and struggled to get them into the taxi. Billy was sitting in the front with the cabbie and talking his ear off, while Jackson, Rusty and I sat in the back. Jackson flopped his head down on my shoulder and was asleep in seconds. I gave the driver the address and exhaled.

  Rusty and Jackson were both asleep by the time we hit the driveway and thankfully Billy helped me get them into the house and onto their respective beds.

  “Thanks, Billy. You’re a doll.” I hugged him. “See you in the morning, or whenever you get up.” I closed Rusty’s door and left him lying on top of his duvet. I crawled in beside Jackson, cuddled up to him and I was out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  IT WAS AFTER nine when Jackson stirred beside me and I pressed my naked body up against his back. He moaned as I stroked him a few times while I kissed him. He was tired from his night out with the boys and wanted to sleep.

  “I know you’re wiped, bad boy. Let me do it,” I whispered.

  “I’m beat Annie. Cant’ you wait?” he whispered as he went limp in my arms. I took pity on him and let him go back to sleep while I showered.

  Sure, I can wait. Maybe I’m too aggressive for Jackson. He’s been through the mill and I’m being selfish.

  Whether the boys would be up in time for breakfast was the question. Coffee and pancake batter were at the ready but I had no customers. I sat nursing my mug of caffeine and thinking about Jackson. He was entertaining the boys, but he was not himself. His head was miles away, either with the club or still buried in the crap his father had inflicted on him. My heart ached for him, but there was not much I could do for him—emotionally or physically. Frustrating.

  He ambled into the kitchen after his shower and wrapped his arms around me. “Sorry about this morning. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “You don’t have to apologize and you don’t have to make it up.”

  It was only then that he noticed the gauze bandage wrapped around my arm from my elbow to my shoulder. “What’s wrong with your arm, baby?” he asked, frowning.

  “Nothing wrong. Just a little present for your birthday.”

  “Can I see it?” he asked, lifting up a corner of the gauze.

  “One day early, but I’ll let you have a little peek.” I unwound the bandage and then turned around so he could see the whole tattoo. His eyes welled up, and he wiped the back of his hand across his face.

  “I love it,” he said hoarsely. “That’s the best present you could ever give me. That means you’re mine.”

  “That’s exactly what it means. I’m yours forever.” He held me close and buried his face in my hair.

  “What the fuck’s going on out here?” Billy was up.

  “Annie was showing me my birthday present,” Jackson said.

  “Shit. I better come back later,” he said with a wide grin and a wink.

  “You can see it, Billy,” I said, laughing. “I’m going to show the whole world today.”

  I twisted around so Billy could see my arm.

  “Shitwads, that’s a nice tat, Portia.” Jackson was spelled out in big letters down my arm, turquoise and pink flowers accenting the whole piece. “You must like that asshole,” he chuckled.

  “I do like that asshole. I love him, and I don’t care who knows it.” I kissed Jackson as he stood in the kitchen grinning.

  “Who did the ink, Portia?” asked Billy.

  “High Voltage, here in Vegas.”

  “Fuckin’ hot.” He nodded.

  “I’m taking breakfast orders now. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, let me hear it,” I said, pouring coffee into mugs and passing them to the boys.

  “I’ll eat some of everything,” said Billy, perching on a stool at the breakfast bar.

  “Me too,” said Jackson, “I’m starving this morning.”

  Billy and Jackson were almost finished eating when Rusty dragged himself into the kitchen wearing only his jeans, his long auburn mop flopping in his face. I couldn’t believe how muscled up he was, especially his arms. His biceps were huge. “You guys are making so much noise a person can’t sleep,” he grumbled.

  “Shut the fuck up, and eat your breakfast, pervert. I want to go play poker.” Billy jumped off his stool, punched Rusty in the gut and knocked him backward into the kitchen wall.

  Rusty retaliated, grabbing Billy by the hair. “I’ll rip these blond girly curls right off your fuckin’ head,” he hollered as he nailed Billy in the shoulder.

  Jackson and Billy laughed hysterically at Rusty’s bad mood. “Cheer up Coulter, you can sleep when you get home. Nobody sleeps in Vegas,” said Jackson. “Have some coffee. You need caffeine in your veins.”

  I set a plate of food in front of Rusty along with a mug of coffee, and he dug in. “Thanks, Portia. I think I might be able to cope with these assholes now that I’ve had some nourishment. I’ll go grab a shower.”

  It was noon by the time the Hummer rolled into the parking lot at Harrah’s. “We can walk to a lot of poker rooms from here. Where do you want to start?” I asked.

