With a flick of his wrist, Tool tossed three cards onto the table. “Give me three,” he muttered.
Doc dealt the replacements, sliding the fresh cards over with a grunt. “You sure you wanna keep bleeding chips, old man?”
“Keep talkin’, Doc,” Tool said, picking up his new cards. “I’ll be takin’ your cut and your pride in about five minutes.”
Angel snorted around the toothpick he was chewing, tossing in two cards. “Man, I’ve heard better bluffin’ from a drunk at the end of the bar.”
Trip leaned forward, stacking a few chips into the pot. “You’re all full of shit. I’m about to clean house.”
Romeo, sprawled in his chair like he didn’t have a care in the world, tapped his fingers on the table. “Only thing you’re cleanin’ is your ego after Tool schools you.”
Tool grinned, slow and shark-like. “He’ll learn soon enough.”
Trip shot him a glare. “Don’t count your chickens yet, Princess.”
Doc barked a laugh, slapping the deck down. “Jesus, Trip. You talk more than you play. Shut up and bet or fold already.”
Rock and roll played on, the clatter of a fresh rack at the pool table cutting through the room as Trip finally threw in a raise. Angel raised an eyebrow but matched it, while Romeo casually tossed in his call with a lazy flick of his wrist.
Tool took a long pull from his beer, let the moment stretch, then shoved a fat stack of chips into the pot. “Raise. Let’s see what you boys are really made of.”
Muttering under his breath, Trip called. Angel leaned back, weighing it, then shoved in his chips. Romeo followed with an easy smirk.
“All right, boys. Let’s see it.” Doc grinned, spreading his cards first—two pair, queens and nines.
Trip slapped his down with a curse. A busted straight.
Angel gave a grunt of frustration as he laid out a lower two pair.
Romeo just laughed as he tossed in a single king high.
Tool set his cards down slowly, like he had all the time in the world—three eights staring up from the table.
“Boom, bitches,” Tool said, dragging the pot toward himself.
Right then, the door swung open and one of the waitresses, Lacey, walked in carrying two heavy trays loaded with burgers, wings, and baskets of fries.
“Dinner’s served,” she said with a grin, hip-checking the door closed behind her.
The smell of grease, spice, and fried heaven filled the room, making the guys momentarily forget about their bruised egos.
“Look at that,” Tool said, stacking his winnings. “Victory tastes like beer and burgers tonight.”
“More like old-man luck,” Trip grumbled, but he was already reaching for a plate of wings.
Tool laughed at Trip. The guy wasn’t that much younger than him. “Keep cryin, Trip. I’ll buy you a bib with some of my winnings,” Tool shot back, flashing a wicked grin.
Laughter rolled through the room as Lacey started setting food down, the card game forgotten for now in favor of cold beer, hot food, and the easy brotherhood that made nights like these worth it.
About that time, the door swung open again and in walked Gypsy, his cut dark against the light pouring in from the hallway. Tabor was right behind him, a slight smirk playing on his face like he already knew something no one else did.
Gypsy's gaze swept over the room, taking in the cards, the scattered chips, the half-eaten food.
“Gentlemen,” he said, voice carrying easy authority. “Who’s winning tonight?”
Tool raised his beer in a lazy salute. “Who else?”
“That depends,” Romeo drawled, leaning back. “You askin’ about the cards or the food?”
