Winning Moves (Stepping Up 3)

Jason easily spotted Hank at a busy table, with a drink in his hand and a sexy red-haired woman twenty years his junior batting her eyes at him. Jason grimaced, and moved in Hank’s direction, cursing that Sean Connery appeal Hank had with women, hoping this wasn’t a sign that he was cheating and this was his mistress.

He slid into the only seat across the table from Hank and dropped a hundred dollar bill on the table. “Hello, Hank.”

“Jason, my boy,” he said as the dealer swept away the chips that Hank had just lost.

“Oh my God,” the woman said, blinking at Jason. “You’re… Oh my God. You’re the judge from that dance show.” The dealer and the three other people at the table immediately looked at Jason.

Jason grimaced quickly and said, “No. No, but I get that all the time. It’s the name. He’s older and shorter. I swear.” He loved the judges’ table, helping dreams come true and helping new stars develop. He didn’t like being recognized, or becoming the star himself. It just wasn’t him.

The woman smiled. “Well, you’ll do just fine by me.”

“Shuffle,” the dealer said, and one of the people at the table got up.

Hank elbowed the redhead. “That’s my son-in-law,” he explained to her. “Would you mind if he switched places with you?”

“I’ll share my chair,” she purred.

“Son-in-law,” Hank repeated. “As in married to my daughter. If he shares a chair with you, I’ll be kicking him in his seat.”

“Oh.” She pouted and grabbed her chips. “In that case, I’ll leave. All you married guys are no fun.”

Relief washed over Jason. Hank wasn’t flirting with the woman, that was clear. Jason grabbed his hundred since the dealer had yet to touch it, and moved to the stool next to Hank.

“Was married to your daughter,” Jason said softly.

“I’m counting on you to fix that,” Hank told him. “The power of positive thinking. She’s happy when she’s with you. Just stop running off and leaving her behind.”

“I plan to,” Jason said, feeling the reprimand like a slap in the face and a reminder of the past he had to overcome with Kat.

The dealer called for bets and slid chips in front of Jason. Hank slid two twenty-five dollar chips to the table.

“Since when do you gamble?” Jason asked, sliding his own bet forward.

“Since today,” Hank said, downing his drink and flagging the waitress to say, “Two shots of tequila.”

No food and alcohol. Not a winning plan, Jason thought, catching the waitress to add, “And something to eat. Pretzels, nuts, whatever you can get me that’s allowed in the gaming area.” He turned back to the table as the dealer looked to Hank to make decisions on his cards. Hank hit sixteen when the dealer had a three. You never hit a sixteen when the dealer had a three, because you knew the dealer’s best hand was thirteen while your chances of going out were high.

The dealer threw down a face card and Hank now had more than twenty-one. He was busted. He cursed. Jason had a three and a five. He took a hit and was dealt another three. He hit again. The dealer gave him a face card and a solid winning hand of twenty-one. Hank’s screw-up worked out okay for him. The rest of the table—not so much. Everyone else lost their hand. Someone grumbled about bad players and got up. Jason didn’t blame him. He might not make a habit of gambling, but he knew his game when he did and he didn’t play with people who didn’t.

Jason cocked his head at Hank. “Why are we here, Hank? You know Sheila and Kat are worried sick.”

The waitress stopped beside them and Hank tossed down a few gambling chips for a tip, then grabbed his shot off the tray, downed it, and gave the waitress the empty glass. “We’re here because I’m trying to make back mine and Sheila’s stock portfolio she has no idea I lost.”

Jason sat there in stunned silence before emptying his shot glass as well, and giving it to the waitress. He ignored the bowl of nuts and his phone vibrating at his hip. “How much?”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand,” Hank said, and then to the waitress. “Another round.”

“Scratch that,” Jason said to the woman. “We’re going to the bar where they have larger glasses.”

“I’m all for that,” Hank agreed, and shoved his chips toward the dealer. “Cash me out.”

“And me,” Jason said, pushing his forward, but he suddenly realized the waitress was still standing there.

She thrust her empty tray at him with a pen and a napkin on top. “Can I have your autograph?”

“Why does everyone think you are that guy on that show?” Hank asked in an impressively convincing voice. “You’re not near as good-looking even if you think you are.” He eyed the waitress. “You want my autograph, too? I’ll sign Sean Connery if you want. You can tell them all I have a lot more hair than you thought I did.”