Page 59 of Chasing Sunsets

“You all right there, Anson?” Tabby asks, resting her chin in her hand, her smirk so smug that I briefly consider tossing my cards over the railing.

“I—yes. Totally fine.” I swallow my pride, along with a sip of beer. “Just … recalibrating my strategy.”

She hums. “Interesting. I was under the impression that you were good at this.”

I narrow my eyes. “I am good. I’m just taking it easy on you. As promised.”

She snorts. “Anson, you keep betting like a man who has never played poker in his life.”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh? Then, tell me,” she says, eyes glinting with amusement, “what hand were you hoping to beat me with last round?”

I glance at the discarded pile of cards. “A pair of threes.”

She throws her head back and laughs. It’s the kind of laugh that fills the night air, rich and unrestrained, the sight making this complete fiasco worth it.

She wipes a tear from her eye. “Oh, baby, you’re adorable.”

I groan, “All right, you’ve made your point.”

But she just grins, shuffling the deck effortlessly between her fingers. Suspiciously effortlessly.

My eyes narrow. “Where exactly did you learn to shuffle like that?”

“Oh, you know”—she shrugs—“here and there.”

“Trouble …”

She flashes an innocent smile. “Did I forget to mention that my grandpa was a professional gambler?”

I nearly choke on my drink. “I—excuse me?”

She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Yeah. He used to take me to underground poker games when I was a teenager. Said I had ‘natural talent.’” She sighs dramatically. “It’s really a shame, you know? All this talent going to waste.”

I stare at her. “You’re a card shark.”

She winks. “Shall we do this? Or do you want to just hand me those trunks now and save yourself the humiliation?”

I groan again, running a hand through my hair. “Hustling the hustler. I’ve created a monster.”

“Yeah,” she says, lazily shuffling the deck once more. “But watching you realize it in real time was so worth it.”

I reach over and snatch the deck from her fingers. “As much as I’d love to mount an epic comeback, pulling off an underdog win and leaving you flustered and speechless,” I say, “or at the very least, make you take off something other than your jewelry—rule number one of any hustler is to know when to quit.”

She shrugs, stretching her legs out in the most suggestive manner I’ve ever seen. “I tried to warn you,” she quips. “Sore loser.”

I narrow my eyes. “Okay. New bet.”

Her brows lift. “Oh?”

I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table. “Double or nothing.”

She smirks. “Anson, you don’t have anything left to bet.”

I point a finger at her. “Wrong. If I lose this time, I have to go down to the beach and jump into the ocean right now.”

She considers this. “And if you win?”

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