Conceal

“Okay, let’s play.” I show her the cards. “It’s raining, and there is nothing better to do, so we’re going to play a game of Texas Hold ’Em.”

“Um. No.” She rolls her eyes as I extend my arm out to help her off the couch. “Pass. Next idea please?”

“Strip poker?” I counter.

“Because that’s a hell of a lot more different?” Her arms cross in front of her chest in mock defiance as she shakes her head at me. She’s cute when she’s being difficult.

“It is,” I say with a straight face. “This requires skill.”

A laugh escapes her mouth. “As opposed to?”

“Fuck if I know. Come on, live a little. Play with me.” I pout.

She turns away and looks out the window, then looks at the TV. There is nothing on right now except a reality TV show, which is awful.

“Our options are limited.”

An overdramatic huff echoes through the room as she begrudgingly takes my hand and stands.

Together, we walk to the table across the room. Ever the gentleman, I pull out her chair, and once she’s seated, I take the seat directly across from her.

“But I don’t know how to play.”

“It’s actually pretty straightforward.” I shuffle the cards. “Basically, I deal each player two cards face down. Then five cards are dealt face up. Anyone can use them to make the best five-card hand.”

She looks at the cards in my hand, contemplating whether she wants to play. Weighing out her options for the evening. A small line forms between her brows, and it’s as if I’m asking her to find the cure for cancer. If I didn’t want to get her naked, I’d probably make fun of her right now.

Finally, her mouth opens. “What’s the best five-card hand?”

“A royal flush.”

“What’s that?” she asks, and if she had been following before, I’m pretty sure I’ve lost her.

“Ace, king, queen, jack, ten . . . all the same suit.” I try to explain it as simply as I can. I’m not sure why I’m pushing this game so much, other than the fact that I really want her naked. But it’s more than that . . .

Even though I’ll get her naked, we’ll have fun doing it. It will be something to laugh about. A memory to make outside of the drama she’s going through.

“It’s easy. Come on,” I playfully plead, and she inclines her head down before looking back up.

I can see the need for knowledge in her eyes; they are wide and full of questions. “And after that, what’s good?”

“Straight flush. Why don’t we play a hand face up, and I’ll teach you?” I don’t wait for her to say yes before I am dealing our cards.

The first hand I deal is face up and is a five and a seven.

“Look.” I point at the cards. “I have pocket tens. Now we bet?”

She lifts a brow, and I continue. “So, for example, with what I’m showing, I’d bet my shirt. And if I were you . . . I would fold.”

Like a good student, she does. With that done, I shuffle and deal again, and we play another hand face up. We end up playing three more hands face up before she nods up at me. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

“You sure . . . ?” I ask.

“Yep.”

I shuffle the cards in my hand and then deal two cards to each of us. When we both have our cards, we each look down at our hands. I see that I have an ace-king suited.

She’ll be naked in no time . . .

“I’ll bet my shirt,” I say, and she looks at me. “Do you call?” I ask.

“What does that mean?”

“Are you betting your shirt also, or are you folding, which means you’re out?”

She worries her lower lip while she studies her hand, then she nods. “I’ll call.” That makes me smile—only one bet away from getting her naked. I place the card underneath the bottom of the deck and flip the next three cards face up. The flop comes, I have an eight of diamonds, king of spades, three of clubs.

I have top pair. Top kicker. She’s losing this hand.

“I bet my hand.” I smirk.

She looks down at her cards. “So . . . I have to bet my . . . sweats?”

“Yep.”

Her gaze lifts. We stare at each other, and the longer we do, the more her cheeks redden. She’s flushed.

“But I’m not wearing any underwear.” Her tongue juts out and licks her lower lip. I groan at the movement, the idea of all the delectable things she can do with her mouth playing out in my mind.

“That’s why it’s called gambling.” I wink.

“Okay . . .” She trails off, eyeing her cards. “I guess I’ll call.”

I again place another card under the deck and flip a card face up. It’s the ace of diamonds. I school my features. I am giving her a blank stare and the impression I don’t have shit.