With a sheepish smile, I show my cards. Pippa glows with victory as she reveals the two sevens in her hand.
The whole room erupts. Cat and Brinley practically knock Pippa to the ground with their fierce hugs. Luke and Beau jump up for an actual chest bump while Nate howls with laughter.
“You got beat by a girl!” Cat yells victoriously.
“Your little sister kicked yourass!” Beau cheers.
James leans over and quietly says, “Did you let her win?”
I shake my head. “No. She won all on her own.”
Pippa beams, and I can’t look away from her. Has she always been this radiant? It’s like gold light is shining out from inside her. I feel like I’ve never seen her before.
“Good game, Pips,” I say, pushing myself up to stand. Except the first step I take, the room tilts and I stumble. I have to grab the edge of the table to keep from falling.
“Whoa, let’s get you some coffee and water,” James says, wrapping his arm around my torso for support. “We need you sobered up before we swap presents, and things really get interesting.”
16
PIPPA
Ryan hunches on the couch, alternating between mainlining double espressos and water bottles boosted with electrolyte packs. He looks like he got hit by a bus, and I can’t help preening with satisfaction. He’ll be fine—he has the metabolism of a horse, and he’ll go from tipsy to sober in a few hours.
I lean back in my armchair, basking in the glory of victory. When I sat down at the table, I was a little worried that Ryan would see through my strategy and fold before he had to take a shot. Luckily for me, it worked like a charm. I used his strategic brain against him, drawing him in with the promise of learning more about my unpredictable playing style, then folding and leaving him with the whiskey.
Cat would probably tell me it was cruel, but hey—Ryan never holds back from playing dirty, so why should I?
Ryan moans and covers his eyes with a hand. God, it’s amazing seeing him defeated. Beating him in person was sooooo much better than beating him in online poker, where he didn’t know who was beating him down. When I’m older and looking back on all the best moments of my life, seeing his face when Itook the W might be first on the list. His slack mouth and vacant eyes will be forever immortalized in my memory.
“How are you going to spend your poker winnings, Pippa?” Luke asks.
I shrug. “I’ll pay Cat and Brinley back their buy-ins. After that, I don’t know. Probably save it to put toward rent at my new place?”
“You don’t need to pay me back. It’s Nate’s money,” Cat adds.
“Hey, I’ll take mine,” Brinley says. “Enough poker. I want to play a game I can win. Who’s up for Mao?”
“You play without me,” Ryan says. “I need a few.”
He lies back on the couch and puts a pillow over his head. Nate shakes his head. “Ryan will be lucky if tonight’s hangover goes away by Christmas.”
“He’s going to need plenty of alcohol, anyway,” I say. “We’re both going home for Christmas this year, and he’ll need something to salve the sting of defeat.”
“Doesn’t your family usually go on vacation for Christmas?” Beau asks.
“It’s the first time in five years that our parents decided to stay home. They invited a bunch of uncles and aunts, too.” Ryan’s voice is muffled from under the pillow.
“Enough talk,” Brinley says, dealing the cards to the rest of us. “Time to play.”
I quickly learn that when she’s playing a game she actually enjoys, Brinley is fiercely competitive. She’s so sweet and helpful when she’s working in the café that it’s a shock to see her let out her vicious side. Honestly, it makes me like her more.
After a few hands, Ryan tosses the throw pillow on the floor and watches us. Or rather, he watchesme.His gaze is like a physical touch, caressing my hair, my face, the low neckline of my green dress. I actually borrowed the dress from Cat, which means that on me, the hem ends an inch or two below myass. The only thing that doesn’t make it indecent is the black stockings I’m wearing underneath.
All part of my strategy, of course. Anything that could distract Ryan improved my chances of winning.
Except after the game, he didn’t even glance down at my body. His eyes were fixed on my face when he shook my hand with a firm grip. His jaw flexed as he said, “Good game.” The words sounded almost haunted, like he still hadn’t processed that I beat him.
Now, who knows what he’s thinking? I can’t tell if he’s furious, confused, irritated, or turned on. Maybe a mixture of all four.
