He stands behind me and gives me instructions as he talks about what to do with each round of betting, and I can smell him this close to me.
It’s more intoxicating than my three cherry vodka drink.
On my first hand, I’m dealt two low cards, and nothing matches. I fold my cards after the first three community cards are dealt per Dex’s instructions.
On my second hand, I have a queen in my hand, and the dealer flips over a queen. I glance up at him and he raises his brows as if to tell me to stay in this time but not to get crazy just yet.
I end up winning the hand with my two queens.
We go again and again, and I’m starting to get the hang of it when I’m dealt a pair of kings.
The dealer turns over a pair of twos in her first three cards.
I glance up at him, and he tells me to raise the bet.
The fourth card is dealt face-up, and it’s a king.
I have a full house.
“Go all in,” he murmurs.
I turn back and look at him with a question in my eyes along with a bit of fear.
The dealer is showing a two of hearts, a two of spades, an ace of spades, a four of spades, and a king. If someone has the three and five of spades, they’d beat me.
I realize the chances of that happening are slim, but this is also why I’m not a gambler. There’s still a chance someone could beat me.
All in is over two thousand dollars. That’s more than my biweekly paychecks were at my dumb old job.
But he’s telling me to do it.
He raises his brows. “What’s it gonna be?”
I shove all my chips toward the dealer. “All in.”
The man two seats away from me also says, “All in.” He looks familiar, but then everybody here does. It’s a charity event made up of local athletes, celebrities, and millionaires—three things Vegas has no shortage of.
He raises his brows and looks at Dex, and it’s clear they know each other. It’s also a clear pissing contest.
“The fuck you doing?” Dex asks him, and I twist around and practically see steam coming out of his ears.
“I’m playing poker. What are you doing?” the man asks him.
“Teaching my girl how to play.”
I preen at his words. He just publicly called me his girl. That has to mean something.
“Your girl?” he scoffs. The man glances at me a little lewdly, and I’m sure I don’t like it.
“Yeah. My fucking girl.”
“Fucking sounds about right when it comes to you,” he mutters.
And that’s it. That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Or Dex’s back.
Before I can even take a breath to figure out what the hell is about to happen, Dex’s hand is balled into a fist, and it connects with the man’s face. The man is up and out of his chair in a second, ready to fight back.
“Dex!” I scream as anxiety pierces me at witnessing actual violence in front of me, and just as the other man is about to throw a punch back, a group of large men seems to appear as if out of nowhere. One grabs Dex and holds him back while someone else holds the other man back. Security I hadn’t even noticed comes running through the room, too.