  “Let’s try the Flamingo,” said Ru
sty. “We just passed it. It’s not too far down the street.”

  Jackson pointed, and we all strolled down Las Vegas Boulevard. The traffic was brutal at all hours of the day and night. Billy collected dozens of cards from the pimps along the sidewalk.

  “Shitwads, they can deliver a ho to your door in twenty minutes,” he yelled.

  Jackson couldn’t stop laughing at Billy.

  We entered the front doors of the Flamingo, followed the signs and wove through the maze of slot machines and crowds of fun-seekers to the poker room. The boys put their names on the one-two no limit list and when a new table opened up, they were all given seats. I waited a little longer for my seat on a two-five no limit table. I was the only woman at my table and that’s the way I liked it. A definite advantage, to my way of thinking, especially if you’re wearing the right outfit. My weapon of choice for the day was a hot pink slinky top showing lots of cleavage, paired with a short black skirt and black high heeled boots. Before we left the house, the boys had hooted their approval when I modeled for them.

  During the first hour, my hands were less than memorable. I won a couple of small pots, lost a couple and folded dozens of others. The waitress had just brought me a Coors. I tipped her, looked at my cards that were face down on the table and I had pocket eights. Everyone called the five bucks around to me, I was in seat ten and raised to forty. Seats one to five folded, seat six called the raise, seat seven folded, seat eight re-raised to eighty, seat nine threw down his cards in disgust. I called the eighty and prayed for an eight. Seat six called.

  Three players. The flop came, Ten-Two-Queen. Two clubs. No eight. Seat six checked, seat eight bet fifty. I called the fifty and seat six folded.

  Heads up. The turn card was an eight. I put seat eight on a pocket pair, not on Nine-Jack, so unless he had a set as well, I thought I was good. He checked and I bet a hundred bucks. Seat eight glared at me and called. He was a wannabee Unabomber with shades, a hoody and his i-pod plugged into his ear. The river was the two of clubs. Seat eight pushed all in. He had the flush. The dealer counted his chips. Two hundred and five. Another hundred and five to me. I called. He flipped up his Ace high flush and I turned over my boat. He stood up and went for a walk. These men were so emotional. The dealer pushed me the pot and I stacked up my chips.

  Later on, I took a walk over to the table where the boys were and sized up their chip stacks. Billy was rambling on to the dudes on both sides of him and he had a lot of chips. Rusty had about a hundred more than the buy-in and Jackson had three hundred to the good.

  Around four o’clock, I cashed out and rounded up the boys. “I’m taking you guys for a late lunch. Time to cash out,” I whispered in Jackson’s ear. Billy protested because he was on a winning streak, but Jackson promised him more poker later. They pocketed their cash and followed me to Margaritaville. I ordered a round of tequila, a mountain of nachos and four cheeseburgers with fries. The boys finished their drinks and were singing along with Jimmy Buffet when the food arrived.

  “I love this place,” said Rusty. “The food is great, and I like the music.”

  “These cheeseburgers are fuckin’ awesome,” said Billy. “I like some of the waitresses too.” He stood up and pointed. “Look at the ass on that one over there.”

  “No wonder you can’t get a date, you asshole,” said Jackson chuckling.

  After lunch, we strolled up the strip sightseeing. “Let’s cross the road,” I said. “I want to show you guys something.” They followed me over to Las Vegas Harley Davidson and we went inside. They spent an hour looking at all the different stuff that the US franchise had that they didn’t have at their store. They bought shirts, hats, and bandanas. I bought Jackson a couple of shirts and a black bandana.

  “Let’s go men. We have an appointment.” We walked back across the street to Harrah’s, stowed the shopping bags in the Hummer and went upstairs to ‘I Love This Bar.’”

  “I always wanted to drink in this bar,” said Jackson.

  “That’s why we’re here. It’s your birthday and you get to do what you want.”

  After a short wait, the hostess found us a table and I ordered a round of beer. Toby Keith’s music blared in the background and the boys were getting into the party mode. After a few more rounds, I glanced at the time on my phone and said, “One more stop on my birthday tour guys. Let’s go.”

  The concert hall was filling up quickly when we arrived at that level. The excitement in the air was electric. I fished in my purse for the tickets and we lined up at the door with hundreds of other fans. Jackson had seen the posters that Toby Keith was playing tonight and I had caught him staring.

  “Are we going to the concert, Annie?” he asked. “I can’t believe it. I’ve never been to a concert before.”

  “Hell, yeah, we’re going.” I handed Rusty and Billy their tickets and we went through the doors. The usher showed us to our seats and the boys were impressed.

