The Square Peg (12 page)

be different than playing against strangers in Vegas.

“You see, Ben? What did I tell you?” Vin threw his hand down on the table in

disgust. “They’ve got some kind of secret sign language going on.”

“You’re the sorest loser I’ve ever met in my life,” Cara said, collecting the chips

from their haphazard pile in the middle of the table and neatening them into stacks.

“Shane, if you eat any more of those, you’re going to get sick.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “Your lack of faith in my stomach’s capacity wounds me.”

He emphasized his comment with a hand on his chest, then shoved the rest of the

cookie into his mouth.

“Okay, are you in?” Steph asked Ben, and he nodded.

“As long as everyone promises not to laugh at me when I suck,” he said.

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Vin had told Ben he didn’t have to worry about losing big. “We have a limit of a

hundred bucks maximum; minimum is twenty. You can’t buy more than a hundred

dollars’ worth of chips, but if you start with, say, fifty and lose it all, you can buy

another fifty—but you have to sit out two hands first.”

“Why?”

Vin had shrugged. “Shane says it’s to let you think about whether you can afford

it. From a few things he’s dropped, I get the impression his dad used to lose a lot at the

bookmakers, betting on the horses. So bring a hundred if you can afford it, but you can

come with twenty and still have fun.”

A hundred dollars wasn’t out of Ben’s range by any means, and he swapped cash

for chips, then settled back in his chair, Shane opposite him. Shane’s face wasn’t set in

an expressionless mask. He was grinning at something Cara had said, and there was a

cookie crumb in the corner of his mouth. As if he’d felt Ben staring at it, Shane reached

up and ran his thumb across his lips, taking care of the crumb and leaving Ben blushing

for no reason.

Shane was the dealer for the hand, and Ben let himself settle into the rhythm of the

game. The five of them all played quickly, with no irritatingly long pauses for thought,

but there was a relaxed air about the table. No one was maintaining a steely silence,

though Ben was too experienced to believe the heavy sighs of disgust at their hands

from people who went on to scoop up the pot.

He bet modestly, more interested in buying himself time to observe the four

players. Steph and Cara were playing as a team, he noticed. They would cheerfully win

from each other, but he got the sense once they walked out the door, their winnings

would be divided evenly. They knew each other’s tells; he saw Steph’s eyes flicker

when Cara changed her grip on the sheaf of cards she held, saw Cara smile when Steph

chose to sip from her glass during a hand.

Vin was too reckless, but he was lucky with it. He’d bought the minimum amount

of chips, saying without embarrassment that it was all he could afford, and Ben had

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expected to see him lose them all over the course of the first five hands or so. Instead,

Vin had won three of the first five hands and was grinning.

When it came to Shane, Ben soon realized he was up against a man who knew

what he was doing. Shane watched the cards as they were dealt, and Ben could almost

see Shane mentally subtracting each face-up card from the list of fifty-two in his head,

so he knew, to a certain extent, what was left in the pack and what each player held.

Ben did that too. Couldn’t help it. Poker was all numbers when it was reduced to

basics—numbers, odds, probability. Ben was good with numbers.

Of course, he thought ruefully, as he crashed out of a hand, unable to complete his

flush, it didn’t necessarily follow that he was going to win because of it.

They had to take a break between hands then because of a sudden influx of

customers at the bar. Vin went to help Shelly, leaving the rest of them to talk among

themselves. Ben was content to listen to the good-natured ribbing, peppered with

references to incidents he knew nothing about, and accusations of cheating. It would

have been awkward if it hadn’t been obvious everyone genuinely liked each other. As it

was, it made him a little bit envious of the group’s closeness.

“Remember those cupcakes?” Cara asked, laughing.

“Bitch!” Steph smacked Cara lightly with the back of her hand.

“They were like plaster!” Cara snickered and shoved Steph’s shoulder.

“It wasn’t my fault you put that leftover cup of bread flour in the jar that was

supposed to have baking powder,” Steph told her.

“They tasted fine,” Shane said. “They were just heavy.”

“Understatement of the decade. We could have driven nails with those things.”

Cara gave Shane a glance. “Speaking of which, Vin says you’re gearing up for some

major renovations.”

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“Vincent needs another lecture in keeping his mouth shut,” Shane grumbled, but

when both women frowned, he shook his head. “No, I know. It isn’t as if it’s a secret.

It’s his job. He’s entitled to talk about it if he wants to.”

Ben kept quiet, though the renovations were the first topic to which he could

contribute something. He’d seen the plans, approved the suggestions, and was paying

for the work, after all. Still, he knew Shane wouldn’t appreciate anyone knowing who

was footing the bills. Shane might be grateful Ben was trying to save the bar, but his

pride tainted his gratitude with resentment.

It wasn’t fair of him to blame Ben for helping, but Ben understood it. If their

positions were reversed, he’d feel the same, he guessed.

He let Shane give a brief summary of their joint plans—the new room opening off

this one into what had previously been a junk room, the repainting, refinished floors,

and new bar.

“And the women’s bathroom,” Cara said with an emphatic nod. “The mirror in

there is freaking tiny, and the whole place is just…” She shuddered. “I hold it until I get

home sometimes just to avoid going in there.”

Shane looked mortally insulted. “It’s clean.”

“You go in there and do a white-glove inspection twice a day?” Steph asked

skeptically. “It’s not filthy, but it doesn’t make me want to linger, if you know what I

mean.”

“Why the hell would you want to stay in there longer than you need to do your

business anyway?” Shane looked genuinely baffled.

Vin snorted. “They gather there like wild animals at a watering hole. They chat.

