And it was only Tuesday.
He wondered if other players in the room were talking about him yet—the new guy who couldn’t seem to lose. He couldn’t wait to tell Meg that not only did he play in one of the biggest poker rooms in Vegas, but he won big. His backpack vibrated and he checked to see if she or Carlotta were trying to reach him, but it was only Mouse’s phone again. Irritated, Wes powered it down.
“Whatcha drinkin’?” a busty waitress asked.
“Uh, Coke Zero.”
“C’mon, it’s on the house,” she said with a wink. “Live a little.”
“Okay. I’ll have a beer.” He pulled out his wallet to flash his fake driver’s license. “I’m twenty-six.”
“So I see. But we don’t card in here—we know you were carded at the door.” She grinned and said she’d be right back.
“I think she likes you,” Chance said from the next seat. “She didn’t offer me a free drink.”
“You can have mine when she brings it.”
“You’ve taken enough of my money,” Chance groused. “The least you can do is get me a beer. You’re on fire, man.”
“Why don’t you find a black jack table?” He didn’t like taking his friend’s money—plus Chance was lousy at poker.
“I might, after this hand. Dude, that five-hundred-dollar investment was worth it, huh?”
“Yeah. I guess it passed the sniff test.”
“Place your blinds,” the dealer announced.
The two players to the right of Chance would act on the hand first, so they placed the small blind and big blind bets, five hundred and one thousand, consecutively.
“Dealing,” the dealer announced.
Two cards were dealt face-down to all four players. Wes curled up the corners of his cards—jack of spades and ten of hearts—and was satisfied. The first position player called to the big blind, the second player checked, and Chance folded—much to Wes’s relief. Wes called the big blind, and raised five hundred. Players one and two called his raise.
“Burn,” the dealer announced, and put the top card from the deck under Chance’s folded cards. “Here comes the flop.”
He dealt three cards face-down on the table, then flipped them over and spread them out: five of hearts, jack of hearts, and queen of diamonds. They were community cards each player could use to build a winning hand.
Wes liked his pair of jacks. Player one bet another five hundred, player two called, Wes called and raised another five. Player one folded. Player two called his raise.
The dealer burned another card. “Here’s the turn.”
He dealt a fourth community card face-up—the jack of diamonds. Wes schooled his face so he didn’t betray his three of a kind.
The other remaining player hesitated. His pile of chips was getting smaller and Wes knew he was trying to decide whether to walk away with rent money or maybe lose it all. Finally he bet one hundred. Wes called and raised five hundred. The guy squirmed, then called.
The dealer burned another card. “There’s the river.”
He dealt a fifth community card—queen of clubs.
Bummer. With two queens showing, his opponent could have three or even four of a kind, both of which would beat his three jacks. But those were the only two hands that could beat him. The guy’s leg was jumping—his tell. He didn’t have it.
The guy bet his last seven hundred. Wes called.
“What do you have, sir?” the dealer asked Wes’s opponent. Since he placed the last bet, it was his game to lose.
“Three of a kind.”
Wes’s heart dropped, until the guy turned over two fives to go with the five in the flop.
The dealer gave Wes a questioning look.
“Three jacks,” Wes said, turning over his pocket cards.
The other guy’s shoulders dropped and Chance whooped. “Man, you can’t lose!”
Wes allowed himself a grin as the dealer pushed the pot to him—he had to admit it felt pretty good to be catching good cards at a high-limit table in a swanky poker room. He reached inside his jacket, pulled out a Franklin, and handed it to the dealer with a wink. The guy thanked him for the tip and folded it into his pocket.
The busty waitress was back. “Here’s that beer, honey.” She set it in front of him and gave him a panoramic view of her cleavage.
“And here’s something for you,” Wes said, pulling out another hundred for her.
“Thank you!” She beamed and tucked the bill in her little apron, then reached for his hand and turned it over. “This is my number—call me later if you want to hang out.”
Wes stared at the phone number she’d written on his palm in black ink. “Okay.”