I picture my room in my mind, going over where I put what, but it was a long time ago. Maybe my wallet is still in my desk drawer. I think there should still be at least a hundred in it. I always put the wallet there when I went to work, right beside my poker cards.
Wait a minute.
“Slo,” I blurt out, turning around, having had an idea, only to find her topless. She squeals, pulling her arms over her chest. I put my hands over my eyes, but, well, they're see-through, so I turn back to face the wall, not before catching a glimpse of her beautiful pink nipples.
Fuck, who would have known a ghost could get hard as a rock?
I mean, I watched the final moments of her night with Nash, and I already knew she was stunning. I’ll never get the image of her riding dick out of my head.
But she was a stranger then.
Now she’s...her.
“I-I’m so sorry,” I splutter, but all I hear is a loud laugh from behind me.
“Of course, you’re sorry,” she mutters sarcastically. “I’m dressed. You can turn around.” I do, biting my lips sheepishly. But when I meet her gaze, there’s amusement and a hint of heat in her eyes. “What did you want to tell me?” she asks, smiling.
“I know how we can get you some money.”
TWENTY-FIVE
The atmosphere is charged.
Clutching a weathered deck of cards tightly in my hand, I’m perched at a worn-out table in the shipyard’s breakroom with three fishermen huddled around.
This afternoon, as the first group of fishermen returned, Saylor encouraged me to approach one of them and invite him to play a game of poker. He had a history of playing with this particular guy and was confident he wouldn’t turn down the opportunity.
Turns out, he was right. Now, a crowd of onlookers has formed, and it appears that every Jones & Sons fisherman is back and standing around us, the room echoing with laughter and chatter. This little poker game has drawn quite an audience, and I’m already questioning why I even agreed to do this in the first place. But Saylor insisted, telling me there is a lot of money to win if I do it right, and he will make sure I do.
Saylor has already completed a circuit of the table, noting the cards held by the other three men. He now stands close behind me, peering over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of my cards.
The first guy is a gruff-looking fellow with a beard, a man of few words. The second is the one Saylor urged me to invite tothe game, a man likely in his forties who takes this poker match far more seriously than I ever intend to. And then there’s Adam, one of Nash’s and Tim’s crew, seated next to me. He’s around my age, with tousled chestnut hair, green eyes, and a boyish grin that is quite charming. He’s cute and undoubtedly my type.
Nash stands behind him, leaning casually against the back of Adam’s chair, his muscular, tattooed forearms on full display and his intense blue eyes locked onto mine.
It’s unfair how every other man pales in comparison when next to one of the Jones brothers.
The fisherman with the thick beard, raises the stakes. “Five dollars,” he declares.
I glance at my hand, a pair of eights.
Hmm…
“Call,” Saylor whispers in my ear, making goose bumps rise on my arms.
I follow his advice and toss my five dollars onto the table with a confident “Call.” The second fisherman chuckles and raises the bet to ten dollars. Saylor gives me a nod of approval. “Raise him ten more,” I declare, sliding an additional ten-dollar bill into the pot.
Adam hesitates for a moment before reluctantly folding his hand. The other two call, and the tension in the room rises.
As the next set of cards is dealt, I’m delighted to find another eight in my hand. A full house is within reach, and I can sense Saylor’s excitement building. He revels in the thrill of the game.
The first fisherman bets twenty dollars this time, and I quickly follow suit.
“Someone is confident.” Saylor chuckles.
I can be since he taught me so well.
I nod and announce, “All in.”
