The Bet by Max Monroe

Friday, March 23rd

Sophie

“If I go all in, does that mean I’m putting all my chips on the line?” I ask, my voice filled with the kind of innocence and naïveté to make the five men at this Texas Hold’em table inside the Venetian’s poker room practically lick their chops.

“Yeah, honey,” a guy with a black moustache, a bald head, and a thick Boston accent answers. “All in means you’re wagering all your money on the hand.”

“Oh, okay.” I nod and stare down at the stack of chips—worth twenty freaking thousand dollars—that Jude handed me before he went to his meeting.

Honestly, I about passed out when he put the clear plexiglass holder in my hands and said, “Have some fun, babe.”

Apparently, when Vegas nightclub investors are trying to schmooze you, they pull out all the stops. Which includes an insanely large amount of free casino money to gamble with.

I tried to tell Jude no way, but he was persistent in convincing me it was okay to use the chips for whatever gambling desires I had.

“Babe, if we don’t use it, they’re going to give it to the next person they’re trying to get something out of it,” he’d said. “Trust me, the purpose of it is to spend it. Go play the tables or the slots. Just have fun and remember, it’s not your money or my money that you’re putting on the line. It’s the casino’s.”

Somehow, those words of his had given me permission enough to bring all these chips to the poker room without feeling the least bit guilty.

I’m not a huge fan of gambling, but I love playing poker. The game of Texas Hold’em was instilled at a young age because my dad taught my sisters and me how to play. And although Belle and Katelynn pretty much hated it, it became my dad’s and my thing.

I can remember a lot of nights watching World Poker Tour events on television with him and listening to him analyze each player’s moves. There’s no doubt that Anthony Sage knows himself some poker, and frankly, if he were sitting here at this table, he’d run all five of these men right out of money.

Me, on the other hand, I still consider myself novice enough that I have to use other techniques to get an advantage. Acting completely clueless being one of them.

The dealer deals the next round of cards, and I make a show of acting a little confused before folding my fifth hand since I sat down.

While the game continues, I pull my phone out of my purse and check my messages.

Belle appears busy enough with work that she’s not nagging me about not agreeing to meet her for lunch today. And things appear to be running smoothly for Julie.

So far, so good.

Of course, I can’t stop myself from sending a text message to the one person who has been on my mind since I sat down at this table. My dad.

Me: You’ll never believe what I’m doing right now. But when I tell you, you have to promise not to tell Mom or Katelynn or Belle where I am.

Besides being a fantastic father, he’s also the best damn secret vault of anyone I know. If you tell Anthony Sage something that you don’t want anyone to know about, he’ll take that secret to the grave.

Truthfully, it’s probably one of the reasons why I’ve always been closer with our dad and Belle has always been closer with our mom.

My mom is sweet as pie, but she handles things a lot like Belle—by getting all up in your personal space until you break. My dad, on the other hand, takes a subtler approach and just lets you know you can come to him about anything but doesn’t pry.

Katelynn always manages to land somewhere in the middle. Half like our mom and half like our dad.

Pops: You know I’ve got tight lips, Soph. Not even the Feds could break me.

I laugh. Truth is, I was probably going to tell him anyway—I feel the urge too strongly. But I really love his earnest effort to convince me.

Me: I’m in the Venetian’s Poker Room playing Texas Hold’em.

Pops: Tell me my daughter is running the table, and I’ll be a happy guy.

I grin.

Me: I just sat down, but that’s the plan.

Pops: You using the sweet and innocent act?

Me: Oh yeah.

Pops: That’s my girl.

Me: Love you, Dad.

Pops: Love you too, Soph. Call me sometime soon, yeah? Maybe even come out to Miami and see your mom and me. I’ll make sure she makes the good fajitas. The ones with the steak from San Pedro’s.

Me: I’m hoping to get out to Miami in April or May, but the promise of fajitas smells like April.

Pops: Good. Can’t wait to see you.

Me: Me too, Dad. I’ll call you soon.

“The Secret Club?” a guy with a white beard and a worn-in cowboy hat asks from across the poker table, and I pull my focus away from my text messages. “Darlin’, what’s that mean?”

I set my phone facedown on the felt and flash him a little grin. “Well, it means exactly what it says. A secret club.”

The man chuckles at my sarcasm, but another older gentleman in a navy-blue suit adds to the conversation.

“Are those badges on your shirt?”

I glance down and smile. “Yes.”

“Like the Girl Scouts?” White Beard asks, and it instantly makes my cheeks pinken over the dirty truth.

“Well…I guess you could say it’s something like that,” I answer vaguely, and White Beard lifts his thick, caterpillar eyebrows.

“How do you earn ’em?”

“Sorry to disappoint, but what happens in The Secret Club, stays in The Secret Club.”

Both men just chuckle at my beat-around-the-bush answer.

Frankly, if these old-timers knew how I earned these badges or where I earned these badges, I feel like at least one of them would have a heart attack right at this damn table.

