The Big Blind (Nadia Wolf) by Nicolette Pierce Page A

there are only a hundred spots before we start getting paid.”
    “True. I would hate to be the bubble,” Caleb said. “Players tend to tighten up right before. It’s a real pain. I always try to stir up a little action at the table when it plateaus.”
    “Yeah, man.”
    I smiled in spite of myself. Caleb was trying to coerce the guy to play aggressively. Nothing wrong with that, but playing aggressively against tight players can end badly if the tight player calls his bluff. A tight player makes a move if they have exceptionally strong cards. Cards that win.
    “Caleb, what are you doing this weekend?” A man with dreadlocks asked. “I always see you with hot women. They seem to line up for you, man. What’s your secret?”
    “My Porsche 911. They love it. My money doesn’t hurt either.”
    I nodded. It was probably true.
    “You gonna find yourself a hot number after the tournament?” The dreadlock man asked.
    “I already have one lined up.”
    My back straightened. The guys at the table laughed as men tend to do when there’s a conspiracy for getting lucky.
    “Personally, I prefer one that will give me a little hell before I tame her,” said a man in a cowboy hat and dark eyes. “I heard she’s a tough one to crack.”
    The back of my neck prickled with the sensation of leering eyes. I leaned back and shot a warning glance at my neighboring table. My poker face was in full force even though I wanted to crawl under the table. No one could keep eye contact with me when I set my mind to a stare down.
    I practiced my poker stare when I was fourteen and mastered it when I was eighteen. One-by-one, the men’s gazes turned back to their hand. Caleb was the last to look away. He gave me a wink.
    “See what I mean?” The man in the cowboy hat said. “She could give a man hell, but they would still come back for more.”
    Caleb chuckled.
     
    After a few hours, the players were consolidated again. I installed myself at my new table. Caleb positioned himself at the opposite end of the table.
    “I thought you didn’t like to sit opposite of me.”
    “This time it’s different. Yesterday, I was trying to keep you in the game. Today,” he grinned, “I have to win.”
    “So, you think it’s your talents alone determining whether I win or lose this tournament?”
    “Yes.”
    I couldn’t think of a witty reply. We’ve already been playing for eight hours. My back hurt, my butt hurt, and even my brain hurt. There was no way I was going to give up, not now. There’s no telling how long we’d have to play tonight. We keep playing until the final six players move on to the final table.
    I peeked at my cards. My face was stone, but my insides groaned. I’d been dealt crap cards for the last twenty hands. If I didn’t get a miracle hand soon, I was going to have to play aggressive and bluff my way through.
    After another ten hands, it didn’t happen. Good cards weren’t coming my way. I had to make my own luck. I contemplated my queen-four off suit. I didn’t have a choice. I threw chips into the pot. A man with hoop earrings called, and Caleb shoved his chips all in. I folded. This happened again . . . and again.
    I was in dire need of chips. I peeked at my cards suppressing a grin at my pair of kings. I shoved in all my chips. Caleb called. I wasn’t a threat to him. He had a deep stack of chips heaped high . . . the king of poker.
    The camera crew arrived as we both flipped over our cards. He had a seven-two off suit. In the poker world a seven-two was the worst possible hand a player could start with. There are mathematical odds calculating it as the worst hand. My mouth swung wide open. Poker face be damned; I was floored. What the hell was he thinking? The players stopped mindlessly shuffling their chips and a murmur spread.
    The dealer turned over three club cards on the flop. Caleb already had a club in his hand. One more club and he’d win with a flush. My mind rewound to the times I witnessed him