Superfluous

Chapter 2

We're in the dining room, playing with five people, which means the game could get interesting.

We are Edgar, James the idiot, another guy I don't know, Ava, and me.

—Alright, we're playing Texas Hold'em with no jokers, of course. Blinds are twenty cents and the betting limit is two dollars. Any questions?—The guy I don't know, who hasn't introduced himself, goes straight to the point.

Better, we're not interested in anything else.

Silence serves as the answer. No one speaks, and James shuffles the deck like a pro.

He probably bought a magic game when he was a kid.

When he finishes, he gives me a superior glance that makes me want to shove the deck down his throat.

You're a bit aggressive tonight.

Almost an hour into the game, Mia shows up, looking puzzled to see me playing with the fool in question. She doesn't say a word, just stands by the wall, waiting.

Well, you'll have to deal with it, we've been looking for you all night.

Rounds pass, and it quickly becomes clear who knows how to play this game. Ava isn't bad, but she's not spectacular either. The kid who acted like an expert is as lost as a fish out of water. Edgar is good, and as much as it pains me to admit it, James is too.

Now we're in the last round. The cards are decent; if I play it right, I could make a great hand.

I have a pair of eights in my hand, and on the table, there's an eight, a king, and an ace of clubs. If no one has a stronger hand, I can win the pot with three of a kind.

I check, and Edgar raises the bet. Ava and the guy fold, and James calls the bet without blinking. His fingers play with the chips as if he couldn't care less. But I know he does. He loves winning.

I look at my cards, my hand shakes slightly. I don't want to show that I'm nervous, but I am. It shouldn't matter so much, but there's something about beating him that feels necessary. It's not just the game; it's him.

James has this irritating way of making you feel like you're always beneath him. Like he has control over everything. And that drives me nuts.

I glance at him and spot a slight smirk on his face, a subtle curve that appears when he looks at his cards confidently. Too confident.

I push my chips in, calling Edgar and James's bet.

Turn: a king of hearts.

I bite my lip, trying to control the urge to make a big bet. I want him to think I have nothing. A small play for a huge ego.

—Are you folding, Taylor?—James asks, with that stupid half-smile that makes my blood boil.
—Not at all—I reply impassively.

Now is when you need to maintain a poker face.

Edgar checks, and James looks at his cards again, weighing the situation. Then, he does something unexpected: he raises the bet.

Damn.

The chips in the middle of the table are too many. I struggle to stay calm, but I can't let him think he's beaten me without a fight. I have three of a kind; it's a good hand, but... what if he has something stronger?

I can't think clearly. Is this about winning, or is it about him?

Both.

I push the chips in. I call. If I lose, I'll do it with my head held high.