Black Number Four (10 page)

I wrap my coat tight around my waist and tuck my hands under the sleeves as we walk the beach. It’s not cold, not really, but I’m a wimp and a true Floridian so naturally – I’m freezing. Even though the water is like ice, we still walk barefoot along the shore, letting the waves wash over our toes.

I know I’m in dangerous territory being here with Kip. I started out strong tonight, or at least I thought I did. I was kind of a bitch to him earlier, yet he still wanted me to come home with him.

Damn it.

I need him to just tell me to get lost so I can tell my Big he changed his mind, that he’s not into me. The more we dance on this side of the line, the harder it will be to get her to drop this game of hers. If she’s hell bent on getting him back and there’s any way I can help make it happen, she’s going to use me.

There’s also the fact that I like being around him. I like it way more than I care to admit and that’s not good. It would be hard enough to stay away from him, but if I have to be around him and yet not have him the way I want to? Yeah, I think that would be worse. He was my target – I zeroed in on him the first night we met. And now I have to take my finger off the trigger seconds before shooting and aim another direction.

I’m not a happy camper.

Kip’s shoulder brushes mine, waking up my senses to realize just how close we’re walking. He turns toward me, his bright eyes reflecting the turquoise blue of the water. “So, why poker?”

“What do you mean? Like why do I play?”

“Yeah, how did you get started playing? And why do you do it professionally?”

“Are you interviewing me for ESPN?” I ask, lifting my brows in amusement.

He smiles and looks back out at the water. “I’m just curious about you.”

“Well, it’s a pretty boring story.”

“Boring is in the eye of the beholder.”

I stop walking. “I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be
beauty
.”

“I amended it. So I’ll ask again – why poker?”

We start walking again and I tuck my hands deeper into my coat. “My mom taught me how to play when I was really young. I didn’t exactly fit in when I was younger and I never got invited to birthday parties or any of that stuff that happened on the weekends.”

“You? Miss Social Butterfly? I can hardly imagine any scenario where you didn’t fit in.”

I shake my head. “Palm South is different for me, which is part of why I love it so much. I used to be pretty much invisible, and here, everyone knows me. It’s something I’ve always wanted.”

Kip scrunches his nose. “Why? Doesn’t it bother you to have everyone watching you, talking about you?”

I shrug. “No, not really. I mean, the gossiping is the downside to it, but the plus side is that I never walk into a class where I don’t know someone. I always have something to do, whether it’s the weekend or not. I’ve kind of broken out of my shell here, I guess. People love to be around me and I like to be around them, too.”

He seems to chew on that, his toes flicking up wet sand as we continue walking. Finally he asks, “So your mom taught you?”

“Yeah, she started teaching me how to play poker to lift my spirits, I guess, and we had family poker nights. My brother wasn’t as into it as I was, but he played every now and then. Mostly it was me, Mom, and Dad. Dad knew the game better, but Mom knew
how
to play, if that makes sense. She had a better poker face, better reads on bluffs.”

“So she taught you all your moves, huh?” He asks, quirking a brow.

I smile, nodding. “Yes, definitely. She says I’m better, but I learned everything I know from her.”

Kip is quiet for a moment and we just walk, the sound of the ocean filling the silence. After a while, he asks, “So you used to do it for fun, but when did it go from a family game night sort of thing to something professional?”

We’re getting into deeper territory, and I’m not sure I want to go there. I bite my bottom lip and consider lying, but I’ve never been one to bluff when I don’t have to. No sense in wasting a good poker face on something that isn’t that serious. Most everyone at the school knows why I play the way I do, I guess it doesn’t hurt for him to hear it from the source.

“Honestly?”

He nods. “Of course.”

I shrug. “I’m poor. Like, second-hand clothes, food stamps, lived-in-a-car-for-a-year-once poor.” I turn to see Kip’s reaction, but he doesn’t give one. He just waits for me to continue. “Well, I guess I should say I
was
poor. My parents work so hard, but they never went to college and their options are limited. They both work retail and Dad is close to getting promoted to management, but things are just tight. So, when I was old enough to enter tournaments, I started playing for money. I’m good at it, I like it – why not make life a little easier for my family and do it for a living?”

We stop walking and face the water, letting our feet sink deeper into the sand with every pull of a new wave. “Plus,” I add after a moment of silence. “I wouldn’t be able to come here if I didn’t do the tournaments. I pay for my tuition, books, and the sorority all on my own. This has been my first-choice school ever since I can remember. I knew coming here would be different, a chance for me to reinvent myself and be who I wanted to be – it’s a small school, everyone knows everyone, and like I said before, I’ve always wanted that. I played the part of the little fish in a big sea growing up. Now, at Palm South, people know me. People love me.” I smile, thinking of my sisters and friends on campus. They’re like my family, and I can’t imagine where I would be if I couldn’t play poker to stay here with them.

I can’t read Kip’s face, but he’s still quiet, so word vomit starts pouring out of my mouth. At this point, I’ve probably told him more than he cares to know, but it’s like I can’t stop – I can’t end the story here.

