Page 9 of Ace's Winning Hand
The betting goes around the table, and I force myself to stay in the hand. I’ll win it, but folding would mean I could listen in to whatever story Donald is regaling his patrons with. I know it’s a good one because of the way his hands are waving around. When he points toward theentrance, my stomach twists with something between anticipation and worry.
When the turn is dealt, it doesn’t help my hand, but as I look around the table, it’s obvious it doesn’t help anyone. While the betting goes around again, I keep one eye on Donald. I know the moment he spots me because he doesn’t even try to keep the surprise off his face.
Yeah, I’m sure he is surprised. I’ve never shown up to one of his games. Why would I when I have a casino at my disposal complete with private poker rooms? It would be much more advantageous for me to play a few hands at Elysium.
Yet here I am.
After the river card is dealt, I focus back on the game and watch the people I’m playing against. I feel someone sit on one side of me and shoot Donald a glare when I see it’s him. I’ve been keeping the chairs on either side of me empty with vibes and epic manspreading.
Of course, Donald wouldn’t take note of any social cues. He’s never been good at picking up on them. It could also be possible he simply doesn’t care. My gut is telling me that’s the most likely possibility.
I’ve known guys like him all my life. They don’t care about how they impact other people and their selfishness and self-centeredness show in every aspect of their lives.
His hand is heavy when it lands on my shoulder. “Ace,” his voice is magnanimous, as if his greeting is a gift that I should be excited to have slipped into my hands, “I’m surprised to see you at my game.”
I smirk in his direction while forcing myself to not rip his hand off my shoulder and punch him in the throat. That would ruin my plans for the night.
“I like playing a hand or two from time to time,” I tell him easily as I look around the table right before flipping over my cards. “Trip queens,” I announce and pull the pot in my direction.
“Nice hand,” Donald’s voice is filled with a glee which has nothing to do with my victory.
It’s obvious from the way his eyes are sparkling while barely being able to sit still. How the fuck does this man play poker? He’s a walking tell.
“Just playing what was dealt to me,” I tell him, my voice cocky as fuck.
Because it’s what he expects from me. A Steel Sinner.
“We’ll have to see if your luck holds out since you’re on my turf now,” he crows the words and I barely stop myself from rolling my eyes.
“We’ll see, you never know with Lady Luck,” I concede, unwilling to go toe-to-toe with the man.
He’s not entirely wrong even though I want to scoff at his use ofturf. This is his room; it is his game. Even if it leaves a lot to be desired and he thinks far too highly of it.
Bruno walks over from the bar and nods at Donald who practically scrambles to his feet to give his friend a seat. Donald stands behind our chairs and uses his forearms to brace against the back of them. His cologne is too fucking much. I can practically taste it, but he’s none the wiser as I lean slightly away from him and fold the hole cards in my hand.
“You’ll never guess who is coming tonight,” Donald leans closer to me, his voice dropping into something intimate in texture but not in volume. “I saw Quincy Wells earlier and dropped her my card. It’s just a matter of time before she walks through the door. You know women like her need a little excitement. She’s used to red carpet treatment, but I just know there’s a hellcat underneath her nice girl front.”
His words make my skin crawl and I clench my hand into a fist under the table before I force my fingers to relax and reach for my drink.
Brunodoesn’t sound convinced, his voice gruff as he gives me a chin lift in greeting, “You really think she’ll show up?”
I have my doubts too. He passed her his card? What does that even mean? I try to picture it in my head, but the image is hilarious and now is not the time to bust a gut. Later.
Donald sliding a business card toward a bona fide movie star? She must have been shocked.
I glance at the hole cards for the next hand, already knowing I’ll be folding the hand unless the flop surprises the fuck out of me. And I don’t think it will.
“She’ll be here,” Donald insists, but I can hear the uncertainty underneath the words.
The man has made it his mission to power the world through bravado alone. If only it worked that way.
As someone approaches the table, I throw a glare at him and he slinks away. I don’t follow him with my gaze. I’m glad he didn’t think his balls were big enough to take the only other empty seat at the table, the one next to me.
The one meant for Quincy Wells. If she does show up.
Honestly, I didn’t expect him to even be able to talk to her. Of course, that’s only if I believe his story.
Would I be surprised if it’s complete bullshit? Fuck no. Is he the type of guy to go up to an actress and shoot his shot? Yup, the man knows no shame and he thinks far too highly of himself.
