“Depends on how lucky you’re feeling.”
The corner of her mouth quirks up. “I think my luck’s been turning around lately.”
Something flutters in my chest at her words. Before I can respond, Killian clears his throat dramatically. “If you two are done whispering sweet nothings, we’ve got a game to play.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Ignore him. He’s just being an ass.”
“Par for the course,” she murmurs, and there’s that small smile again, the one that makes me want to do ridiculous things just to see it grow.
“Deal the cards, asshole,” I tell Kill, but there’s no heat in it.
The cards slide across the table with practiced precision, and Sutton watches intently as each player receives their hand. When she gets hers, she lifts the corner carefully, her expression giving nothing away. Maybe she’s a natural at this after all.
“Alright, Sutton,” Kyler says, tossing chips into the center. “Five bucks to play. Show us what you’ve got.”
She studies her cards for a moment, her brow furrowed slightly in concentration. “So, if I understand correctly,” she says slowly, “the goal is to make these men cry?”
Boone chokes on his beer.
“Basically,” I agree, fighting a grin.
“Then I’ll play,” she says, and something about the way she says it makes me think we might have underestimated her poker knowledge.
The hand progresses, and I find myself paying more attention to Sutton than my own cards. She’s focused, her eyes tracking every move, every bet, every reaction. When Bennett tries to bluff, she narrows her eyes slightly. When Orry raises, she studies him for a beat longer than necessary.
“You sure you don’t know how to play?” I whisper.
“I might’ve watched a few tournaments on TV,” she admits with a small smirk. “And maybe picked up some things at the bar. You’d be surprised how many drunk men think they’re poker experts after a few whiskeys.”
Her confession makes me laugh. “So, you’ve been holding out on me?”
“I never said I didn’t understand the game,” she counters, eyes twinkling. “I said I don’t know how to play. There’s a difference.”
I lean closer, drawn to her playful side. “And what difference would that be?”
“Understanding is theoretical. Playing is practical.” She arranges her chips methodically, fingers nimble despite the healing hand. “I understand how planes work too, but I’m not about to fly one.”
She pushes a small stack of chips to the middle of the table. “I’ll bet this many.”
“This many?” Jake asks, dumbfounded.
She nods. “Yeah. I don’t know what these are worth. Are they like, a dollar a piece or something?”
Sebastian chuckles. “More like one hundred a piece.”
Sutton’s jaw drops and for a minute I think she’s going to bow out but then she straightens herself in her chair and shrugs. “Whatever. You guys get paid millions to play fucking tag. You can afford a measly little bet like this.” She curls her fingers. “Pony up, boys.”
The table erupts in laughter for a moment before Kyler says, “Tag? Did you just say we play tag?”
“Oh, sorry,” Sutton corrects herself, “I meant full contact tag. But yes. It’s tag.”
“In expensive pants,” Bishop adds with a wink toward Sutton. “Don’t forget that part.”
“Right.” She giggles. “You all get paid millions to wear expensive pants and play tag. Let’s just call it what it is.” Sutton curls her hand around my beer and lifts it to her lips.
“You gonna let her talk like that about us, Shep?” Jake teases.
“Fuck yeah, I am. Now pony the fuck up and let’s go.”
