N E O N
V O W S
CHAPTER ONE
The chips hit the pot with a confident clatter, making the pile topple in a tight burst of sound.
Across from me—some big-time manosphere podcaster who loudly proclaimed when I’d sat down that women shouldn’t be allowed in the poker room—cracked his neck.
He was so full of bravado and misogyny that he didn’t realize it was his tell.
I’d been listening to him run his mouth all night from another table, watching him with the goal of clocking his game style so I could take him for his whole stack of chips.
This was a high roller room.
And he was starting to sweat in his hairline.
I reached for my stack, grabbing the pile of pink chips—each one of them representing five grand—and pushed them into the pot.
“Raise.”
His jaw went slack.
He did a double neck crack.
It would be interesting to see if his ego or his logic won out when it got to him.
“Too rich for my blood,” the man beside me said, laying his cards down and reaching for his scotch instead.
One more man called.
Another folded.
Then it was me and the podcaster.
He had sweat stains under his arms now.
But it was his ego that called again.
“Alright, let’s see ‘em,” the dealer said, trying his best to hold back a smile.
When you did this for a living, you got to know just about every dealer on the strip. This particular one knew I almost never bluffed when the pot was big. If I was upping the ante, I had the winning hand.
Cards kissed the felt.
I kept my gaze on the podcaster as I set mine down.
He had a Full House.
I had a Straight Flush.
“Straight flush—queen-high. Straight Flush takes it.”
The dealer pushed the pot toward me as the man-child across from me flew to his feet so fast he knocked over his chair.
“This is bullshit. She cheated.”
Around the table, a few men shook their heads or rolled their eyes. No one liked a sore loser. Especially in this room. High rollers didn’t sweat the money they lost. They were just here for a good time.
