And that … scares me a little.
“Take a seat, Working Girl,” Zayd says with a smirk, reaching up to smooth his palm over the gelled spikes of his hair. I sit next to him, watching as he downs another full cup of beer. After how much he’s had tonight, I’m surprised he’s still standing. Then again, practice makes perfect, and I’m guessing he’s built his tolerance up over many, many parties.
Creed deals a hand, and then distributes the chips evenly amongst us.
“Texas hold ‘em?” I ask, and he flicks his eyes my direction, barely acknowledging me with a slight tilt of his chin. He’s still clinging to that anger from outside, his rage toward Derrick only partially satisfied. Tristan sits across from me, and folds his forearms on the table, leaning in close.
“We’ll start with a warm-up round,” Tristan begins, and I have to hold back a smile. They think they’re going to smoke me here. I’m happy to prove them wrong. Zayd lights up a cigarette and Creed wrinkles his nose, but I’m used to it. Everyone in the Cruz Bay Mobile Home Village smokes, including my own dad. “Buy in is ten grand; I’ll cover for the charity case. You shouldn’t have any problem with that, right, Working Girl, taking other peoples’ money?” He stares at me with zero emotion in his eyes, and I shrug.
“I can’t afford a ten thousand dollar buy in, so if you want me to play with you, then yeah, I accept.” I stare him down, but he just smirks at me. He probably thinks he’ll win it all back anyway. On the inside, my heart is pounding and I’m having trouble not thinking about how much ten thousand dollars could help my dad. He could fix the moldy walls in our bathroom, buy a truck that actually starts up on a reliable basis, maybe even take a vacation …
“Figures.” Tristan leans back in his chair and looks between the three of us. “You ready?”
“I was born ready,” Zayd says, flashing a bright grin, and then the round starts. I’m sitting on Creed’s left, so I start with a small blind, trying to see the chips as just chips and not actual dollars. If I do, I’ll get distracted.
Everyone knows what they’re doing so the rounds move quickly. Zayd is so outgoing and expressive that I pick up his tells within minutes. If he’s confident in his cards, he reaches up to play with his hair. If he’s not, he scratches at his tattooed chest with inked fingers. He’s the first to fold.
“Man, fuck this game,” he groans, putting his hands over his face as I smile. Creed is as unreadable as ever, but he’s cautious, and eventually, he folds too.
Tristan is the one to beat. He bets high every time, and when it comes time to show our cards, I’ve got a royal flush, and he has a straight.
He scowls at me as I collect the pile of chips, and find it impossible to hold back the smirk on my face.
“Did we just get wiped by the Working Girl?” Zayd asks, blinking wide, green eyes in my direction. “Holy shit.”
“Where the fuck did you learn to play?” Tristan snaps, as Creed studies me with his bored, too-rich-to-care look.
“I grew up in the Lower Banks neighborhood,” I explain, my hands shaking as I stack the chips. Did I just win forty-grand? Impossible. Literally impossible. I fully don’t expect the guys to actually pay up. Why should they? What could I possibly do, complain to the staff that we used the student lodge during break to play illegal rounds of poker, and I didn’t get my payout? “You think you’re good at poker? I know kids who could wipe the floor with all of us.”
Tristan’s mouth tightens, but it doesn’t stop him from passing me the dealer button and demanding we start a new round.
“Text us your account information, and we’ll wire the money,” he says, the anger fading from his face and voice. Back to being stone-cold again.
“I don’t have a bank account,” I say, and all three boys turn to look at me. Zayd cocks a disbelieving brow, and Tristan sighs.
“Of course you don’t,” he says, as I stare skeptically back at him. No way are they really going to wire me any money. No freaking way. “I’ll have my dad’s assistant set one up for you.”
“You don’t have to pretend,” I tell him as I shuffle the cards. “I don’t expect you guys to actually pay me.”
“Why wouldn’t we?” Creed drawls, putting his curled fingers up against the side of his cheek. “Those are the rules of the Infinity Club: you make a bet, you pay out.”
“You’re going to give me forty thousand dollars?” I choke out with a scoff. Well, technically half of my winnings belong to Tristan for loaning me the buy-in, but that’s a moot point if money never exchanges hands.
