Dirty Addiction (Dirty 2)

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.

“So, you’re a pro.”

“What?” I turn left, toward the direction of the voice.

That’s when I see them—the same intense eyes. It’s the same man who was watching me at the blackjack table.

I flip the chips over in my hands at the bar.

“A pro card counter,” he says as he takes a seat next to me.

Shit. I’m about to get thrown out of here.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I turn back to the bar. I try to get the attention of one of the scantily clad bartenders, but the closest one to me is busy flirting with a gentleman.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the man from the blackjack table as he raises his hand, and the bartender immediately smiles and begins walking over to us.

“Yes, you do. Don’t worry. I’m not going to turn you in.”

I exhale a breath I didn’t even know I had been holding. “Do you work here?”

“No.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t. I have no idea why this complete stranger followed me. It’s not like the other night at the bar where I was dressed to pick up a guy. Tonight, I look like death. Nobody is attracted to that. So, it can’t be that. He’s not here to kick me out. That leaves…I have no idea.

“What can I getcha?” The woman leans over the bar, pushing her cleavage closer to the man’s face.

I watch his lips move, but I don’t register what he is saying. He doesn’t ask me what I want. He just speaks to the bartender, while keeping his eyes on me.