Bluff by Julie Dill

Author:Julie Dill
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Gamblers, Gambling, Poker, Casinos, Friendship, Father-daughter relationship, Poverty, Gambling addiction, Young Adult
ISBN: 9781944995065
Publisher: Amberjack Publishing
Published: 2017-02-07T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

When Nate suggests going to play poker after dinner, I slightly panic.

“You play poker?” I ask as we walk out onto the street.

“Yep. All casino workers play. Every one of them. We’re basically slaves to the casino. Shoot, half those people never even make it home with a check.”

This surprises me.

“Wow.”

He’s persistent on going to play poker, not in a casino, but at his friend’s house. His buddies have been playing since they were fifteen . . . they’re good guys . . . He’ll make them watch their language.

I basically answer his question when I follow him to his car. Yes, of course I’ll go.

He has a nice car for a guy in his early twenties. A black SUV, tinted windows, leather seats. The car chirps when Nate pushes his remote, and he walks to the passenger side to let me in. Being the non-drinker I am, I have a buzz going after the two margaritas at dinner. I grab the car door to steady myself, and hop into the best smelling vehicle I’ve ever stepped foot in. Did he spray men’s cologne on the seats to make them smell this good?

He gets in, and we’re off. The dashboard lights his face in the darkness, and he turns down his music to a perfect volume, one where we can listen and talk at the same time. Rolling Stones, “Beast of Burden.” This makes him that much more attractive . . . Let’s go home and draw the curtains.

We don’t say much on the quick drive. His friend lives in a new downtown development—high-end apartments surrounded by a quaint sandwich shop and a cupcake bakery. Parking is difficult, and we drive around for at least ten minutes waiting for someone else to surrender their space. The margaritas are my saving grace; they’ve downgraded my shakes from convulsive to internal. I’m shaking on the inside, but I don’t think it will be noticeable.

We walk up a brick pathway to a door with hanging plants. It’s unusual that a bachelor would go through the trouble of hanging plants, but whatever. Noise behind the door lets us know that we’ve definitely found the party.

After three rings and no answer, Nate grabs my hand when we just walk in.

I hear voices, but I can’t make out faces; the cigar smoke makes it difficult to see. We break through the cloud of smoke and, in unison, his buddies holler out, “Heeeey! It’s Nate!”

“And a girl?!” A guy in a visor with a cigarette behind his ear lets me know I’ve just walked into a boys’ club.

Nate waves his hand through the smoke. “This girl can outplay every single one of you amateurs. Give her some chips.” Nate throws down $100 on a green felt table. It’s a table straight out of a casino. In the formal dining area.

A scruffy looking guy in a hoodie takes a long hit off his cigar and demands, “Get the girl some chips.” He slurs his words. “And a shot of Jack if she’s going to run with this wolf pack.

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