Today we play around with: the bet.
Beautiful day here, with the thermometer nudging 17 degrees during the early afternoon. We even had our first onion sprouting up through the dirt in the greenhouse already!
The cards sat face-down on the table between us, partially obscured by my opponent's cigarette smoke. It was her turn to bet and she was eying my stack of chips as though it was a potential lover.
Check that. More like a guaranteed lover, who was already naked in her hotel room, just waiting for her to collect him. Or her, I suppose.
"What do you have left?" she asked, running a finger along the top of her much larger pile. "Two thousand?"
"Twenty-three hundred," I said, looking anywhere but at her cleavage.
"Hmm." Somehow she made it sound like a purr. I thought about dead babies.
"Bet or pass, my lady?" The dealer did not appear to share my qualms in regards to admiring the cut of my opponent's dress. Lucky prick.
"I think I shall make this fine young man," she said as she pushed twenty-three one hundred dollar chips into the pot, "go all the way in."
I took a moment to collect myself, hoping the haze of smoke in the room concealed my blushing cheeks. Then I added the remainder of my money to the pile in the middle of the table.
"I thought you'd never ask," I said, flipping over my cards to reveal my pair of aces.