Tenbadges, in fact. Each one ironed-on to my Secret Club T-shirt after Jude gifted me with an orgasm. Ten orgasms in less than twenty-four hours, mind you, and every single one of them was earned in a different spot, a different location, all over this wild town.

Four of them occurred in our suite—against the windows, in the shower, in the big-ass jacuzzi tub, and one on the plush king-sized bed while I rode Jude’s awesome penis reverse-cowgirl–style. That badge, ironically, actually has a cute little cartoon cowgirl on it and now sits at the spot just above my right breast.

The other six, though? Well, they are a whole other story, and if the Las Vegas police knew about the public spots where my badge-earning occurred, they’d probably have me arrested and confiscate this T-shirt.

Pretty sure Jude fingering me beneath my dress to a full-on climax while we were on the X-Scream roller coaster at the Stratosphere hotel would definitely qualify as indecent exposure.

Orthe quiet booth at Tao when I sat on his lap during the whole meal with his cock all the way inside me.

Or at the Paris Hotel on the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower Experience.

Needless to say, I’ve never been this wild or spontaneous in my whole life, but somehow, it just comes naturally when Jude is at the helm of my desires.

The dealer begins to deal another round, and I decide this one will be my next move toward steamrolling these men out of some chips.

I peek at the two cards that are facedown before me—Jack of Hearts. Queen of Spades. Not that great of a hand, but that’s okay because I’m going to act like it is.

A big-ass smile pushed to my lips, I giggle. “Oh boy.”

Moustache and White Beard peer up at me from over their cards, but the other three men at the table don’t give me much notice.

“Uh…All in!” I shout before the dealer shows the flop and fumble with my chips as I shove them toward the center of the table.

Now, I have the attention of the other three men.

Navy-Blue Suit furrows his brow. Hawaiian Shirt runs his fingers along his chin. And the man I’ve nicknamed Mr. Buckteeth looks up and scrutinizes my face.

I lift up the edge of my cards to peep at them again and make sure my eyes go wide with delight.

“Fold,” White Beard and Moustache announce to the dealer, shoving their cards toward him.

Navy-Blue Suit and Hawaiian Shirt don’t hang in much longer either.

But Mr. Buckteeth mulls over his options for a good two minutes.

“All in, huh?” he questions, and his eyes observe my body language like any good poker player would do. Although, it’s more of a show than anything else. I can already tell he’s about a minute away from folding his cards.

And with a swift shake of his head and his beefy fingers swiping his cards toward the middle, he does, in fact, fold.

“Oh boy!” I let out a giddy giggle as the dealer shoves the chips back in my direction. “That was kind of exciting. But I was also so nervous at the same time. Is that normal?”

White Beard grins. “Yeah, darlin’. I guess you could say every hand can provide a bit of an adrenaline rush.”

I make a mental note to fold my next few hands to keep these men guessing, while occasionally asking questions like, “Is a straight better than a flush, or is it the other way around?”

The second hand I fold turns into quite the standoff between White Beard and Navy Suit, and while they decide their move at the turn, my phone lights up with a text notification.

Jude: I just got back to the room, and you’re not here. Is Mike Tyson’s tiger in the bathroom? Should I start checking the roof now?

I laugh, typing out an answer that’s slightly more grounded in reality than Hollywood.

Me: I’m losing all your free casino money.

Technically speaking, I’m up about five hundred.

Jude: HA. Did you leave a trail of cookies to help me find you, or should I just ask you where you are?

Me: At our lovely casino’s poker room.

Jude: Hold up. You’re playing poker in the Venetian?

Me: Texas Hold’em, to be exact.

Jude: Babe, no offense, but do you know how to play poker?

Pfft. Of course, I know how to fucking play. I’m almost offended that he asked me that question, but then I realize it’s that kind of thought process that’s going to allow me to steal all of these old dude’s chips.

So, I keep that mind-set and shoot a rambling text back.

Me: I mean, I know that a straight means that all the cards have to go in order. And a flush means that all your cards have to have the same cute symbol at the top. Like, all the hearts need to match. Or all the spades. Personally, I like diamonds the best.

Jude: LOL. Sounds like you’re all set, then.

Me: Does being back at the room mean you’re done with your meeting?

Jude: Yep. And I’m on the prowl for my sexy little Girl Scout.

Me: Well, I’m pretty sure you can find her in the Poker Room. She’ll be the one wearing a pair of jean shorts and a T-shirt that says “The Secret Club.”

Jude: Wait…those cutoff jean shorts where I get to see the bottom curve of your ass?

I furrow my brow. This is the only pair of jean shorts I brought with me, and, to be honest, I don’t recall my butt cheeks actually hanging out of them.

Me: Uh…pretty sure you can’t see my ass in these.

Jude: I did.

Me: When?

Jude: When you were bending over this morning to get something out of your suitcase.

I shake my head on a silent laugh. I swear, sometimes, he’s like the pervy, underwear-stealing stalker I didn’t even know I wanted.

Jude: I’ll be there before you can say the Girl Scout Promise.