All week I have avoided the casinos. The temptation has been there, though. When I was fifteen my mom’s boyfriend taught me to play blackjack and would sneak me into the underground tournaments he was invited to. He taught me how to be smart with my hand and when to go all in on a bet.
But I have refrained. I’ve kept my tips buried deep in my bag and told myself that I don’t have enough to even consider gambling . . . yet. That I haven’t earned enough to place a single bet or to even step into one of the hotels and sit down at a table.
Except, my conscience is nudging me to give it a shot, as I know that I could make more. I could take a portion of my earnings and place a bet and double, maybe even triple what I have now.
I’m telling myself this as I get dressed to go to work. The heels are far too high to walk in and my dress is short, my boobs all but sticking out of the top. Not my normal attire, but when I was packing to come here I couldn’t afford to check a bag so I had to cram what I could into a carry-on, which didn’t leave much room for my normal clothes.
Inside the back of the cab I take to work a video plays for Allure, one of the newest casinos in town. From where we are currently at on the Strip, I can see the blue neon sign, beckoning me to check it out.
“Stop here,” I tell the driver, who quickly pulls up to the valet. I pay the fare and greedily take the hand of the attendant who is helping me out of the car. He eyes me up and down with a smirk that tells me exactly what he wants. I drag my finger over the top of his chest as I walk away from him, never looking back to see if he’s watching.
The minute I step into the hotel and hear the slot machines ringing, my mind is made up. I can double my earnings quickly, make it to the club for my last shift and catch my flight home. I’ve got almost an hour before my shift and the amount of money I stand to make will definitely upgrade Morgan’s life and mine if I win.
Scanning the room, I see my targets: two men in business suits who have a stack of chips in front of them. I swap my cash for chips and slide between them. They seem to be big spenders without being at the high-rollers tables. They’re exactly the type of gamblers I need to increase the pot. I can feel both of them staring at me, but I focus on the dealer. I don’t need to look at either man to see their expressions. I have a good feeling both are eyeing my clothes and wondering how much they have to spend to get me in bed.
My ante is placed and cards are dealt. I win. I lose. I win. And I win again. The more I win, the more confident I become. Cashing out would be the best thing right now, but I haven’t doubled my earnings and that’s what I came to do. Losing is not an option. After a bit, I lose count of my win-loss ratio, but know that I’m still well in the game.
The man on my left, the one whose thigh is touching mine, pushes all his chips forward and I do the same. Winning this hand means I’m set. I could go home early and forget my last shift of having my ass slapped for an additional twenty bucks.
Sweat starts to build at the nape of my neck as my hands rest on my chips. The dealer is waiting for me to make up my mind. The voice inside my head is telling me to pull them back, to cash out and go home to my little miss, but the devil on my shoulder is telling me that she wants the toys and electronics that the other kids her age have and if I win I can do that for her without question.
Pulling my hands back, the cards are dealt. My stomach drops when I get a king and a five. The odds of hitting twenty-one from this hand are slim and right now I know I made a huge fucking mistake. Panic slips in and tears cloud my vision when the dealer asks if I want another card. I nod because I have no choice and that is when I see him in all his glory.
Finn McCormick—the hottest guy to ever cross my path—is standing behind the dealer, staring at me. I catch my breath at the sight of him. I never thought I’d see him again. The dealer taps my hand trying to get my attention, but I continue to focus on him. Just as I tear my gaze away from him I see his hands push deep into the pockets of his slacks, pushing his suit jacket up, giving off that casual yet dangerous look. The last time I saw him he had, as I’d written in my journal, “steely blue eyes that anyone could easily get lost in.” I would know because they swallowed me whole every time I saw him.