Call of Duty: Collections

Jealousy: Ghost

The room smelled of Price's cigar smoke and spilled beer; the consequences of poker night. Price, Gaz, Soap, yourself and Ghost were perched around the table, placing bets before the next round. It was a great way to blow off post-mission steam, and steal money from your teammates. You hadn't been so lucky thus far, Price was particularly skilled.

Your gaze lifted to study your opponents, holding your cards close to your chest. Price kept his cigar in his mouth, thick, white smoke trailing from his lips. Gaz had his brows furrowed, concentration on his features. Ghost sat beside you, hunched over the back of the chair. He too was surveying the room, cold eyes raking over the faces of his teammates. Soap was almost giddy, he was terrible at hiding how good his hand was.

You weren't particularly interested in cards, but you played anyway to pass time. It was entertaining from your end of the table, watching the chaos unfold as your teammates indulged one-too many beers. You preferred to stay sober- you weren't very experienced with the game, unlike Price and Ghost. You needed every bit of your sober disposition to play.

Your eyes drifted to Ghost, who had been burning holes in the side of your head. You blinked innocently at him, fluttering your lashes. A viscous tactic, you knew that, but the way his eyes raked over your face was worth it- you knew it would get to his head. But as you studied his face,  his brow quirked up, and you saw the fabric of his mask shift over his mouth; he was smiling. You quickly broke the tension before anyone caught on to the silent exchange, redness engulfing your cheeks.

It came to the showdown, and as the men laid their cards out on the table, there was silence. Grunts of disapproval and low murmurs of frustration broke the air as they scanned their cards, comparing hands to each others. You looked out, over your cards, your eyes meeting Soap's gaze. He still held his cards, waiting for you to move.

"Go on then," He urged, hiding a smirk.

"Don't look so smug," You teased. "I'm about to ruin your night."

Soap let out a chuckle. "You could ne'er ruin my night."

You raised your brows. "Even if I take all your money?"

"I could list a couple ways you could make it up to me," He grinned.

Gaz groaned, far too familiar with Soap's antics. You nearly rolled your eyes, his comments were just a way to get in your head.

"You couldn't pay me to listen to that," You screwed up your nose.

"I could just show ya," He leaned forward. "I'm free later this evenin' if you're up for it."

You laughed. "You need to get laid, Sergeant, you're like a dog in heat." You shook your head.

"You offerin'?" He was grinning ear to ear.

"Enough," Ghost's voice interrupted the tension, almost soiling the playful mood. "Lay 'em out."

Your head snapped to look at him, now wearing an unreadable expression behind the mask. His eyes were stoic, body rigid, more so than usual. He had little to no patience, but he usually didn't mind Soap's ribbing, it was cheap entertainment.

You furrowed your brows in response, and he turned his attention to the Scot across from you, avoiding your gaze.

Soap laid out his cards, splaying them out before him. A straight. He sat back, hands behind his head, a grin on his face. You, in return, set your cards out, showcasing your winning hand; four of a kind.

Soap's face fell, mouth opening in shock as he stared at your cards on the table.

"Steamin' Jesus," He sighed. "You oughta be cheatin'."