Pussy.
A don't pass line bet is one of the safest bets he could possibly make with the best odds.
Of course, he'd play it safe but that’s not how you win in life. That’s how you skate by. But for someone who’s had to claw her way to where she is, fight tooth and nail for what she deserves, I didn’t get this way by taking the easy route out and I don’t intend on starting to now.
The dealer rolls the di as I watch them ping around the small space while I hold my breath. Finally, they land in a 5-2. Thegroup cheers as I grin and clear the pieces off the table with a wickedly satisfied smile.
“Beauty and brains,” the groom whispers, his voice hot and damp on my neck like a humid day. “Be a doll and bring us another round and one for yourself, babe. Trust me, a win for you includes meeting me in my room later. I'll make sure you win there, too.”
I do my best to stifle the eye roll clawing its way up as I scoop the pile of chips off the table and into my apron. My heels click hard against the floor as I stomp back toward the bar. What Iwantto do is throat punch the creep who keeps grabbing my waist all night, but the four hundred dollars’ worth of chips tucked into my pocket remind me I have to keep my cool and this is a nice consolation for putting up with them. I blow out a long, steady breath of air.
I still need them to tip me. And tip mewell.
“You’re crazy, you know that, Mae?” the bartender says with a laugh as I slap the tray onto the counter.
“About to be crazy rich from hustling every drunk asshole who thinks they can put their hands on me in here,” I fire back, grabbing a rag to wipe the condensation from my tray.
She smirks, leaning on the counter. “Just don’t let Frank catch you pulling that. He’ll lose his shit if he thinks you’re scaring off customers by taking their money.”
I roll my eyes. “Please. Those idiots aren’t leaving just because I schooled them. If anything, they’re staying longer to keep staring at my ass because they think I’ll put out.”
She snorts, shaking her head. “Your ass and your tits. Honestly, those things deserve their own billboard.”
With a mock-serious expression, I push my chest out, wiggling my eyebrows in a way I’m sure makes me look ridiculous. She bursts into laughter, and for a second, I forget how much I hate working at this place. Then a deep voice cuts through our playfulbanter, smooth and commanding enough to send a shiver skittering down my spine.
“Where’d you learn to play like that?”
I turn, raising a brow as I take in the man sitting three barstools down.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and dangerously handsome, he’s got the kind of presence that could stop a freight train, and I wonder what he does for a living. Chestnut-brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a grin so sharp and white it could blind someone. Prince Charming in a perfectly tailored gray suit, with shoes that probably cost more than my rent, and a body that looks like it spends its free time bench-pressing other gym rats. He must be an athlete.
“Just worked here too damn long,” I say, evading the question and looking away. Because the last thing I need is for one of Frank’s little spies he has positioned around the casino to catch wind of me hustling some of his patrons on the clock.
“Dexter,” he says back, grinning and stretching out his hand. “I like your style.”
I hesitate but then place my hand in his for a shake. “You don’t know me enough to say that, but I’m Mae. And by style, do you mean conning a group of drunk pricks out of their money?”
He nods. “You’re funny. Usually, when someone’s as witty, bold, and snappy as you are, they’ve been through some shit and don't have much to lose. What’s your story?”
I can appreciate that Dexter doesn’t ask me the dreaded question:Why are you working as a waitress at a casino?It’s always loaded, like there’s some higher purpose I should be chasing or something inherently wrong with this job. I’ve always hated that question. It comes with a patronizing undertone, as if people in service roles are somehow worth less than those behind desks or in hard hats.
When I first started working here, it didn’t take long to realizejust how many people look down on servers and bartenders. It stung in the beginning because it forced me to confront something uncomfortable: I’d been that person once. Growing up as a Beaumont, I was raised to view jobs like these as beneath me, the kind of work you do when you have no other option.
It's funny how life has a way of humbling you when you view people that way.
I take a deep breath, bracing myself for what’s likely coming next. I’ve gotten used to drunk men hitting on me, and I’ve got a script ready for situations like this. But as I glance at Dexter again, there’s something different in his eyes. For one, he’s not drunk. That’s rare around here. And for two, it feels like he’s genuinely curious—like he actually wants to know more about me, not just what’s under my skimpy uniform.
Why not? Let’s tell someone the truth for once. It might even be cheaper than the therapy I had to quit after my parents dropped me from their insurance. I straighten my posture, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear as I meet his gaze.
“Alright,” I say, leaning slightly on the bar. “Here’s the short version. I met a football player in college when I was nineteen. It was one of those whirlwind, bad-decision kind of nights. I got pregnant the same night that we met. My parents, being the fine, upstanding members of the Texan, Beaumont dynasty, demanded I marry him or risk getting cut off financially. I did. Baby was born and I realized quickly that I’d married a controlling asshole with a violent streak who likes to cheat. He got banned from the NFL for drug violations, which only made things worse. When I finally got the courage to leave, he tried to ruin my life, both financially and emotionally before he disappeared. So, I divorced him, changed my last name to cut ties with both my family and him, packed up what little I had, and moved to Vegas. Now, I’m finishing my law degree, working here to pay the bills, and raising my four-year-old daughter.”
I take a deep breath. "My divorce was finalized just last week,and I was supposed to be celebrating tonight with my best friend and daughter back at my apartment. Instead, I’m here working and putting up with creeps like him, celebrating weddings while their future wives remain oblivious to their soon-to-be husbands’ cheating ways.”
I exhale, the weight of my own words surprising me. I can’t remember the last time I laid it all out like that to a stranger. Maybe I never have.
Dexter’s expression doesn’t shift into pity or discomfort and I’m grateful for that. His piercing blue eyes remain locked on mine, steady and thoughtful, like he’s absorbing every word without judgment. Damn did it feel good to unload all of that. When my eyes meet his cool, blue ones again, his reaction catches me completely off guard. He leans forward, pushes a lock of my blonde hair from my cheek and then tucks it gently behind my ear.
“I like you. I knew you were strong. Sometimes, you need to go through some shit before you realize your worth and finally become who you're meant to be. An easy life isn't one that builds character. Wouldn’t you say?”
