we’re good then? You and Clare, that is?”
“Yes.” Kevin grumbled. “And Anastasia DeWitt, or whatever name you’re operating under, is free to mess around with whomever she likes.”
“Thanks.” This was the best of both worlds, right?
Then why, when Clare tossed her clothes on the floor and crawled under that floral-print bedspread, did she feel like she was alone in both worlds?
ELEVEN
NOAH
Noah woke up ten minutes before his alarm was set to ring. It was a gray morning, which was fine with him. He was feeling kind of dim anyway.
He wasn’t sure how he was going to handle Bert. He’d lost a pile of money the night before and he didn’t have anything to show for it. Sure, there was the bet with Joe — but was that really for the job, or did Noah just want a piece of Tiffany and need the added push to ask her out? Fuck, he had to stop overthinking things. He should have stayed at NYU and done something normal for a career.
Noah made a coffee and waited for the knock on his door. Halfway through the cup, it came. He rose to let Bert in.
“Nice room.” Bert bent down as if to remove his shoes but seemed to have a change of heart and left them on. Like the casino hotel carpet wasn’t good enough for his designer socks. “Shame about the slob who’s staying here.”
“Sorry,” Noah said. “Didn’t realize cleanliness was part of the code.”
“I should make a handbook.” Bert took an armchair by the window and set two Tim Hortons cups on the table beside him. “So what have you learned?”
Noah coughed into his hands and steadied his nerves. “I have leads. I’m not ready to discuss them.”
Bert shook his head. “Always the same with you people.”
“We people? Because my mother’s Jewish?”
“Yeah, I’m suddenly a racist prick, you schmuck. I mean, you people under thirty. Think you’re so hot, you can run the whole show.”
“I don’t think I’m so hot.” If he had, then a lifetime of being told otherwise by his father would have permanently cured him. “I don’t want to waste your time unless I know my leads might go somewhere.”
Bert sighed. “So don’t waste my time telling me you have them. Are you going to sit down, or do you plan to keep pacing the whole time we’re talking?”
Noah rolled his eyes as he took the other armchair. “If I tell you nothing, you’ll think I’m pissing away your resources. I lost twelve grand last night, incidentally.”
“Incidentally?” Bert’s mouth opened, and stayed that way. “Did you lose it down a drain, or at a card table?”
“A card table. Obviously.” Noah knew he was being rude. It was his natural reaction when he felt like a cornered fuck-up. Maybe one day that would change, but for now he just had to go with it. “I’m making headway with some of the name players.”
“Like who?”
“Joe Mangan.” Noah looked at his jeans and noticed a small red stain from the previous night’s pizza. He flicked at it with his finger, but the sauce was embedded pretty deeply. “I have a prop bet with him. We both want to nail the same girl.”
“Who’s the girl?”
“Tiffany James. She just joined the tour. She’s a trust fund princess, but she looks like she’d be fun in bed.”
“Is she involved in the hole card mess?”
“I don’t know,” Noah said. “But I wouldn’t mind getting messy with her.”
“This isn’t about you getting laid, Walker. It’s about the family-friendly game of poker being compromised without our consent.”
“Without our consent,” Noah muttered. Of course the problem wasn’t the game being compromised; it was that Bert and Co. weren’t in on it.
“Tell me about Joe Mangan,” Bert said. “He must be filthy rich from all his tournament successes.”
“And celebrity endorsements. He’s in beer commercials, car commercials; I wouldn’t be surprised to see him in condom commercials. Nice guy until you get him talking.”
Bert chuckled. “They’re all nice
“Yes.” Kevin grumbled. “And Anastasia DeWitt, or whatever name you’re operating under, is free to mess around with whomever she likes.”
“Thanks.” This was the best of both worlds, right?
Then why, when Clare tossed her clothes on the floor and crawled under that floral-print bedspread, did she feel like she was alone in both worlds?
ELEVEN
NOAH
Noah woke up ten minutes before his alarm was set to ring. It was a gray morning, which was fine with him. He was feeling kind of dim anyway.
He wasn’t sure how he was going to handle Bert. He’d lost a pile of money the night before and he didn’t have anything to show for it. Sure, there was the bet with Joe — but was that really for the job, or did Noah just want a piece of Tiffany and need the added push to ask her out? Fuck, he had to stop overthinking things. He should have stayed at NYU and done something normal for a career.
Noah made a coffee and waited for the knock on his door. Halfway through the cup, it came. He rose to let Bert in.
“Nice room.” Bert bent down as if to remove his shoes but seemed to have a change of heart and left them on. Like the casino hotel carpet wasn’t good enough for his designer socks. “Shame about the slob who’s staying here.”
“Sorry,” Noah said. “Didn’t realize cleanliness was part of the code.”
“I should make a handbook.” Bert took an armchair by the window and set two Tim Hortons cups on the table beside him. “So what have you learned?”
Noah coughed into his hands and steadied his nerves. “I have leads. I’m not ready to discuss them.”
Bert shook his head. “Always the same with you people.”
“We people? Because my mother’s Jewish?”
“Yeah, I’m suddenly a racist prick, you schmuck. I mean, you people under thirty. Think you’re so hot, you can run the whole show.”
“I don’t think I’m so hot.” If he had, then a lifetime of being told otherwise by his father would have permanently cured him. “I don’t want to waste your time unless I know my leads might go somewhere.”
Bert sighed. “So don’t waste my time telling me you have them. Are you going to sit down, or do you plan to keep pacing the whole time we’re talking?”
Noah rolled his eyes as he took the other armchair. “If I tell you nothing, you’ll think I’m pissing away your resources. I lost twelve grand last night, incidentally.”
“Incidentally?” Bert’s mouth opened, and stayed that way. “Did you lose it down a drain, or at a card table?”
“A card table. Obviously.” Noah knew he was being rude. It was his natural reaction when he felt like a cornered fuck-up. Maybe one day that would change, but for now he just had to go with it. “I’m making headway with some of the name players.”
“Like who?”
“Joe Mangan.” Noah looked at his jeans and noticed a small red stain from the previous night’s pizza. He flicked at it with his finger, but the sauce was embedded pretty deeply. “I have a prop bet with him. We both want to nail the same girl.”
“Who’s the girl?”
“Tiffany James. She just joined the tour. She’s a trust fund princess, but she looks like she’d be fun in bed.”
“Is she involved in the hole card mess?”
“I don’t know,” Noah said. “But I wouldn’t mind getting messy with her.”
“This isn’t about you getting laid, Walker. It’s about the family-friendly game of poker being compromised without our consent.”
“Without our consent,” Noah muttered. Of course the problem wasn’t the game being compromised; it was that Bert and Co. weren’t in on it.
“Tell me about Joe Mangan,” Bert said. “He must be filthy rich from all his tournament successes.”
“And celebrity endorsements. He’s in beer commercials, car commercials; I wouldn’t be surprised to see him in condom commercials. Nice guy until you get him talking.”
Bert chuckled. “They’re all nice
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