Page 68 of Never Never

Girlfriend. My girlfriend. Despite everything, despite the anxiety sitting in my chest like a forty-pound weight and my stupid polo shirt feeling like it’s already stuck to me with sweat, just hearing her say that feels…

It feels nice. So nice I can’t even look at Tink.

“Oh, yeah.” I smile really big, like I was making some kind of joke—although what the punchline is, I don’t know. “Thanks.” I take it, glance at the numbers—60606, easy enough—and tuck it in my pocket as we move from the sleek tiles of the lobby down the carpeted steps of the gaming floor.

And as we do, I realize I might be the only one not looking at Tink.

Heads are turning around us. Men’s heads. Guys lowering their vapes, raising their eyebrows, glancing at her a little too long even though they’re walking past with a girlfriend of their own. My gut tightens a bit, and I take a half step toward her as we walk. That’s the last thing we need—someone trying to mess with her. Because it would ruin the plan, I think. Throw us off course. That’s all.

Tink darts a glance at me. “Chips,” she murmurs. “We need chips, right?”

My jeans pockets suddenly feel like they’re bulging with cash. “Yeah,” I say. “Totally. Just⁠—”

I look up again, at the biggest hanging sign that’s right smack above us. It’s got lines and lines of words, arrows pointing in both directions. Must be the main directory. And I know I have to act quick. I’ve got like three seconds to act like I’m reading it while also simultaneously scanning around for clues to figure out where we actually need to go.

I take a step back to buy time, get a good look. There’s slots and stuff off to the right, plus people walking with drinks—bar must be that way—and then to the left⁠—

A guy cuts in front of us, unfolding bills in his hand, and glances forward. I follow his gaze and see it—a line of windows with plexiglass and little speakerphone things, each with a short line of people. As I watch, an old lady at the front of one line nods thanks and walks away, her hands full of colorful plastic coins.

Bingo.

I glance back to Tink, and by some kind of miracle, she’s not even paying attention. A little spaced out, even, staring at the side of the room, the wall with the staff command station, all the guys in vests with earpieces making sure no one cheats, or whatever.

“This way,” I say, and automatically brush the small of her back to steer her. She jumps, literally jumps, at my touch, and I pull back, like she burned me.

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “Just⁠—”

“No, no, you’re fine,” she says, giving her head a shake. “I’m good. I just…” She presses her lips together and lifts her chin a little higher. “Let’s get those chips, huh? Time for you to be the big spender.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah. No problem.”

At the window, I make a big show out of unfanning all my bills.

“Feeling lucky tonight?” says the lady as she stacks up my chips and pushes them toward me.

“Uh, you know it, miss,” I say, making my voice maybe a little lower than necessary. I flash her a big bro-y grin as I scoop my chips and turn to Tink. Then I realize I have no idea what’s next.

“So what’s next?” I say in a whisper.

She smiles. “Let’s walk,” she says. “And we’ll strategize.”

We start a slow stroll across the game floor. Clinking and clanging of slots, and video game sound effects of poker machines making it really hard to think.

But Tink doesn’t seem to have a problem. She’s focused. Serious and thoughtful even with the glitter on her cheeks and eyelids.

“Honestly, I’m good for whatever,” I shout-whisper down to her. “Like, do you have a favorite? We could start there. Or…” I glance at the machines around us. “Maybe just slots? Keep it simple?”

Tink shakes her head. “Too slow. We need something that lets you bet big and lose big. And we need an audience.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Totally.” Good points. I hadn’t really thought of anything beyond lose money, but Tink’s right. I look around as we take slow-ish steps down the little carpet pathway, toward where the slot machines thin out and the room’s taken over by tables.

I recognize some of them. Craps, I think, is the one with the guy with the stick and all the words on the felt? No idea how that one works, and I’m not about to study the sign with the instructions. There’s card games—blackjack and poker—but I only kind of know the rules to both, and not in a “just enough to lose” way, but in a “too dumb to live” way. And then there’s the spinning one, the mini red-and-black wheel-of-fortune thing. That one, I understand. Call a color or a number and let ‘er rip. And you know what—I could do that. Easy. No problem. I could play⁠—

“Roulette,” Tink says. One hand grazing my arm as she points with the other.

Roulette. That’s it. “Yeah?” I say.

She nods. “Yeah. Perfect game for suckers,” she adds in a lowered voice. “People too dumb for actual games of skill.”