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Authors: Robin Spano
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treating her with that suspicious mix of warmth and derision, there was no way screwing Joe could be a smart move. “And hey, maybe bring Elizabeth, so she doesn’t get the wrong idea.”
“Why? Do you have a wrong idea?”
The river card came. The ten of spades, giving Clare the full house she’d been hoping for. In a perfect world, Joe had the flush or the straight that had scared her on the turn, because now Clare could beat it, and he’d still be willing to commit a good portion of his stack.
“You’re inviting me in front of all these people.” Clare cast her glance around the poker table. A skinny kid in a backwards baseball cap smirked when she caught his glance, and a disheveled academic type at the end of the table nodded at Clare with a glint in his eye. The table was clearly interested in their conversation.
“Hmm.” Joe tilted his head to one side. He glanced at Clare’s remaining chips and bet about half the pot. “I don’t think these people will talk. I think we should go out one-on-one.”
“I’ll think about it.” Clare pushed her chips all in. She bit her lip, clasped her hands, trying to look nervous so he’d call. “As in, I’ll contemplate how socially suicidal I’m feeling.”
“How is going out with me social suicide?” Joe leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, studying Clare, eyeing the cards on the table. “Most people would think a date with me was the opposite.”
“I like Elizabeth,” Clare said.
“Why? Lizzie hates you.”
“But she pretends she doesn’t, and that fascinates me.”
“Ah, come on. One date. You might even want to have sex with me at the end.”
Clare smiled, this time on purpose. “I’d rather fuck your girlfriend.”
“Cool,” Joe said. “I’ll try to arrange that. By the way, I call. I’m sorry to knock you out of the game like this. I hope we can still be friends.”
“What do you mean?” Clare flipped her cards and showed Joe her full house. She felt her heart sink when Joe’s confidence didn’t waver. “Don’t tell me you have a royal flush.”
“I don’t have a royal flush.” Joe flipped over two tens. “But my quads still beat you.”
FOURTEEN
NOAH
Noah lifted a few of his chips and let them slide through his fingers back to their place in the stack. He was relieved to see Tiffany walk away from her table, defeated. Not that he wanted her to lose. But if she busted out before the bubble, she probably wasn’t cheating.
So who was?
Noah looked at the players at his table. Most had their ears free. One woman was listening to an iPod Shuffle, but unless it was a cleverly disguised receiver, Noah was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to pick up the cheating info stream on it. A middle-aged accountant type was wearing a hands-free earpiece for a cell phone — which was dumb, because if your phone rang when you were playing, it was a ten-minute penalty. But an earpiece was too obvious for a high-level cheater — the guy probably just thought it looked cool. What aroused Noah’s suspicion most were the thick red glasses on George Bigelow. Any earring or eyeglass arm could be set up to receive a Bluetooth signal.
Noah said to George, who was sitting to his right, “You’re that guy who wrote Suicide Kings. ”
George nodded, his gaze still on the cards. “Crap title, right? My publisher thought it was catchier than my working title, Ace Magnets .”
“I agree with your publisher.” Noah grinned in what he hoped was a gushing fan way. “The book was great. It helped my game a lot.”
“I wouldn’t call it a masterpiece.”
Noah liked George on first impression. He was quirky, kind of hip in a retro-geek way, and he could self-deprecate like the best of them.
“I disagree,” Noah said. “Your writing’s cool and clever. You ever think of writing something else? You know, not about poker.”
George smiled broadly. “I’m working on a novel now.”
“What’s it
“Why? Do you have a wrong idea?”
The river card came. The ten of spades, giving Clare the full house she’d been hoping for. In a perfect world, Joe had the flush or the straight that had scared her on the turn, because now Clare could beat it, and he’d still be willing to commit a good portion of his stack.
“You’re inviting me in front of all these people.” Clare cast her glance around the poker table. A skinny kid in a backwards baseball cap smirked when she caught his glance, and a disheveled academic type at the end of the table nodded at Clare with a glint in his eye. The table was clearly interested in their conversation.
“Hmm.” Joe tilted his head to one side. He glanced at Clare’s remaining chips and bet about half the pot. “I don’t think these people will talk. I think we should go out one-on-one.”
“I’ll think about it.” Clare pushed her chips all in. She bit her lip, clasped her hands, trying to look nervous so he’d call. “As in, I’ll contemplate how socially suicidal I’m feeling.”
“How is going out with me social suicide?” Joe leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, studying Clare, eyeing the cards on the table. “Most people would think a date with me was the opposite.”
“I like Elizabeth,” Clare said.
“Why? Lizzie hates you.”
“But she pretends she doesn’t, and that fascinates me.”
“Ah, come on. One date. You might even want to have sex with me at the end.”
Clare smiled, this time on purpose. “I’d rather fuck your girlfriend.”
“Cool,” Joe said. “I’ll try to arrange that. By the way, I call. I’m sorry to knock you out of the game like this. I hope we can still be friends.”
“What do you mean?” Clare flipped her cards and showed Joe her full house. She felt her heart sink when Joe’s confidence didn’t waver. “Don’t tell me you have a royal flush.”
“I don’t have a royal flush.” Joe flipped over two tens. “But my quads still beat you.”
FOURTEEN
NOAH
Noah lifted a few of his chips and let them slide through his fingers back to their place in the stack. He was relieved to see Tiffany walk away from her table, defeated. Not that he wanted her to lose. But if she busted out before the bubble, she probably wasn’t cheating.
So who was?
Noah looked at the players at his table. Most had their ears free. One woman was listening to an iPod Shuffle, but unless it was a cleverly disguised receiver, Noah was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to pick up the cheating info stream on it. A middle-aged accountant type was wearing a hands-free earpiece for a cell phone — which was dumb, because if your phone rang when you were playing, it was a ten-minute penalty. But an earpiece was too obvious for a high-level cheater — the guy probably just thought it looked cool. What aroused Noah’s suspicion most were the thick red glasses on George Bigelow. Any earring or eyeglass arm could be set up to receive a Bluetooth signal.
Noah said to George, who was sitting to his right, “You’re that guy who wrote Suicide Kings. ”
George nodded, his gaze still on the cards. “Crap title, right? My publisher thought it was catchier than my working title, Ace Magnets .”
“I agree with your publisher.” Noah grinned in what he hoped was a gushing fan way. “The book was great. It helped my game a lot.”
“I wouldn’t call it a masterpiece.”
Noah liked George on first impression. He was quirky, kind of hip in a retro-geek way, and he could self-deprecate like the best of them.
“I disagree,” Noah said. “Your writing’s cool and clever. You ever think of writing something else? You know, not about poker.”
George smiled broadly. “I’m working on a novel now.”
“What’s it
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