As the game progressed, I won slightly more than I lost. Not a lot, but enough for me to stay in the game. Mainly,I was distracted watching Garrak. It seemed that when he played against other orcs, they could recognize his tells better than humans could. Or maybe they could just read him the way I did. Either way, Garrak wasn’t kicking complete ass like he did in the human games.
“Think we should invite her to all the games,” grunted Dravik, staring down at his cards.
I started. “Me?”
Varron grinned across the table. “Garrak’s playing like shit tonight because he can’t take his eyes off you.”
Feeling my cheeks pinking—and heat pooling low in my stomach, and between my legs—I turned to Garrak. To find him watching me.
The green was back in his eyes, brighter this time.
He folded without betting, and you know what? Somehow I’d guessed he would do that.
Korrad was the dealer for the next round. “This is my last,” he announced, reaching for the cards. “Gotta go check on Jay. Brakkor can have my seat.”
“No, he can’t,” his twin grunted, heading toward the kitchen. “I’ve had too many beers to keep track of the cards.”
“Excellent,”crowed Varron. “He shoulddefinitelytake your seat.”
Korrad smirked as he dealt. I picked up my cards with a hand that only shook slightly, because I could feel Garrak’s intense gaze on me.
King of clubs, seven of hearts, nine of clubs, king of diamonds, seven of clubs.
Two pair.
I watched my opponents, telling myself not to allow Garrak’s weird green gaze to distract me. Dravik rearranged his cards, meaning he had something worthwhile, and Korrad frowned down at his hand.
“Who shuffled this shit?”
It was small talk, and it might mean something, but he hadn’t struck me as a particularly good player, so I didn’t pay much attention to it. Varron and Garrak were harder to read. I paid special attention to Garrak.
When it came time to bet, Korrad checked. Varron checked as well, but Dravik tossed in a fifty. Feeling cocky, huh? Well, so was I, with my two pair, kings and sevens. Grateful we weren’t playing with real money, I called. Garrak did as well.
Frowning, Korrad matched the bet, and we all turned to Varron, who was staring down at his hand. “Too rich for me,” he sighed and folded.
Not completely unexpected.
“How many cards?” Korrad asked Dravik.
The stern-looking male stayed put, which corroborated my theory about his hand. Obviously, I discarded the nine of clubs and picked up a three of diamonds, which did shit for me, but I kept my expression schooled.
Garrak, surprisingly, discarded two and accepted two. The way he sat back in his chair after held an air of satisfaction, and I chewed on my tongue, studying him.
“And dealer takes…three,” muttered Korrad. “Shit.”
When he checked, no one was surprised. Dravik threw in another fifty, which might’ve impressed me if I wasn’t already impressed by my own hand. I called, and we all turned to Garrak.
He hadn’t looked at his hand again, but now he sat, elbow on the arm of his chair, studying each of us. With steady movements, he reached for his chips. “I’ll match and throw in another fifty.”
One hundred and fifty now? One of my brows twitched.
Dravik scowled across the table. “You’re bluffing, aren’t you?”
“Am I?” Garrak asked mildly.
“Fuck you, you’re good,” the tatted-up male bit back, tossing down his cards. “Fold.”
“I’m out too,” Korrad agreed.