  “Fuck, Portia, this is the third row. These tickets must have cost a million,” said Billy.

  “Not quite a million, but close.” I giggled.

  Jackson reached over and held my hand. “This is amazing,” he whispered.

  The concert was fantastic. Jackson knew the words to all the songs. When we exited the concert hall he was on a high and still singing “Red Solo Cup’.

  “I love that guy,” said Rusty. “Nobody better.”

  “Never been to a fuckin’ concert,” said Billy. “Awesome. Someday you guys will see me playing on a big stage like that.”

  “Do you sing, Billy? Jackson never mentioned it.”

  “I don’t sing in front of those asswipes. They would only make fun of me.”

  “You can sing for me sometime in private. I promise I won’t make fun of you,” I said. Billy smiled and seemed genuinely pleased.

  “Okay guys, if you want to stay on the strip and play some more, get a cab when you’re finished. I have to go home and let Angel out.”

  “Thanks, Portia. It was a great day,” said Rusty. “Do you want to play some more poker, Billy?”

  “Let’s go back to the Flamingo for an hour. I was making some cash there.”

  “Jackson, you stay if you want. It’s fine with me.” I smiled at him.

  “Think I’ll go home, guys. Don’t get into any trouble you can’t get out of,” he punched them both in the shoulder.

  “I know why you’re going home, fucker. It’s your birthday,” Billy taunted, pointing a finger at Jackson.

  “You’ve got my number, Billy.” I winked at him and he blushed.

  Jackson laughed, “You better write down the address, Annie. These dumb asses won’t know where they’re going.”

  I smiled and scribbled the address on Rusty’s cigarette package. “I’ll leave the door open and the light on for you. Have fun.” They waved as we walked towards the parking lot to pick up the Hummer.

  Jackson and I were tired from the long day. We let Angel out into the yard for a run, before we headed for bed. “Thanks for the best day of my life,” said Jackson, pulling me close to him and kissing me. My whole body was trembling with desire for him.

  “Happy Birthday, cowboy,” I whispered. “It’s after twelve.” I unzipped his jeans and let my hand slide down inside his pants where it was the warmest. I massaged the inside of his groin and then cradled his package in my hand and stroked him gently.

  He moaned, “More.” As he pushed the swollen shaft against my hand.

  I flicked off the light so the neighbors couldn’t see us through the patio doors, whipped off my underpants and shoved a table out of the way. With his erection in my hand, I guided him in the dark and he thrust me up against the living room wall. He groaned as he rammed my butt hard against the drywall. I kissed him and shoved my tongue in his mouth as I grabbed his butt and held on as he slammed me into the wall again and again. A picture fell down and crashed to the floor beside us.

  “Jesus, Annie,” he gasped as he came and his knees buckle
d a little.

  I held him close and kissed him. “You’re mine, Jackson,” I whispered.

  “Fuck, baby,” he panted. “I think the front hall just went to number two.”

  I laughed, picked up my underwear, let Angel in and headed for the bathroom.

  When I got into bed, Jackson was already asleep. I kissed him on the forehead.

  “I hope this year is a lot better for you than the last one,” I whispered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, COWBOY.” Jackson climbed on a stool in the kitchen and leaned on his elbows. He read a text on his phone, frowned and shoved it in his pocket. I walked around and gave him a big hug. “I love you, Jackson,” I whispered as I mussed up his hair.

  “Thanks, baby,” he said as he spooned sugar into his mug. “I’m still going over the new number one in my head.”

  “Does this mean you’re raising the bar and I have to try harder?”

  “I don’t think you could try any harder. You always give it all you’ve got.”

  “Give what all you’ve got?” Billy asked as he ambled into the kitchen.

  “Something you know nothing about, Billy,” Jackson snorted, “work,” he punched Billy in the arm.

  “Ready for coffee, Billy? I didn’t hear you guys come in last night. Angel didn’t bark.”

  “We tried to be quiet, but we were a little drunk and Rusty tripped over that table that was away out from the wall. I don’t remember it being out there like that when we left. And there was a picture on the floor too.”

  “Angel must have bumped into it when she came in from the yard.” I glanced at Jackson and he was staring down at his coffee, trying not to look at me.

  “You assholes make any money last night?” Jackson asked.

  Not too much. The players at the table were so tight, you knew they had big pockets if they were calling.”

  “What’s the plan for today, Portia?” Billy asked.

  “Anything you want to do for the day. At six I’m making steaks for Jackson’s dinner, and then the airport at nine-thirty.”

  “I don’t want to go home,” Billy said, “I like it here.”