Page 36 of Confessions of the Funny Fat Friend

I looked to my hand... not bad. I swapped a seven for a jack, hoping to make a straight. We went around the table for a while, and I studied each of them, getting a feel for how they played. Cohen was the hardest to read, never giving much away whether he had a good or bad hand.

Steve, on the other hand, kept his good cards close to his chest, removing the smile that was always on his lips otherwise. And Jonas was clearly a terrible liar. His hands twitched when he had good cards, and his jaw tightened with the bad cards.

After a couple hours, Steve and Jonas had dwindling stacks of chips, and between Cohen and me, we knocked them out within a few rounds of each other.

Steve grumbled something about promising his wife he’d get home when he lost, so he said goodbye to all of us before telling me, “You better beat Cohen. He’s not used to losing.”

Cohen snorted. “Good luck.”

It just made me want to win all that much more.

“I’m staying to see this one,” Jonas said. “Besides, the girls have taken over my house with wedding craft projects, so I’m in no rush to get home.” He shuddered. “So much glitter.”

The girls... I’m assuming he meant Henrietta, Birdie, Mara, and Tess. Those four seemed thick as thieves.

But the distraction of Henrietta cost me a couple rounds before I focused back in on the game and won one against Cohen.

“I’ll just say it,” Cohen said as he shuffled the deck over and over again. “What are your intentions with Henrietta?”

Jonas gave him a look but then watched me for my answer.

“My intentions?” I hedged. Fuck, I was a couple beers in and about to admit that dating her was the worst idea ever—but I still wanted to.

He finished dealing and then flipped the cards over. “You were pretty close on the dance floor.”

“She had a bad date, didn’t want to go home,” I replied, glancing from my cards to Cohen. This hand was good, but was it good enough to win?

Cohen tossed a couple of chips in the pile growing in the middle of the table. “You’re in town on contract, right? Just here for a few months?”

“Nine,” I replied, as if it made a difference.

Another round.

“So you’re leaving soon,” Cohen said.

Jonas’s eyes tracked between the two of us.

Instead of answering, I matched his bid and raised it.

Cohen looked from my chips to me. “Henrietta doesn’t date. Not seriously, anyway.”

“Maybe she hasn’t found the right match yet.” I traded a card from the pile and replaced one in my hand.

He raised an eyebrow. “And you’re saying you could be that match?”

“I’m saying I’m all in,” I replied, pushing all my chips to the center of the table.

Cohen studied me before matching my bid with all of his.

When we turned our cards over, I won.

19

Henrietta

Confession: My ovaries have a mind of their own.

My stomach wasa ball of nerves Saturday morning. Tyler and I hadn’t spoken much outside of work since I dropped off the donuts Monday. But if his forehead kiss the weekend before meant anything, today would be one to remember.

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