Against The Odds (Anna Dawson #1) (5 page)

I’d put him in his late thirties-early forties. His face was worn, lived in, but handsome. Not pretty at all, like Jeffrey, but his features were strong, and his eyes… he had the eyes of a gambler; weary, seeing everything, evaluating odds, chances, risk, all in a second. They were brown and soft and reminded me of Ben’s.

I was just about to ask him if he was a gambler, when he said, “Which one for you?”

“Huh?”

He pointed to the three notices I’d seen earlier. “Booze, bets or blow?” he summed up our choices from tonight’s menu.

I laughed, nervous energy expelling from my body, grateful for the outlet. “Bets,” I said.

He looked at me again, harder this time, as if my answer had surprised him. This was Vegas, it shouldn’t have.

“You?” I asked.

“Bourbon,” he answered, sticking with the alliteration.

I nodded, looked closer at him too. For signs, I guess. It was too dark, even under the harsh light of the doorway, to see broken capillaries on his nose, or blood shot eyes. He wasn’t jittery at all, no shakes. His hand, when he’d lift his cigarette to his mouth was steady. No nervous energy either. There was a calmness about him. I’ve known lots of drunks, and he didn’t seem to fit. But I bet I didn’t fit his idea of a gambling junkie either.

He looked at his cigarette butt as it spent its last breath. He seemed like he was willing the damn thing to come back to life, to give him more time.

I knew how he felt.

He stared at the cigarette for a long time, then looked at the building, staring into the window of the door like it was a crystal ball. Was his future in there?

Was mine?

He took a deep breath, just as I had moments ago before I reached for the door. But instead of heading for the door, he rubbed his cigarette in the overflowing ash can and leaned back against the railing, still facing me.

“Not going in?” he asked me.

I looked at the building, as if it could answer for me. When it didn’t, I turned back to him and said, “That has yet to be determined.”

He nodded, understanding. There was something so familiar about him to me.

Or was I just seeing myself in him?

He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out, stared at it for a long time, then tossed it and the pack into the garbage can.

“Quitting all your vices in one night,” I said. “Is that wise?”

 
“Honey, those aren’t even the tip of the iceberg.”

I laughed, then quickly quieted, not wanting those people inside that were pouring their hearts out to hear us.

And suddenly not wanting to hear them—in any form—either.

“I think I’m gonna let my iceberg float for a little while longer,” I said, lifting away from the railing, stepping from the building toward the stairs back down to the street.

He smiled. And man, did a smile do wonders to that serious, troubled, haunted face.
 

“Atta girl,” he said. “Show ‘em who’s boss.”

I put up my dukes in an imaginary fight toward the building. Even took a swing.

He chuckled, low and throaty.

I started down the steps, he trailed behind me. When we got to the bottom, he put his hand lightly on my arm, just enough to get my attention, then took it away.

“Would it seem totally inappropriate if I asked if you wanted to get a drink?”

 
“Only if we can have it in a casino,” I joked.

He chuckled again—a great sound. Then he looked at me, the smile leaving his face. He studied me for a moment, just long enough for me to want to see if my hair needed fixing or if I had something in my teeth.

“No. Really, would you like—” But he was interrupted by his cell phone which he looked at and then frowned.

I surreptitiously looked to see if he wore a wedding band, that maybe it was a wife calling. No band. No tan line of a band. But he could be the kind of guy who doesn’t wear one. Or it could just be a girlfriend calling. It was well after midnight by now, so it was probably some kind of booty call situation.

“Shit,” he murmured, putting the phone back in his pocket without answering it.

I felt a pang of regret that surprised me.

“Good luck,” I said and started walking away, toward my car, opposite from the direction he had appeared from.

“Huh?”

I nodded toward the building. “With your icebergs.” I walked backward a few steps, not wanting to take my eyes off of him. He seemed reluctant to leave too.

“You too,” he said so softly I almost didn’t hear him. I turned and walked to the end of the block. When I turned, he was still there, not watching me, but instead turned to stare at the building which neither of us had entered.

He stood under a street light and the pain that wafted over his face was brief, but I caught it, and it made me hold my breath. Then he turned and walked away, into the darkness of the night.

Chapter Four

I
brought my hand up to my necklace, but instead of playing with it as I had intermittently for the last three hours, I quickly dropped it back to the table. I slid my chips to the middle of the table. “All in.”

Come on, kid, bite. I saw his eyes flash to my necklace, then to the pot, thinking, wondering.
 

Yeah, that’s right, I’d been fiddling with my necklace when I had cards. So, what did it mean when I didn’t? I had garbage? Bluffing?

He sat across the table from me, right in my line of vision, which meant I was in his. He eyed me for several moments, but my face gave nothing away, nor did he expect it to. He knew who I was. I’d seen him before, too. Even in cash games in a casino as big as the Bellagio you were bound to run into the same players once in a while if you played often enough. And I did.

This kid had been here frequently since last fall, probably the day after he’d turned twenty-one.

He looked down at his hands. He made the tiniest movement, just a twitch at the corner of his mouth, and then quickly got it in check. But I’d seen it.

He wanted to smile. He thought he’d read me, that I’d given him a tell by not touching my necklace.

Ever since John Malkovich broke his Oreo in
Rounders
, a tell to Matt Damon who bet the farm and won the game, Vegas was full of kids thinking they could figure out someone’s tell and take them down.

This kid was a good player, but he hadn’t learned to read a trap yet.

 
I had him.

