As soon as the guy in the chair next to her gets up, I instinctively grab my chips, planning to go sit next to her. But an older Black man beats me to it, sliding into the empty seat.
“Gia, how’s it going?” he asks her.
“Can’t complain,” she replies without looking at him. “How are you?”
“I’m up for the night, but I think I’m gonna head over to the Bellagio. I heard there are some big guns over there tonight. You want to join me?”
He buys in and looks at his cards the same way Gia does, with no reaction.
“Nah, you know me, Jerry,” she says. “I like small guns.”
“Okay, but I better see you Saturday.”
“I’ll be there,” Gia responds. “What else am I gonna do on a Saturday night?”
“Sir?” The dealer gives me a questioning look.
I shift my focus back to the game, folding. I’m not thinking about poker right now, but about the woman across from me. Gia. I know her name now. And she apparently doesn’t have very exciting Saturday nights, which I hope means she’s single.
And if she’s not, any man who doesn’t wine and dine her like a queen doesn’t deserve her, anyway.
Jerry leaves and his seat is immediately filled by a woman wearing a skintight white dress with nothing beneath. The other men at the table gape, one guy getting kicked in the shin by his wife for it, but I’m still looking at Gia.
Short for Giada? Giana? I’m dying to know more about her.
As I sit at the table wondering what her story is, my chip count dwindles. I couldn’t care less, though. I just want to sit here and watch Gia. She bites her lower lip when she’s thinking, but otherwise shows no reaction to anything that happens in the game.
The woman in the tight dress waves at Pike to get his attention and says, “Hey. Want to go back to my room with me?”
“Sure,” he says, picking up his chips and bringing them over to me.
I immediately pass them to the dealer to cash out, but Pike says, “No, man. Play ‘em.”
I shake my head and pocket the $300 and change, because I seriously think it may be all the cash left from his bankroll by morning. I’ll give it to him when I see him next.
Pike claps me on the shoulder and then takes off with the woman, his hand sliding from around her waist down to her ass as they head for the elevator. I get back to my game, which is looking pretty sad. I’m down to $85 in chips.
When I sneak a glance at Gia between hands, I see her counting her chips. She seems satisfied with the total, because she cashes them in and gets up from the table, passing a couple chips back to the dealer as a tip. My pulse pounds at the thought of not seeing her again.
As she starts to walk away, I pass my chips to the dealer and start to follow her.
“Sir, are you cashing out?” The dealer calls out to me but I don’t want to lose sight of Gia.
“Keep it,” I say over my shoulder, still following her.
She’s just outside of the poker room when I approach her.
“Hey, Gia,” I say, getting her attention.
“How do you know my name?” she asks sharply.
“That guy earlier, Jerry. He called you Gia.”
Her expression softens. “Oh. Did I forget something at the table?” She checks to make sure her purse is hanging on her shoulder.
“No, I just uh…wanted to ask you something.”
She looks at me, waiting. What the fuck am I going to ask her? A question just rolls out of my mouth without any forethought.
“Did you just hustle me?” My tone is both stunned and impressed.
She cocks her head, holding my gaze. “What do you mean? That was my first time playing poker.”
“Bullshit.”
“You know, you frown when you have a great hand,” she says. “If you’re going to play often, you should work on that.”
I scoff. “I don’t frown, what are you talking about?”
“You do. You turn down the corners of your lips and narrow your eyes just slightly. It’s not an unusual tell—you’re trying to hide how strong your hand is.”
I think back, and I realize…she’s right. I did try to look serious and concerned every time I had a good hand back there.
“And you bite your lip,” I tell her. “That must be your tell.”
She smiles and the radiance of it pulls me in. It makes me want to grab her and kiss her like she’s never been kissed before.
“When do I do it, though?” she asks me. “When I have a good hand or when I have a bad one?”
I open my mouth, then close it again, silent for a few seconds.
“I can’t say for sure,” I admit.
“I do it every other hand,” she says. “No matter what cards I have. That way people think I have a tell, but really I don’t.”
She adjusts her purse strap and pulls it over her head so it lays crosswise over her chest, and as she looks at the door, I realize she’s about to leave.
“Are you here on vacation?” I ask her.
“No.”
“Do you come here all the time?”
She shakes her head. “I go to several different places.”
“But you only play poker.”
“Right. Always stick to the game you’re best at. I think for you that may be hockey.”
I laugh. “But what if I want to play poker again? Where can I find you?”
She shrugs. “You never know.”
Someone taps me on the shoulder and I turn to find three heavily made-up women giving me doe eyes.
“Maverick, can we get a picture with you?” They walk a little closer and one of them asks, “Please?”
Before I can answer, they’re crowding around me, giggling and duck-facing. By the time they finish their pictures, Gia is long gone. I jog in the direction she went and try to catch up with her, but it’s too late.
Damn. I don’t have much to go on, but at least it’s something. One way or another, I have to see Gia again.
Chapter Four
Gia
“What do you think?”
I turn to my friend Ro, showing her the aviator sunglasses I just put on.
She wrinkles her nose. “I liked the purple ones better.”
I put the aviators back on the display stand at the sidewalk booth, shrugging.
“I’m just going to stick with my big, dark sunglasses. They block out that crazy morning light better than cute sunglasses do.”
“Isn’t it a bitch?” Ro shakes her head. “I usually get home from work before the sun comes up, but when I’m running late and I step outside for the first time, it’s blinding.”
Ro and I have been roommates for four months now. She’s a backup dancer in a big Las Vegas show and she’s also taking several college classes. I decided to find a roommate so I could cut my apartment expenses in half and save more of my winnings, but Ro has become a lot more to me than just a roommate.
“Are you hungry?” I ask her as we continue to window shop.
“Starving. Want to go to that taco place?”
“You read my mind. Drive or walk?”
“Drive. My car’s about a block away.”