They compare notes on who they’ve got their eye on.”

“Really?” Steph said, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “You’re an expert, are you,

Vin? So what wild animal do you see me as? Even think
warthog
, and you’ll be wearing

this beer.”

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79

“I’ve never gone in there,” Ben said, surprising them all and saving Vin from

Steph’s wrath. He flushed as everyone focused their attention on him. “If it’s as, um,

dingy, as you say it is, I’m sure we can do something to brighten it up a bit.”

“We can, can we?” Shane asked, his mouth grim. “Good to know. I’ll order the

gold-plated taps first thing in the morning.” He swept up the cards and began to shuffle

them, fast and choppy, the stiff rectangles blurring in his hands. “Now can we play

fucking poker? Unless someone’s got some paint chips they’d like to show me, or just

happens to be an expert in feng shui and thinks this table’s aligned all wrong, in which

case they’re fucking barred, and the rest of us can get on with the game.”

“Don’t be so grouchy.” Cara ate a kettle chip and smiled at Ben. “Ben’s not

grouchy, and he’s the one stuck with us all.”

“Benedict hasn’t had his entire life turned upside down in the last few weeks,”

Shane said.

It wasn’t the first time Ben had cut Shane slack for the position he was in, but it

was the first time he’d thought of the situation in precisely that way. It distracted him

when he shouldn’t have been distracted. The result was his losing the next hand he

played, not because he was dealt bad cards but because he made bad decisions.

“Unlucky,” Shane said, doing a shitty job of hiding a grin. It made Ben want to

punch him in the face. It was his fault, not Ben’s. Actually all the stuff making Ben crazy

was Shane’s fault. The fact that this poker game existed was Shane’s fault.

Ben would show him. At that moment, he didn’t care that Shane seemed to be a

basically decent human being who’d been dealt—excuse the appropriateness of the

comparison—a crummy hand in life over this whole bar situation. He didn’t care that

Shane was a hard worker, or smart, or the fucking hottest thing on two legs. He just

cared that Shane seemed compelled to push him like this, and be so fucking

competitive.

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They played three hands with Ben’s fierce exhilaration never abating. Even when

Ben’s fortunes wavered momentarily, he held his nerve, rewarded by pulling off a

successful bluff that saw Vin and Cara both leave the game, out of chips.

“I’m out,” Steph announced thirty minutes later and put her cards facedown on

the table with a sigh of disgust, all her chips in the growing pile occupying the center of

the table. Shane was the winner of the hand this time, but he and Ben had about the

same number of chips left. “Tell me again how this is supposed to be fun?”

Cara chuckled and gave her a kiss. “You love it.”

“I love winning,” Steph grumbled, but her face softened, and she slid her chair

closer to Cara’s to hug her.

Ben barely noticed them. All his attention was on Shane as Shane shuffled the

cards deftly.

“Just you and me left, partner,” Shane said.

Ben smiled at him, too certain of victory to waste time on banter designed to psych

Shane out. It wouldn’t work anyway.

Shane dealt, and Ben picked up his cards. Two sevens, both black. Not wonderful,

but not bad. He let the hand progress, betting cautiously until Shane had set out the

fourth card in the center of the table, adding the seven of hearts next to a pair of red

queens and the three of diamonds.

Shane had the indefinable look of a man with a good hand. Ben wasn’t sure what

Shane’s tell was, or if he even had one, but he’d seen that look on Shane’s face before. It

hadn’t been tamped down then, but blazing bright.

And Shane had been kneeling, begging, eager.

Of course, Shane could be bluffing. The hell with it. He pushed five chips forward,

and Shane matched it. Ben rapped the table; Shane burned the top card of the deck, then

dealt out the final card to the middle. The queen of clubs.

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Certain now of a full house, aware it wasn’t a guaranteed winning hand by any

means, but filled with a reckless daring, Ben shoved his chips forward.

“All in,” he said, keeping his voice steady, a little bored.

“Careful,” Shane said, a mocking smile showing. ”You sound as if you know what

you’re doing.”

“I never said I didn’t,” Ben retorted.

Shane shrugged. “It’s your money. All in, it is.”

Vin grinned, lounging back in his chair. “We need dramatic music. Want a drum

roll?”

“Shut it,” Shane said without heat. He met Ben’s gaze squarely and said, “Show

me what you’ve got,” his voice imperious.

It was a challenge, but was it more than the game at stake? Ben couldn’t decide if

he wanted it to be or not. Shane disturbed him, made him want things he’d never

wanted before. While he could cope with the discovery that he liked being in charge

during sex, he wasn’t sure he could handle Shane’s issues about money. It would taint

any relationship, even one as casual as theirs, to have Shane resent him for saving their

business single-handedly. He wanted them to be equals, and when it came to money,

they weren’t and never would be.

He almost regretted his need to win this pot. How would taking money off Shane

improve matters between them? What the hell was he trying to prove? This wasn’t a

high-stakes game with a huge crowd watching, just a few old friends playing for fun in

a bar that by now was close to empty. Win or lose, he’d shown Shane nothing that

would impress the man.

Ben laid out his cards and waited for Shane to curl his lip and produce a straight

flush, his confidence draining away. Steph and Cara leaned forward to see his cards,

their expressions studiously neutral, though Ben couldn’t see any reason for them to

want him to win. He knew whose side they were on.

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“Full house,” Ben said. “Well?”

Shane flipped his cards, a wry smile on his face. Two threes were revealed,

drawing a groan of sympathy from Vin. “Same here. But your sevens beat my threes.”

Cara let out of a whoop and offered the flat of her hand. Ben gave her the