disgusted with herself for giving her hand away.
“You played well last night,” Joe said. “A couple times at MacCauley’s, you made plays that I wasn’t sure were genius or dumb luck.”
“Please. You guys ate me for breakfast.” Clare wanted to believe she was making good plays — she’d been studying the game intensely — but she knew when she was outclassed by a million.
Joe tossed some chips into the center and covered his hole cards with a protector chip. “Did someone say breakfast?” He pulled a banana from his hat and tossed it to Clare. “You should play in our Vancouver side game, too.”
“Are you suffering so badly for weak competition?” Clare opened the banana and took a bite. It tasted good, considering it had been in someone’s hat. She looked at her cards and saw aces. Her heart started thumping. She hoped Joe couldn’t hear it across the table.
“Partly,” Joe said. “But if you want to make a living at poker, you’re going to have to get good at cash games. Tournaments have too much luck involved. That banana looks great in your mouth, by the way.”
“Glad you like it.” Clare toyed with her stack, wondering if sex was Joe’s weakness. More likely not — he was probably trying to throw her off her game. Joe had raised, so Clare decided to play cautiously and re-raise with her aces.
Joe pulled a plum from his hat and started chomping. “All business, huh? That’s cool. I figured you must be smarter than you look. Though what I can’t seem to make sense of is why you’re here, and not off touring the art galleries of Europe while you sort out who you want to be when you grow up.”
“I don’t like art. And people who study it are pretentious.”
“Ah,” Joe said, calling Clare’s raise and closing the pre-flop betting. “A truly smart rich kid. I can see why T-Bone’s pissed at you.”
Clare rolled her eyes. “Has the almighty cowboy never lost a hand before? Or am I supposed to cower in his presence?”
The flop came king-ten-three. Two hearts were on the board. It wasn’t great for her aces — the drawing possibilities to straights and flushes were dangerous. She probably still had the best hand at the moment, though.
“Not cower, exactly . . .” Joe looked at the flop, frowned, and checked. “Maybe stand back in worship.”
“I read T-Bone’s book. It wasn’t exactly worthy of worship.”
“Yeah?” Joe said. “Good book?”
“It sucked. I didn’t learn a thing about how to play poker.” Clare was pretty sure she was supposed to bet here; she just wasn’t sure how much. She went with half the pot.
“You should tell T-Bone that,” Joe said, calling quickly. “Maybe it will make him like you more.”
“I don’t care if T-Bone likes me.”
“No kidding.” Joe took a sip of Coke as they watched the turn come down: the ace of hearts. It gave Clare trips, which was nice, but it also put a flush and a straight possibility on the board — both of which would beat Clare’s hand. “Have you read my book?” Joe asked.
Clare shook her head. “Is it any good?”
“Probably not. It was ghost-written and I haven’t even read the final published version. So you mean it about that coffee? Or would you rather go for a beer? I think beer’s more personable.” Joe stared at the community cards, wrinkling his mouth. “I’m thinking I should go all in.”
Clare said nothing. She hoped he didn’t go all in. This close to the bubble, with her career riding in the balance, she’d have to believe him and fold.
“Nah,” Joe said. “Check. So — beer?”
“I’ll take a rain check,” Clare said, checking quickly.
“Perfect,” Joe said. “It rains a lot in Vancouver, so I’ll consider that a date.”
“Consider it what you like.” Clare grinned, though she’d been trying not to. The real Clare would love to have Joe as a one-nighter — he was a sleazeball, but he was seriously fun to flirt with — but with his girlfriend
“You played well last night,” Joe said. “A couple times at MacCauley’s, you made plays that I wasn’t sure were genius or dumb luck.”
“Please. You guys ate me for breakfast.” Clare wanted to believe she was making good plays — she’d been studying the game intensely — but she knew when she was outclassed by a million.
Joe tossed some chips into the center and covered his hole cards with a protector chip. “Did someone say breakfast?” He pulled a banana from his hat and tossed it to Clare. “You should play in our Vancouver side game, too.”
“Are you suffering so badly for weak competition?” Clare opened the banana and took a bite. It tasted good, considering it had been in someone’s hat. She looked at her cards and saw aces. Her heart started thumping. She hoped Joe couldn’t hear it across the table.
“Partly,” Joe said. “But if you want to make a living at poker, you’re going to have to get good at cash games. Tournaments have too much luck involved. That banana looks great in your mouth, by the way.”
“Glad you like it.” Clare toyed with her stack, wondering if sex was Joe’s weakness. More likely not — he was probably trying to throw her off her game. Joe had raised, so Clare decided to play cautiously and re-raise with her aces.
Joe pulled a plum from his hat and started chomping. “All business, huh? That’s cool. I figured you must be smarter than you look. Though what I can’t seem to make sense of is why you’re here, and not off touring the art galleries of Europe while you sort out who you want to be when you grow up.”
“I don’t like art. And people who study it are pretentious.”
“Ah,” Joe said, calling Clare’s raise and closing the pre-flop betting. “A truly smart rich kid. I can see why T-Bone’s pissed at you.”
Clare rolled her eyes. “Has the almighty cowboy never lost a hand before? Or am I supposed to cower in his presence?”
The flop came king-ten-three. Two hearts were on the board. It wasn’t great for her aces — the drawing possibilities to straights and flushes were dangerous. She probably still had the best hand at the moment, though.
“Not cower, exactly . . .” Joe looked at the flop, frowned, and checked. “Maybe stand back in worship.”
“I read T-Bone’s book. It wasn’t exactly worthy of worship.”
“Yeah?” Joe said. “Good book?”
“It sucked. I didn’t learn a thing about how to play poker.” Clare was pretty sure she was supposed to bet here; she just wasn’t sure how much. She went with half the pot.
“You should tell T-Bone that,” Joe said, calling quickly. “Maybe it will make him like you more.”
“I don’t care if T-Bone likes me.”
“No kidding.” Joe took a sip of Coke as they watched the turn come down: the ace of hearts. It gave Clare trips, which was nice, but it also put a flush and a straight possibility on the board — both of which would beat Clare’s hand. “Have you read my book?” Joe asked.
Clare shook her head. “Is it any good?”
“Probably not. It was ghost-written and I haven’t even read the final published version. So you mean it about that coffee? Or would you rather go for a beer? I think beer’s more personable.” Joe stared at the community cards, wrinkling his mouth. “I’m thinking I should go all in.”
Clare said nothing. She hoped he didn’t go all in. This close to the bubble, with her career riding in the balance, she’d have to believe him and fold.
“Nah,” Joe said. “Check. So — beer?”
“I’ll take a rain check,” Clare said, checking quickly.
“Perfect,” Joe said. “It rains a lot in Vancouver, so I’ll consider that a date.”
“Consider it what you like.” Clare grinned, though she’d been trying not to. The real Clare would love to have Joe as a one-nighter — he was a sleazeball, but he was seriously fun to flirt with — but with his girlfriend
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