Page 8 of Pucking Curves

“O-kay,” the waitress murmurs. “Be right back.”

I turn back to the machine in front of me, feeling like my face is on fire. Awkward silence descends between us, louder than the machines screaming all around us.

“So…how do we do this?” I finally mutter.

“Fuck.” Archer steps up beside me, blowing out a breath. “Video poker is relatively straightforward. You bet one to five coins.” He leans over me to make a bet. “And then the machine gives you five cards.” We wait while our cards are dealt. “And then you decide which you want to keep and which you want to discard.” He quickly swipes away two cards, keeping a pair of tens and a nine. “Once you discard, the machine replaces your cards. How much you make depends on the value of your hand.” The machine replaces the discarded cards with another nine, an ace, and a two. And then he hits another button, the machine beeps, and the money counter goes up.

“Oh!” Excitement fires through me, and I dance in my seat. “You won!”

Archer chuckles. “I had two pairs, baby.”

“Is that good?”

“Yeah, that’s good.” He leans over me, his arm brushing mine. “Now, you try.”

I catch my tongue between my teeth, concentrating as he leads me through the process again. At least, I try to concentrate, but with him in my personal space, all I can focus on is the way his body keeps brushing up against mine and the way his breath whispers against my ear.

“Which cards do you want to keep?”

“Um…” I stare blankly at the machine. “Can I keep the red ones?”

He chuckles, and I damn near melt into a puddle right there in my seat. He’s so close, I feel the vibration against my back. Feel it against my ear. My clit pulses in time to the sound.

“Hell no, Wren,” he says. “You want to keep the seven, nine, ten, and Jack.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Because keeping the three, seven, and nine isn’t going to net you anything. But if you get an eight, you have a straight.”

“And a straight is good?”

“It pays twenty times your bet,” he murmurs.

“What’s my bet?”

“Fifty dollars.”

“Fifty dollars?” I squeak, gaping up at him. “That’s too much, Archer!”

He chuckles. “Just discard the card, Wren.”

“No way. I’m not losing you twenty times fifty dollars on the hopes this machine gives me an eight. My math is broken right now, but I know that’s a lot!”

“Baby.” His forehead lands against the back of my neck, another laugh vibrating through him. “You won’t lose twenty times your bet. You’ll only lose your bet.”

“I could eat for two days on fifty dollars,” I grumble, not really mollified. Spending Micah’s money is way more fun than losing Archer’s. At least with Micah, I can remember all the ways he’s annoyed me over the years and feel a little better when he spends ridiculous amounts of money on stupid stuff for me. But it’s different this time. Archer doesn’t annoy me. This is his money on the line. And all we’ll have to show for it at the end is…well, definitely not the eight we need to win twenty times our bet.

Gambling is so lame.

“Push the button, Wren,” Archer growls, his voice pitched low.

Something about that tone—that bossy, do-it-now-or-else tone—has me quickly jabbing the button. My clit throbs too. God, I want him to growl at me like that while I’m naked in his bed.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, he loses fifty dollars.

“This is way more fun when you’re winning,” I complain.

“Then place a bet and go again.”

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