Page 8 of The Yips

“Fries or tots?” She asked as she placed condiments and a roll-up of silverware in front of me.

“Tots, please.”

When she left to place my order, I downed my beer to give her a reason to return. I spotted some Keno slips and found an ATM to get some cash. Maybe if I played a game or two, she’d have a reason to talk to me.

Once I filled out the slip, I called her over and handed her cash for a few games. She returned with my slip and wished me good luck.

Her fair skin was dusted with freckles, her lips full and pink. I imagined how it would feel to suck on that bottom lip. Would she taste as sweet as she looked? Thinking about her made it easy to block out the customers at the end of the bar who were complaining about my last start.

When my food came from the kitchen, I had her run myKeno ticket. When she scanned the ticket, the tone indicated I had won, and she returned with fifty bucks.

“Looks like your lucky day,” she said, placing the money on the counter.

“Hey, how about I play one more time, put this fifty in on a game, and you pick my numbers? We’ll split the winnings,” I suggested, not ready to lose her attention.

“I don’t want to be responsible for you losing money,” she said hesitantly.

“I turned five bucks into fifty; I’ll only be out five if we lose,” I reassured her.

She shook her head, “I don’t want to play with someone else’s money.”

“Fine, let’s call it your tip. I feel lucky right now; winning this game is the first good thing that’s happened to me in two weeks. Pick some numbers for me, please?” Oh man, those eyes. So expressive with flecks of yellow and brown.

“Okay, here goes.”

She filled in four numbers, calculated the fifty-dollar play, ran the game, and returned with my slip.

I ate my burger quietly. She checked in several times to ensure it was correctly cooked and replenished my beer. I handed her the lottery ticket when she returned to clear my plate. The game had run its course, and I’d been too distracted with her to watch for the results.

When she ran it through the register, her eyes bulged out of her head.

“Sam!”

“What’s wrong?”

“We won big!”

“What do you mean by big?”

“$1,500! You have to give me a second, though. I need tocheck with my manager to see if we can give out that much cash.”

When she returned from the back, she counted out the winnings and placed them in front of me. I counted out half and slipped it across the bar to her. I wanted to give her the entire pile of cash, but I didn’t think she’d accept it.

“I can’t take this,” she said.

“That’s the deal we made. Besides, those were your numbers.” I looked down at the slip, and my jaw dropped; she’d picked 19, my number. Did she know who I was and was just pretending not to recognize me?

“Really? I can’t even tell you how much this will help me.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she brushed them away as she regained composure. In that second, I knew that I needed to see this woman again and that I wanted to take care of her. “Wait, you’re the second guy named Sam who tipped me big in the last few weeks.”

“Uh, Kelsey, do you drive Uber?” I asked cautiously. I hadn’t paid much attention to my driver that night, but the name was familiar.

“Oh, you’rethatSam?” Her expression fell when she made the connection.

“Oh God, I swear I’m not usually that much of a shithead. I wasn’t at my best. Can we start over?”

She took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. “Okay. Partly because I feel like you’re genuinely sorry. But also because both tips are beyond generous and have given me a level of security that I haven’t had in a long time.”

“What are you doing next Saturday at 7:05?” I asked on a whim.

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