Betting on Bailey
Page 100“What could be more important than watching you win?” Gabby asks matter-of-factly.
Tears form in my eyes. I’m about to answer and thank them all for their constant, unwavering support, when Trevor interrupts with an impatient look on his face. “If the peanut gallery is done, Bailey, perhaps you can get on with it.”
You want to get on with it, you jackass? Let’s get on with it.
I’m on fire as I play. My focus is completely on the table. I’m seeing the balls more clearly. It feels like time has slowed down and my awareness has tunneled to this game. Even the feel of the butt plug and the vibrator can’t distract me from my mission.
Today, I’m going to win on the behalf of all long-suffering women who put up with men that don’t treat them right. Today, I’m going to pay Clark back for his disdain by making sure he loses his bet. I’m going to reward Daniel and Sebastian for their steadfast faith in me.
It takes five games. I win the first. Trevor fights back and wins the next three, but by the time the fifth game begins, he’s become cocky and complacent, and he makes a mistake.
And I pounce. I run the table. I win the match.
There’s noise in the background. Wendy, Gabby, Katie and Piper are throwing back shots and cheering loudly in celebration. Clark’s looking ashen at the thought of paying Daniel fifty grand. Trevor is stunned, and his palm, when he shakes my hand, is cold and clammy. Behind him, his team looks disappointed, and Frankie’s just punched his fist into the table. Ouch. That looks painful.
Sebastian’s hand runs over my butt in a possessive gesture. Daniel’s eyes twinkle. “I don’t know,” he says. “Let’s go home and find out.”
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The Playing for Love series continues with Gambling with Gabriella!
Gabriella can’t forget the two men that rocked her world one night. Does she have enough courage to find them once again?
Click here to read Gambling with Gabriella (A Playing for Love Novella) Or keep reading for a free extended preview of the story!
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Gambling with Gabriella
Prologue
Gabriella:
New York is filled with glamorous spots, but this bare room somewhere in Chinatown, illuminated by cheap fluorescent lighting and furnished with scratched particleboard tables and metal folding chairs, isn’t one of them.
I’ve just lost almost one hundred thousand dollars in a poker game that I’m convinced was rigged.
Belatedly, my skin is covered with goosebumps, and I can’t seem to stop shivering. The adrenaline has finally caught up with me. Outside, the night is warm and the air thick and humid. A storm is coming. I can sense it in the breeze that blows through the open windows. I can feel it in my bones.
Ninety eight thousand, five hundred dollars, lost in one night of poker. One bad hand after the other, and a sense of hubris that made me repeatedly ignore my more sensible self. I should have bailed and I didn’t. I wanted to figure out who was cheating and how, and I thought I could take advantage of the situation.
I have no idea what to do.
The guy that runs this underground poker room knows me well. I’ve been playing at his tables for five years now, ever since I moved to New York. His name is Sammy. He’s a big guy. Once upon a time, he would have been considered handsome, but now, all you can see is a guy gone to seed. Muscles have deteriorated to fat, and his shirt buttons strain over the expanse of his belly. His bald head shines with sweat that all the fans in the room haven’t been able to wick away.
“Gabriella,” he wheezes. “Rough night.”