“Sure.”
Four thousand dollars’ worth of chips are divided between us. Anvil takes the deck, shuffles the cards, and deals. He’s mostly silent, but when any of them talks, they are very polite. The play is, at first, decidedly unaggressive. I win the first two hands.
While Trick shuffles, I look up what ginger’s used for during sex. An embarrassed flush spreads from my cheeks to my chest. Trick had mentioned that there would be no spanking in the last trimester, but if he needed to punish me there were other ways. I’ve just figured out one of the ways he means. Closing the browser, I set the phone in my lap and check my cards.
I win the next two hands, but C and Anvil have figured out there’s no need to hold back out of fear I’ll be slaughtered and get sensitive about it.
Trick takes a hand, and so does C. Then I take two more.
Trick’s gaze cuts to me. “You’re playing better tonight.”
“Tonight I’m not worried about dying. Raise,” I say, tossing more chips in.
“You sure you wanna do that?”
I turn my head and stare into his eyes. “I’m sure.”
“I’m out,” C says, watching us.
“Me too,” Anvil says.
Trick raises again. “You don’t have the queen.”
“You sure?” I ask, raising again.
He studies me and shoves in a mound of chips to match mine. His eyes narrow. “Show me.”
I flip my cards. The queen of hearts lies on top of the stack. C and Anvil both roar with laughter.
“You didn’t count?” Anvil demands of Trick, then he reaches a hand across the table to me.
I shake Anvil’s hand. “Thanks,” I say softly. “For the record, he did count. He always counts. Can’t help it.”
Trick’s eyes scan the table, moving over the cards. “Okay, Laurel. Deal.”
C leans back in his chair, sucking on the end of his lime wedge.
My fingers stroke the cards and then I do a butterfly shuffle, and three sets of male eyes lock on my hands while all other movement stops. I turn my head a fraction of an inch, put my hand on Trick’s thigh, and whisper, “If you’re nervous, you can hold my hand.”
Anvil’s brows shoot up. Then he pulls out his wallet and looks in it. Getting up, he looks around.
“What are you doing, ‘Vil?” Trick demands.
“Nothing,” he says, walking over to the desk.
“Does she deal you in? Or are you going to tango around the room?”
Anvil pauses and his grin is priceless. “Maybe you should worry about yourself. She made you lose the count when her hand wasn’t three inches from your dick. What chance have you got of keeping count now?”
Trick flips him off and moves my hand onto the table.
“Do I deal you in, Anvil?”
“Yeah.” Anvil finds a pad of paper and a mechanical pencil and returns to the table. I decide he plans to keep track of the play, though I’m not exactly sure why.
I flick the cards to their respective places.
“You know,” C says, appraising me. “If you’re cheating, you’ll end up in very big trouble.” His voice is gentle, but there’s an undercurrent.
