This got a flick of the eyes from Sean to Campbell. Cherry shifted in her seat. Campbell calling her by a random nickname from a decade ago was not great when Sean was at the table.
Not that Campbell noticed. For a man who made a living by pretending to be other people, he was disarmingly oblivious to the human psyche today.
As they played, Cherry found her rhythm again. She won a few small pots, boosting her own confidence. Her focus wasn’t where it normally was, but for a celeb pro-am tourney, it was possibly enough. She took in her latest hand. Jack and ten of spades. Not great but not awful.
Everyone called, and the flop came down as the king of diamonds, queen of clubs and queen of spades. A board abundant with the promise of a straight or even a flush for Cherry.
She checked to keep the action moving. She had a heavy suspicion that, with Campbell in the game, a raise here was not necessary. He would do all the work on that front.
And she was right. He shoved a heavy stack of chips forward without hesitation. Possibly, he had a king or a queen, or even pocket queens or kings, giving four of a kind or a full house. Or he was he bluffing hard, like he used to do.
Smoothly, Sean called, his eyes never leaving Campbell. He could also have big pairs.
And seeing him win with those was infinitely preferable to seeing Campbell rake in the chips.
Everyone else folded and Cherry called the bet.
The turn brought the six of hearts.
‘All in,’ Campbell said after a brief pause, pushing his stack forward with the smirk of a man who was certain he was the winner here. What the hell had the six brought him? Did he have pocket sixes and now a full house?
Cherry thought for a while. She could keep playing in the hope that a nine or an ace came up to give her that straight. Or she could fold and let the two men rough this out. They both seemed so confident. One of them could very well have a big hand.
She folded. Watching this play out could be enjoyable.
Sean barely blinked before calling. She dearly hoped he wasn’t bluffing because Campbell as a gloating winner was not something she wanted to witness.
The river brought another six. Clubs this time.
Campbell, with a solemn expression, turned over the King of clubs and King of spades. ‘Full house, baby.’ He leaned back in his seat like he was the king of the world.
But then Sean flipped up his cards, and everything changed. Oh, thank God.
He had pocket sixes.
Which meant he had four sixes. The two on the board and the two in his hand. Four of a kind. Beating a full house and, more importantly, beating Campbell.
Yes, yes, yes. You beautiful man!
Campbell’s grin faltered as he realised his monster hand was nothing more than a butterfly.
Cherry could have jumped up and kissed Sean. But, unlike the day he’d won at Swingball, her husband was all composure and restraint. Calmly, he slid the mountain of chips to his side of the table, like he knew he deserved this win but would not be making a song and dance about it.
In contrast, trying to mask his bruised ego, Campbell shifted in his seat. ‘Nice hand, big man.’
‘Thanks, Pal.’ Sean’s retort was quick, and Cherry could swear he was suppressing amusement. She almost laughed out loud. He’d handed Campbell his arse on a plate, and for that she was so proud.
‘Ach, well, now that I can get lashed, I’m going to get a drink.’ Campbell stood up, scanning the room. ‘We’re still on for that dinner, aye?’ He placed his hand on Cherry’s shoulder.
She spoke stiffly. ‘I’ll talk to you after.’
Briefly, Sean glanced at her, before turning back to his chips. He obviously didn’t know that she meant giving Campbell a piece of her mind. After the game, she would need to find him and explain.
It was Sean and Cherry left on the table now, but Jamie didn’t make the call for them to sit at other tables. Heads-up it was.
Cherry’s hand was queen-jack suited. Spades again. She slid some chips into the centre of the table and tried not to be too distracted by her smouldering husband opposite her, chewing his lip and examining his cards.
She’d seen him chew his lip like that before, been stopped dead by it at home. He did it when he was looking in the fridge, staring out the window deciding whether the surf was decent, examining the sky for clouds to see if his bike ride would be rained on. She’d even watched him do it this morning as she’d come down the stairs. He was contemplating. Uncertain.
