The Thief Who Saved My Life

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

When the end credits begin to roll, Tyler reaches over to an old end table next to the couch slides open the drawer and pulls out a deck of cards. I almost snort that they just happened to be so handily available. I guess I wouldn't have been all that surprised though if he just pulled them from a pocket.

He pulls the cards from their container and runs them through his fingers a time or two in a way I think only professionals can do. If I tried to do that same move, cards would go flying everywhere.

"Right now?"

I didn't expect him to start with lesson one in the middle of the night.

He doesn't answer except to deal out five cards to each of us. I turn so that I'm sitting cross-legged on the couch, facing him with my little pile of cards sitting in front of me. He sets the remainder of the deck in front of his right knee next to his pile of cards and then looks at me expectantly. When I just stare back, unsure what he's waiting for, he laughs under his breath.

"You'll need to pick up your cards," he says. "You know the basic hands, right?"

I smile, a little embarrassed. I've sat through enough games to know how this works, at least enough to know that step one includes actually looking at the cards. I pick up my cards, nodding that yes, I know the basic hands. At least I think I do. I look over my cards—I know them well enough to know that I have a good hand.

"Lesson one, work on your poker face," he says amused. I meet his eyes questioningly. "Your lips twitched, like you wanted to smile."

"Oh." I quickly straighten my face, not wanting to give anything away. It's not a difficult thing for me to achieve. I've gotten so good at faking everything, hiding how good my cards are comes as second nature.

"Poker is just as much about reading people as it is about the cards," he says. "You can have a complete shit hand and still win the pot."

Even obviously tired, it's clear he's comfortable with cards in his hands. For the first time since we've met he doesn't seem awkward or angry around me, but just like a regular guy. Heck, he's even smiling.

"You know the rules?"

"Basically," I say. I've seen enough games played that I have a rudimentary understanding of what to do. "Are we supposed to bet or something?"

"You really want to lose money tonight, sweetheart?" He chuckles lightly.

"Uh..." I'm not really sure how to answer the question. I do have money on me, but I don't want to lose it. When I meet his eyes, sparkling with amusement, I realize he was teasing me.

Huh. So he does have a sense of humor.

"We don't need to bet."

For the next hour he deals hand after hand going over each rule he can think of. He points out every tell I have. Apparently my poker face is enough to fool everyone in my life... except the shady poker player I just met. He can read me like a book. My lips twitch when I have a good hand. I chew on my cheek when I'm intimidated by what I think his hand might be. I lick my lips right before I try to bluff. There's more, I'm sure, but that's all he points out for now. I work each time we play to be aware of whatever tell I might have and school it into neutrality.

From the other side of the couch Tyler stares at me while he considers his options. His brow furrows for an instant, creating a crease in the middle before he places a hefty and imaginary bet.