“Call,” he said, as I knew he would, and pushed his stack in. I bit my lower lip, a show for the kid. It didn’t matter now, he was in, but I thought I’d let the drama play out a bit longer.

 
The other players already had, or now dropped out, leaving me playing heads up with the kid whose chip stack was just about equal to mine. The two highest stacks at the table.
 

The other players didn’t know whether to be happy that one of the leaders was going to be gone, or pissed that one of us would have the majority of the chips at the table.

The dealer counted out both our stacks, threw back one chip to me after making them even. So, at least if I lost I wasn’t going to be out of the game. Not that I could do anything with one chip. And this was a cash game, not a tournament, so in theory the kid could just pull out his wallet and buy more chips, as could I.

Except I didn’t have any more money in my wallet. And I needed a big win tonight. There was a college basketball game tomorrow morning that I wanted to bet. Needed to bet.

Had to bet.

Lorelei’s intervention floated through my head, but quickly flew out when the dealer nodded for us to both flip over our hands.

The poor kid almost shit a brick when he saw my pocket aces. He limply turned over a queen and a ten. He looked at me questioningly. I wasn’t going to gloat—not my style. But the kid could be a really good player if he learned some of the finer points. I subtlely moved my hand back to my necklace. Put it in front of it, took it away, put it back, like a magic trick—now you see it now you don’t.

The kid watched me, his brows furrowing. I saw the moment he got it, what I’d done, how I’d led him for three hours and then—when I had the aces—suckered him in with a false tell.

To the kid’s credit he didn’t say a word, nor gave away anything to the other players. He simply nodded to me, a tip of his hat if you will. I gave a small nod back. He’d know I’d tipped him off on how he’d failed not for my benefit, but for his.

He did, I could see that, as he lowered his head, thinking back over the game, mentally counting all the times I’d done the necklace fumble, a small smile of appreciation on his young face.

The dealer laid down the flop and it was my turn to shit a brick.

A queen, a ten and a nine.

Groans from the other players, and a gasp of surprise from the kid. Suddenly we had a game. And it didn’t look good for me.

The kid stood up, which was usually the move of the player with the likelihood of losing, but that move never sat well with me. I stayed in my seat; as if I had no doubt I’d be there for several more hours.

The turn card was a queen. Kid had a full boat.

And it looked like I’d be leaving the chair considerably sooner.

I could still take him if the river card was an ace. I’d have a boat too, mine ace-high to his queens.
 

The dealer flipped over a ten. It was definitely the kid’s night.

“Gentlemen, good luck to you,” I said to the table in general as I got up to leave. I handed the dealer my one remaining chip—a nice tip for him, and he thanked me.

The kid came around to me as I gathered up my jacket. “Would you be pissed if I said I’m sorry?” he said sticking out his hand for me to shake.
 

I took it. “Never apologize for a win, kid.” I gave him a smile, showing him there were no hard feelings. There wasn’t room in poker for hard feelings, not if you were coming back the next day.
 

And the next.

“Yeah, but the way you played me,” he said to me, quietly, so the others wouldn’t hear. “That was a thing of beauty, then to take a bad beat, it almost doesn’t seem right.”

I shrugged. “That’s why it’s called gambling.” I started to walk away, but he stopped me with a hand to my sleeve.
 

“My name’s Jason, by the way,” he said.

“Anna.”

“Yeah, I know, I’ve seen you on TV. You’re the Black Widow,” he said, referring to the nickname some television announcer had given me early in my career due to the black suits I wore when I was at a final table. “I think you’re amazing.”

“Thanks,” I said. What could you say to that, really? The little shit had knocked me out of a game I really needed to win and turns out he was a member of my fan club.

“Are you going to get into another game now?” he asked.

Not here, not with an empty wallet. There were games—in other places—to get into with no money, but I wasn’t going to lead the kid down that path. “Nah,” I said, “I’m going home to lick my wounds.”

He got this apologetic look on his face. “I’m just kidding, Jason. You got me. And, you’ll never fall for a false tell again, or at least not so quickly.”

“Why did you tip me off to what you’d done?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Some very good players helped me along the way. I’m just returning the favor. Hopefully, you will too, someday.”

“Thanks,” he said, moving toward me, wanting to continue the conversation, but I turned and headed toward the back of the room.
 

“See ya around, Jason,” I said lifting my hand in a reverse wave.

I could feel his eyes on my back. Kid should have been back at the game, taking the rest of the players down with his intimidating pot, not watching me.
 

I beelined for Jeffrey, who was working at the high desk area with a couple of the other poker room supervisors.

“Hey, Anna, you out?” he said as I approached.

“Kiss me,” I said.

He knew the drill. I’d had him show me some PDA before for the benefit of anybody with ideas. Not that Jason had any ideas beyond knocking out a pro from a game, but why not send that message home.

Jeffrey didn’t miss a beat, he wrapped his arms around me, gave me a hug, and then, just to show we weren’t just long-lost cousins, he planted a wet, sloppy kiss on me.

I started to giggle but he only whispered, “You asked for it,” and continued on.

When he pulled away I watched as his eyes went over my head to the direction I’d come from. “The kid?” he asked with just a bit too much disbelief in my opinion. Jason, as I suspected, must have been watching me. Watching us.

“What? I can’t attract a twenty-one-year old?”

Jeffrey straightened his tie, which in no way had gotten askew from our kiss, looked at me and grinned, “I’m not touching that one.”

“Smart man.”