Alice cuts neat little bites, chewing delicate.
“You’ll starve, eatin’ like a bird.”
Just as she scowls at me, a shout from across the room pulls my eye—men crowding around a table, cards flashing in their hands, chips scattering cross wood. My blood warms hotter at the sound, and before I think twice, I shove my plate aside and stand.
Alice’s head snaps up. “Where are you going?”
I tip my glass toward the game. “Cards. Luck’s callin’.”
With a wink, I saunter over and pull up a chair. The men size me up, but the dealer just grunts and slides me a hand. I peel the cards slow, hum deep in my chest, and throw in a coin.
The first round, I come out smelling like a rose. I rake the pot, chips clacking cool under my palms. The whiskey’s burning warm in my gut now, loosening everything—shoulders, tongue, temper. Checking over my shoulder, Alice has left our table to stand behind me, jaw set hard enough to crack.
Shoulda let the woman order a damn whiskey. She could afford to lighten up.
Second round, I lean back in my chair, stretch my boots out long. “Reckon I got luck ridin’ on my shoulder tonight.”
One of the players, a farmer glistening with sweat, snorts. “See how long it lasts.”
The dealer snaps the deck, cards shuffling clean, then lays ’em out one by one across the table. The air’s thick with smoke and sweat. I slide my hand in close, tilt the corners just enough to take a peek. Three kings. A man couldn’t ask for better.
But showing that now’d be suicide. So I let my mouth pull into a sour line. I toss a chip in with a wince, like it pains me, then slump back in my chair, all loose and defeated.
Alice leans a little closer, peeking at the cards in my hand. “But you’ve got three kings,” she says, voice clear as a bell.
Every man at the table stifles.
I slam my cards face down, turning to her hot. “Sweet mercy, Alice—you don’t announce a man’s hand.”
She jerks back a fraction, lips fumbling open. “Oh?—”
The table erupts—hoots, jeers, men slapping their thighs, one near falls out his chair laughing. The farmer across chokes on his drink. Alice presses her lips together, trying to hold it, but then her shoulders shake and the cheerful sound bursts out anyway—bright, sweet, ringing through the room.
“I’m sorry!” she says, laughing.
“Sorry?” I growl, pushing my chair back just enough to catch her wrist. “You show a man’s ass, then laugh at him for it.”
With that, I tug her down into my lap. She gasps, stiff at first, but my arm hooks firm around her waist, holding her snug. Her skirts spill over my legs, her back pressed to my chest.
“There,” I mutter against her ear, low enough only she hears. “If you’re bound to ruin my game, might as well keep you where I can watch you.”
She squirms, hands gripping her skirts like she might lift herself off. But I tighten my arm just an inch, enough to still her.
Her breath holds, cheeks flaming hot. “This is most improper.”
“So’s givin’ away a man’s hand.”
That wins me another laugh, softer this time. The sound sings right against my chest where she leans, making me dizzier than any bottle could. I want another. “How ’bout I bounce you on my knee, keep you entertained while I play.”
She sits up rigid, but there’s a ghost of a smile on her lips. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I rock my knee once, subtle, just enough she feels it.
She scowls, but there ain’t no true ugliness in it. It cracks into a laugh quick. A pretty, breathless sound, smothered by her hand, but it’s there. Christ almighty. That sound could ruin me.
I pick my cards back up with my free hand, but it’s a losing fight. Every time she shifts, it pulls me clean out the game. A player mutters about me being distracted, and he ain’t wrong.
Alice tilts her head, whispering, “What do you have now?”