“And now I have to win enough to pay the entry fee in May. If I win that tournament, I won’t have to play professionally anymore – not unless I actually
want
to, at least. I’ll be able to give my parents a nice check for them to use however they need to and, more importantly, I’ll be able to pay for the rest of school and finally focus on what I really want to do.” I let that last part sink in, remembering how badly I want this win. “I have to take first place in Vegas. There’s no other option.”

Kip swallows hard, and I realize I just dumped a lot of heavy shit on him.
Cool, Skyler, let’s talk about being poor with the new kid at a private school. Obviously he has money and doesn’t understand.
I picture him treating me differently, looking at me with sad eyes the way the kids at my high school did. I finally fit in somewhere and instead of embracing it, I point out that it’s an illusion – I still don’t really belong.

He goes to speak, and I brace myself for the
I’m so sorry, that’s so sad, you’re so strong
, but instead he asks, “So what do you really want to do?”

Wait, what?

I falter for a moment, staring at him like an idiot so he lifts his brows. I shake my head. “Um, well, to be honest I don’t really know. That’s part of why I need to win this tournament. I have a few ideas of what I want to do, but as of now I’m still undecided because I’m too worried about being able to afford next semester to think about my major or future career. I need a clear head to focus on me, for once.”

He nods, digesting. I can’t tell, but for some reason it seems like he feels bad, but not in the way others do when they hear about it. The look on his face isn’t one of sympathy, but almost as if he’s the one who put me in this situation. He looks… guilty, and for the life of me I can’t imagine why. Maybe he’s just one of those types of people, the kind who just feel intensely. For some reason, it makes me uneasy… and I’m never wrong when it comes to my gut feelings. Suddenly, I feel like I should be paying more attention to his poker face.

Maybe there’s something he’s not telling me.

Ugh, there I go again, always looking for something that’s not there. Mom taught me how to hide my emotions and decode the emotions of others. It’s fantastic in a poker game, but it kind of sucks in real life. I’m more paranoid than the average person and tend to jump to conclusions. No matter how often I’m right, I still think I act a little crazy.

I glance down at my toes sunk into the sand. “Do you see those shells?”

Kip blinks and shakes his head, coming out of his own thoughts. He looks down. “Those little ones? Yeah.”

“Watch them,” I say as another wave rolls over our feet. As it recedes, the shells begin to wiggle their way back into the sand.

“Woah!” Kip yells, jumping back. “Are they moving?!”

I giggle at his reaction, grabbing his arm and pulling him back next to me. “Yes, they’re
coquinas.”

Kip gives me a sideways glance and a confused look. I laugh. He looks ridiculous.

“They’re little clams. They hang out on the shore where the waves hit because they eat the plankton that the waves bring in. So they burrow in, and then when a wave comes it washes them out, so they have to dig their way back down. Once they dig down enough, they use little siphons to draw in the water and eat the plankton. And then it all happens again, over and over all day long.”

Kip looks down and wiggles his toes. “So they’re like marathon clams. They make other clams look lazy.”

“I guess so.” I laugh. “I like them because they work hard for what they want and need in life. They don’t let the threat of waves thousands of times larger than them crashing down stop them. They persevere, and it’s not easy – but they do it.”

He quirks a half smile at me, his blue eyes saying something that I can’t quite decipher. He bends down and picks one of the coquinas up, examining it between his fingers. I watch him as he studies it, wondering what he’s looking for. It’s as if he wants to know the secrets, like he’s thirsty for the knowledge on how to beat the waves in his own life.

I think I am, too.

“I want to help you this semester,” he says, delicately placing the coquina back in the sand and standing.

“Help with what?”

“Poker. I know you already know what you’re doing, but I can help you prepare for May. I’ll find you small tournaments to play in and I’ll sneak video so we can review it, work on your weaknesses.”

I laugh, shaking my head, but then I realize it actually might be a good idea. I’ve always wished I could record a tournament and see what my face looks like when I’m bluffing and when I have a really good pocket pair. I don’t feel like I give anything off, but I’ve been beaten enough times to know I do. The novices don’t pick up on it, but the pros do – and I’ll be playing the best of the pros in Vegas.

I turn to Kip, questioning. “Why do you want to help me?”

He shrugs. “We’re friends, remember? I think this is what friends do. Although, I’d be happy to go back to sucking lime juice out of your mouth, if you’d prefer.”

I blush and shove him.

“Ah!” he screams, tiptoeing on the sand as I push him back. “Careful! I don’t want to step on the little bad ass clams!”

I laugh and we turn back toward where we left our shoes. The sun is shining full force now, and I’m sure it’s at least eight. I yawn, the night finally catching up to me.

“Want me to walk you back to the sorority house?” Kip asks, yawning himself.

“No, I don’t want to do the walk of shame with you in tow. It’s already going to look bad as it is.”

He smiles a lazy, sleepy smile. “Everyone’s going to think we slept together. Want to give them something to talk about?” He waggles his eyebrows and I punch him hard in the arm.

“You’re going to need that friend zone helmet for real if you keep pushing my buttons like that.”

“Oh, I like pushing your buttons.” He winks. I roll my eyes, but can’t fight off the laugh. As annoying as he is, he’s equally sexy. I’ve always said that if a guy can make me laugh, he can make me do anything.

Let’s hope I can resist this time.