Page 41 of Hard to Love

Oh. Shit.

STEVIE

THE SHOTS OF TEQUILA ARE lined up on the edge of the poker table. Four are empty and six are sitting there waiting for me to fail.

“Stevie.” I hear my name, an angry sound against all the encouraging ones. “Goddammit, Lancaster.”

The crowd around me parts as I wiggle my bra out through the armhole of my shirt and fling it onto the poker table, the black lace a contrast to the green felt. I should be worried about what item of clothing I’ll have to remove next time I lose a hand, but I’m not. I’m more focused on the tequila that will taste like acid as it goes down.

But not drinking it means I feel. And I don’t want to feel. I want to drink another shot to help push me back into the numbing abyss I’ve been living in.

I grit my teeth when Finn breaks through the crowd—the owner of the voice—and meet his eyes as I down another shot.

The crowd around me cheers while I stare at him, a fuck you lift to my eyebrow as I turn back to the dealer and smile. “Shall we?”

I don’t know shit about poker—how to play, the terms, what to do—but I know the rules of this bet were when one player loses a hand, they have to remove an item of clothing and take a shot.

Needless to say, the man across from me is fully clothed and I’m sitting without shoes, socks, and now my bra.

“Stevie. Let’s go,” Finn demands as he pushes his way through the crowd toward me.

“Leave her the hell alone, man,” comes from the right. The voice’s owner, a big, burly guy, stops Finn’s progress.

“I’m fine. I’m good.” My head swims with the tequila, and I wave a hand at Finn as the dealer deals the cards. I close my eyes for a quick second, and then try to focus on the cards without lifting them too high. I don’t want to meet the pair of eyes across the table from me.

The asshole who badgered me as I walked through the casino. Telling me how last night had to have been rigged because there’s no way I beat Ian Greshenko without it being fixed. The prick who got in my face and told me I wasn’t good enough to have won. I hate men. I truly hate them all.

And then I exploded. A dare from him, a challenge from me one-upping the stakes, and here we are—strip poker on the floor of a Vegas casino.

Vivi and Jordan would be proud that I created my own Cards O’ Fun without them.

Besides, this—the alcohol, the challenge, the adrenaline pumping through me—is what I needed to feel like me again after the blow I got this morning from Carson about Finn.

“Stevie. This isn’t what you need—”

“You gave up the right to know what I need or don’t need when you quit on me.” I shout the words at him across the table, not really caring who hears or how it makes him feel.

“Your boyfriend coming to save you from the embarrassment? Pretty little princess needs rescuing?” my opponent, Hank, asks from his spot across the table with a smug grin.

“He’s nothing to me,” I mutter as I glance at the cards in my hand and the two sitting face up on the table in front of me. I have a shit hand. No pairs. No straights. No flushes. With a measured breath to not show my hand, I push two, one-hundred-dollar chips into the pot and hope I can bluff my way into not having to remove another item of clothing before the last card is turned over.

“Two hundred?” Hank lifts an eyebrow and glances over to Finn, who is making a scene I don’t want right now. Ha. I guess I’m making a scene too, but what do I care. That’s par for the course with me. I wonder if Finn would appreciate a lecture about how to act in public. About how you need to be on your best behavior since it’s not easy to repair a damaged reputation. “That’s all?” Hank taunts. “Must not have a good hand.”

“I believe I’ve already put one thousand in the pot. Think what you want to think, but you’re the one who’s getting close to losing his pants.” I lean back and smile at him, praying for at least a pair of Kings with the river card.

“I think you’re bluffing.” He matches my ante and the dealer turns the river card over. Hank fist-pumps with a shout while I cringe.

I’ve got a big fat nothing. The crowd around us doesn’t know it and starts chanting my name again for me to turn over my cards.

Either that or for me to remove another item of clothing.

I take the shot of tequila before I turn over the cards and the crowd roars when they see I have nothing to beat Hank.

“A bet’s a bet,” I say, swaying a little when I stand, my hands going to the button of my denim shorts.

“Party’s over.” It’s the last words I hear before Finn’s hands are pushing my hands off my waist and forcing me back from the table.

I shove him but he doesn’t budge an inch. “I’m not your problem anymore,” I grit at him as I reach for another shot that he slaps my hand away from.