Dirty Beginning (Dirty 0.50)

I know what I don’t want .

I don’t want a modeling career .

I don’t want an acting career .

I don’t want to marry a complete stranger .

I try to think of my happiest memory with my dad. It was on my eighteenth birthday. It coincided with my high school graduation. He took me to a casino in California, one I could legally gamble at. He taught me how to play blackjack and how to count cards. We won—a lot. It wasn’t the winning that made it fun. It was learning something from my father. It was the confidence he displayed in me when he gave me high amounts of money to place a bet that I would win because I was capable. It was one of the only times I felt he was proud of me for something other than my looks .

The line I will never forget my father saying to me is, “No one would ever suspect you of counting cards. You’re too pretty .”

It was that day that I learned that my beauty was a weapon that could be used to my advantage. I just have never learned how to harness it .

I head to my room to grab my shoes and purse to head to a casino, to find a happy memory…because, tomorrow, I’ll meet the man I’m going to marry. Tomorrow, I’ll have to face the fact that I don’t get to decide my own future, but I don’t have to today. I still have a chance to make today better. I was wrong. Today isn’t the worst day of my life. Tomorrow probably will be, so I’m going to make the most of my last night of freedom .

I place five hundred dollars’ worth in chips on the table—my maximum bid. The true count is up to plus-six, so I need to bet high since a positive true count tells me I have an advantage over the dealer. I watch as the dealer deals out the cards. In my head, I silently keep track of the cards being laid out. I look at my cards—a jack and a ten. I smile at the twenty, just one short of twenty-one. The number I want to match without going over. The dealer turns to me on my turn, and I signal that I want to stand .

I watch the dealer flop an additional card to add to his fifteen. It’s a king. He’s busted at twenty-five. I smile as he hands me a thousand dollars in additional chips bringing my winnings up to five thousand for the night .

I should stop soon. Not stopping is always the chance you take when you play against the house. The house always has the advantage, even when you count cards, even when you know the odds. There is always a chance that you will lose, that you will lose track of the count, that you will get cocky and bet too much .

But I didn’t come here to win. Although winning feels good, I came here to escape. So, I’ll keep playing, no matter what .

“You’re good. You should teach this old man to play. I’m having terrible luck,” an older gentleman sitting next to me says .

I smile at the sweet old man. He’s been sitting next to me for over an hour now, and I don’t think he’s won more than a couple of hands. He is down well over a thousand dollars .

I bid my maximum five hundred again. I keep my eyes on the cards as the dealer deals. I silently keep up the running count while still giving attention to the older gentleman .

“It’s just beginner’s luck. I haven’t played in years .”

The man smiles at me. “It looks like more than luck to me .”

I shake my head as I smile back. I watch as the man takes his turn. He has seventeen. He should stand. If he hits, there is a good chance he will bust. He hits, and he busts. I knowingly shake my head .

It’s my turn. I get a blackjack. I smile as the dealer pushes more chips my way .

The old man sitting next to me shakes his head in disbelief that I won again. I try to act innocent by twirling my long hair with my fingers. I don’t want to draw attention to the fact that I’m counting cards, not that anyone would expect a beautiful young woman to be counting cards. But if security does catch on, I know enough about casinos to know that I’ll be kicked out .

I silently divide the running count by the decks left in the shoe. I get negative four indicating I’m at a disadvantage. I place a low bet this time, expecting to lose. I do .

“Guess my winning streak can’t last forever .”

The older gentleman chuckles. “Maybe your luck has passed to me .”

I glance up from the table when I see them—the most intense eyes I have ever seen. I can’t believe I haven’t noticed him before. I’ve been sitting at this table for over an hour. In that time, many people have come and gone. None of them were the least bit intriguing .

There is something about the way this man is looking at me that sends goose bumps all over my body. I’m not sure what the look actually is. Is it lust? Interest? Anger? Frustration? I don’t know. All I can feel is the intensity of his eyes. And they are staring at me. His eyes don’t leave me as the dealer begins dealing .

I glance back at the table to continue counting the cards, but I still feel his eyes burning into me. I lose track of the count, not really caring anymore. I hit even though I’m at nineteen, and it doesn’t make sense to. I bust .

“I think I’ve pushed my luck too far at this table. Good luck,” I say, winking at the older gentleman next to me. I stand from the table, taking my chips with me .

I make it a point to avoid looking at the man, but I still feel his eyes on me. I’m not ready to leave yet. As soon as

I leave, my world will no longer be in my control—not that it ever was in my control. But I need more of a distraction .

I walk to the bar in the center of the casino and take a seat. I relax as my butt hits the cushion of the barstool. I know I can’t sit here for long without ordering a drink, which is the last thing I want. Maybe I’ll try my hand at pushing the buttons on the slots. I know I’ll end up losing all the money I just won, but I don’t care .