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Jacks don’t always beat threes
STRANGER
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MIA IS CONFLICTED. It’s written in the way she sinks her teeth into her lower lip, furrows her eyebrows, glances between me and Jeremy as if together we hold a volatile explosive.
Looking at her now, her long thin neck, straight shoulders, rigid posture, it’s almost impossible to reconcile her with the wild woman who rode my fingers a few minutes ago, the woman who wears turquoise bras and writes filthy sex all day.
So much of our time has been spent online, texting or on the phone, I have spent too little time studying her expressions in person, but I can already read her.
Everyone else in the room seems to be either too drunk or too distracted to notice.
The brown-haired woman, Penny—Mia’s mom was right about her tits—seems to be the only one aware of Mia’s emotional state. She keeps glancing between the two of us. I study her from my peripheral vision.
This is a woman whose father killed her mother and took his own life when she was barely even nine years old. A history of violence, a lousy childhood. She lies to hide that. Who can blame her? Not me. I don’t mention my mother. Nor does James. Not that there’s anything to mention.
The red-head, Erica, and her man are busy regaling us with stories, a two-person standup routine.
I’ve got no complaints. Thanks to them, James and I were invited to come back to the hotel lounge with them, and spend more time with this curious woman I’ve spent the last several months mentally dissecting. And as a bonus, I get to annoy this phony Dixon fucker a bit more. Beyond all that, they run solid distraction for me.
Every single extra set of stimuli in the room is a point in my favor.
Dixon is trying to focus on the game, but the alcohol, the laughter, it all stirs together to keep his attention divided. Danny keeps messing with the fire, Penny with her hair, Caesar with Erica’s hair.
I think Dixon is trying to count the cards, but I doubt he’s capable of it. At least not in this frame of mind, maybe not at all, judging by his debt.
He’s down by only a hundred dollars so far. I’ll make sure it gets higher.
James tops off everyone’s glasses again. He’s a good Robin. And he’s surprisingly good with financials. He tracked the transfer from my account to an offshore holding company, called Broxman, Telker and Shone, based in the Caymans.
Someone owns it. And whoever owns it, is Ender. We hit a dead end there though, it’s anonymously registered. Another dead end. I could call Lex, but I hate to bug her, and if I’m honest, a selfish, territorial, swamp-dweller part of me wants to be the one to save Mia on my own, and kill whatever fuck is after her.
Dixon drops his arm around Mia. My teeth clench. I hate that he touches her, that he has the right to, and I don’t.
“So, Jeremy,” I say. “You travel a lot?”
He tosses a card across the table, draws a new one, and his eyes gleam, before he replaces it with an irritable little frown. This is one of his tells. It’s why he’s a shitty gambler. He’s as transparent as a freshly-cleaned window.
“A good bit.” He sips his whiskey. With every sip, his good old boy façade slips, and in its wake come the jitters. I’d say it’s crazy Mia hasn’t noticed, but people see what they expect to see, what they’re accustomed to seeing. And Mia expects him to be a good man.
He’s not a good man. But he doesn’t seem like a killer either.
He glances warily at me. “Just got back from China.”
Lie. But he’s in good company. I glance around the room. Mia’s lying to everyone. I’m lying to Mia. Jer is lying to Mia. Danny is lying to Mia about his job. Penny about her family. We are a pack of liars. I wonder what Erica and Caesar lie about.
On the table is a three of hearts and a jack of spades.
I have a three of clubs, a ten of diamonds, and a six of spades.
Mia slides from under his arm, tucks her feet under her, smoothing her dress over her thighs. I still haven’t seen what color her panties are. Maybe they’re turquoise like the bra... or maybe not.
I set down the six and draw a new card.
Whatever the color, it’s riding right over her warm slippery pussy. My fingers remember the feel of her, the clingy fluttery grip of her pulsing with orgasm.
I turn over the card. A three of diamonds.
Dixon turns over his hand and lays them out on the table with a smug flourish of his fingers and finishes his whiskey.
“Nice hand.” I pause, make a show of admiring. “A pair of jacks is tough to beat.”
I meet Mia’s gaze. She cradles a glass of red wine.
I flip over my three.
Jeremy exhales a relieved sigh. “Jacks beat threes.”
Erica and Caesar chatter away, and Penny laughs.
Danny leans forward.
I turn over the ten next. I’m in no rush. Jacks don’t always beat threes.
A hotel server takes orders. Mia asks if I want more wine, but I shake my head no, turn over my last card.
“Three threes.”
Caesar’s voice trails off.
Dixon’s nostrils flare. “You won.”
I nod, and he slides the stack of bills across the table.
“My wallet’s empty.” He stands rigidly, but musters up a wry smile. “I guess that means it’s time for bed.”
He glances at Mia.
She looks around the room at Penny and Danny on the sofa opposite, and Caesar sitting on the carpet, leaning against Erica’s legs, at James in his chair. “I’m having fun.” She says.
His fingers twitch.
She tucks her hair behind her ears. “I think I’ll stay up a little longer.”
“Okay then. Please be quiet when you come in.” He turns away, to walk rigidly down the hall.
Everyone starts talking all at once, covering the awkwardness of the moment. Erica stretches lazily, Danny asks if I golf, I ask him about his job just to see what he’ll do. He lies badly, looking guilty. No poker face.
When the conversation allows it, I ask Penny about her family too. She lies well, sending a look toward Mia that makes me wonder if she told her the truth.
I lean back and bide my time.
They’ll go to bed soon. Eventually.
Then Mia will be mine.