The crowd around the table exploded with excitement.
“Four the hard way,” shouted the stickman.
“You lucky dog.” Finn’s voice split his eardrum as a hand gripped his arm and shook him like a rag doll. “Can’t believe it.”
Jarrett and Cole let out congratulatory whoops and pounded him on the back. A huge stack of chips slid into Bran’s waiting fingers, and he grinned, the old thrill of winning rushing back like an avalanche. Maybe I’ll hang around and play, after all.
As Branson’s stack of chips grew, so did his sense of ease in the noisy surroundings, even without the comfort of Steph’s voice. Yet he wished she’d return to watch him play. Besides, he was worried that she’d spent too much time alone with Carina. Bran was wary enough to handle her, but Stephanie was often naively trusting.
After a particularly lucrative round, Cole suggested they take a break. So the four moved to a table in the bar. His friends were feasting on nachos, but Bran was in the mood for something healthy. Unfortunately, nothing nutritious was available in the bar. Finn seemed particularly insistent that Bran should have an alcoholic beverage, but Branson resisted.
“I’ll stick to water, for now. I don’t want to mess up my concentration while I’m winning.”
“You’re winning,” Cole lamented, “and I’m losing everything but the shirt off my back.”
“How do I know you haven’t lost that as well,” Bran teased. “I’m blind. For all I know, you’re sitting here naked as the day you were born.”
Cole shot back, “Because if I’d lost any of my clothes, we’d be surrounded by women right now.”
Bran’s laugh sent him into a coughing fit.
“Big ego, much?” Jarrett asked Cole.
“You know how it is,” Cole answered, drolly. “I’m from Texas, where everything is big.”
Bran didn’t need eyes to guess what gesture Cole made to accompany his claim. This time, Bran laughed without spilling his water. Finn’s answering groan carried across the table.
“I don’t know about that, Cole,” Jarrett quipped. “You seem to be running short… very short in fact. Short on luck.”
Cole scooted close and wrapped an arm around Branson’s shoulder. “I’m hoping some of Bran’s luck will rub off on me.”
His friend’s deliberate attempt to make him uncomfortable was working, but Branson knew one sure way to make him stop. He turned toward Cole and threw his both arms around his neck, pulling his face close and planting a loud smacking kiss on his cheek.
“Aaaak!” Cole disentangled himself and pushed away from Branson, chuckling. “Come on, man. You’re gonna ruin my chances with the ladies.”
“Give up, Cole,” said Finn. “These ladies will take one look at that neon hand and go running.”
Interesting that Cole had chosen the less socially-acceptable prosthetic for the tournament. But Branson wasn’t completely surprised. Cole had always been a bit of a rebel.
“Forget the glowing hand,” said Jarrett. “It’s those cowboy boots that look out of place.”
“You’re just jealous,” Cole asserted. “Should we get you a boot-leg? Oh, wait… Would that be illegal?”
“Very punny,” Finn added.
“It ought to be illegal to wear cowboy boots with a tux,” Jarrett avowed. “That look would scare away any decent woman.”
“Who said I wanted a decent woman?”
Bran knew better. Cole was the kind of guy who threw his coat across a puddle so a woman wouldn’t get her shoes dirty.
“Bran’s getting all the single female attention, right now,” Jarrett complained. “No one’s interested in a loser.”
“Female attention?” Bran thought he must be joking.
“Of course you don’t know they’re all hanging around the craps table watching you play. It’s a good thing you can’t see it. You’d have an even bigger head.”
Bran figured his buddy was kidding, so he ignored him. “There’s plenty of time for you guys to make a comeback before one a.m.”