“No limit. Keep calling for us.”
Her brows raise as I turn to sign the pad he presents. I don’t look at it, don’t need to. It’s the same legal jargon we deliver, threatening incarceration should we choose to not pay debts swiftly. It’s been ten years since I had to pay a debt caused by gambling. Ten years of counting cards. Ten years of learning tables before I play any game. I haven’t gambled a damn thing since I started counting money. I win, or I don’t play at all. That’s what happens when accountants strategize rather than throw caution to the wind.
A case is handed over the moment I’ve signed it, no doubt filled with chips.
“No limit, hey?” she says, ass rubbing into me as she stretches to move her own chips, her other hand reaching for the dice.
“Holiday.”
“Expensive holiday.”
She holds up the dice and throws, the roar of the other players jeering her on. The dice tumble over and over until a five and six land face up. The excitement erupts, cheers and chants getting louder, enough so that I laugh at the revelry as she turns to me and smiles.
It’s the first time dice tumbling has caused any form of smile from me in a long time.
I dump fifty thousand down on her pile, hand snaking around her waist to pull her back to me, and signal the barkeep working the tables.
“Champagne,” I order, and hand over a few hundred dollars as tip. “For the whole table.” The crowd goes mad, heckles and jeers shouting Gabby on to move my chips into place as they hold their drinks up at me. “You gonna win me some money, Gabby?” She looks back at me, her quirky frown in place.
“You’re sure?”
I nod and kiss her briefly, turning her back to the table and backing my ass into the crowd so I can watch. I couldn’t give a damn for the money. She can lose it, win more. Give it away for all I care. Watching her is all I want. Watching her and fucking her. I’m lost to her. Happier than I’ve been most of my adult life and damn sure this is not how I should be feeling about a woman I barely know.
“Well, I best match it then.” She digs into her bag and produces a fuck load of ten-thousand-dollar chips. I snort, unsure who the hell this woman is, where she’s come from, and where she’s damn well been all my life. “We’ll play together.”
I watch after that, champagne flowing down my neck like it’s water. Everything is calm, regardless of the energetic atmosphere around us. Just focusing on her brings me relaxation, keeps me smiling rather than thinking of what I’ve got to go back to soon.
She’s sharp as fuck, too. Cunning. She plays the table and odds as well as I would in some ways, calculating her risk long before most others have even thought their moves through. It’s something I’ve not seen from her before. Like she’s got another part of herself hidden away that I’ve never known. But she’s still got that effervescence that throws caution to the wind on occasion, a flair that considers those odds obsolete and unnecessary when she’s excited.
She wanders off after a while, phone attached to her ear and a slight scowl marring that beauty. It pisses me off, enough so that I peer at her through the crowds, trying to read her lips. I can’t. She turns her head too often, almost as if she knows I’m watching and is trying to cover her conversation. I narrow my stare and hold our chips steady, throwing one in to keep the game turning over until she bags her phone and starts the walk back to me. The graceful smile comes the moment she sees me looking at her, but I can see it for exactly what it is. A cover. Seems my Gabby is still hiding things from me she shouldn’t be. Or perhaps she should. It’s not like I’m being completely honest, is it?
I snort, lifting my glass to my lips again as she saunters back to me, her fingers wiggling for me to join her.
“You matching me again?” she asks, still beaming. “Because I’m going all in. The lot. All of it.” She turns back to the table and pushes everything she’s got forward with steady hands. I narrow my stare again, gazing at nothing but her eyes as she focuses hers back on mine. She’s pissed about something. I can see the annoyance lingering, regardless of that smile. It’s sexy as fuck.
“You’re risking it all, huh?” She laughs, infecting me with the same sense of exuberance before I’ve given normal thought to the odds.
“Vaccaciones,” she says.
I reach for my ruck of chips, tossing them alongside hers. She’s right.
Holiday.
Screw the odds.
* * *
There’s never been a more intense vision of money than the one I’m currently gazing at. She’s lying on nearly a million profit, notes scattered out around her and hair tumbling over the edge of the bed. I don’t know what time it is, nor do I care. We came back here, drank more champagne, and then fucked on every surface I could find. She’s red raw in some places and not nearly raw enough in others. And no matter how much I’ve tried to keep it cool and calculate my odds, play it safe, I don’t want to anymore. I’m itching to get inside her again. Near desperate.
Odds be damned.
“You’re stunning,” I murmur, watching as she turns her head to me.
She smiles and stares in response, no words, just those lips turning up at the edges as light filters in from the moon. It cascades and bounces through the sheer drapes, a light breeze sending dapples and flecks across her olive toned skin. It’s picture fucking perfect. The sort of thing that dreams are made of.
The sort of thing that isn’t made for Cane.
I reach for the bottle of champagne and tip some into our glasses, ready to carry on with the romance occupying my mind. I’m damned if Cane is getting in the way of this tonight. Just for once I’m going to be me, let it come without calculating my chances.
