The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(25)

We’re only a few hands in, and I’m already a lot of chips down. I cannot get my head in the game tonight, and the reason why has blond hair and glasses and is sitting directly across from me in a ridiculous anchor dress. I can’t explain why this dress feels like such a personal affront. But each tiny, red anchor is like a smirking mouth, making me think about Winnie’s lips.

“Your bet, Win.” Chevy nudges her, and Winnie frowns and nudges him back, harder.

“I’m thinking,” she says.

“You can call—that’s when you match what’s been put into the pot. You can raise, which means—”

“Will you just drink your beer and be quiet? I don’t need poker mansplained to me.”

But that hasn’t stopped Chevy from giving her unsolicited advice every hand. They’ve been biting back and forth like a couple of wild dogs since they walked in, not just about poker. Is it wrong to find it highly entertaining to see Winnie so riled up? And for once, it’s not because of me.

I keep my smiles hidden behind my beer as Chevy tries to explain the betting, how much each chip is worth, and what each game is. Winnie has moved from telling him to leave her alone to elbowing him. I think she stomped on his foot under the table based on the grunt I just heard.

I’ll give Winnie this: she’s focused, as though determined to figure out the game. It makes sense, given what I know of her. She seems to throw herself wholeheartedly into any task she’s given, whether it be cleaning up a warehouse, catching cats (she’s up to seven now), or learning poker. Her focus and all Chevy’s tips haven’t helped yet. Her stack of chips is the only one smaller than mine.

“You two remind me of another set of siblings I know. Always bickering,” Chase says, rubbing his chin. From her spot on the couch, Harper snorts.

Collin presses a hand to his chest. “Who could you possibly mean?”

This earns a laugh from Winnie. Collin grins at her, making me set my bottle down a little harder than I mean to on the table. Winnie’s eyes flick to me, and her smile dies immediately.

Great. Now I’m a smile murderer. Once again, Collin seems to have taken on Pat’s role in absentia as the fun brother. Which is fine so long as he doesn’t start hitting on Winnie. Because, if he hasn’t forgotten, he has a girlfriend.

“Fold.” Winnie pushes her cards to the middle. I don’t miss the reassuring smile Tank gives her before he goes all in, forcing the rest of us out and claiming all the chips in the center.

Chase groans, counting his own diminishing stack of chips. Chevy shakes his head and leans toward Winnie. “That was good luck, getting out before losing any more.”

“I don’t believe in luck,” Winnie snaps.

“How did things go with the contractor?” Collin asks. “Any update on the timeline?”

“Fine. And nope.”

Harper chimes in from the couch. “When are you going to let me help with the bookkeeping?”

I crack my neck and keep my eyes on my chips. “How about no business talk at the table?”

“When do you leave for the conference, James?” Tank asks, completely ignoring me.

It’s supposed to be Winnie’s deal, which also means shuffling and choosing the game, but she’s totally focused on me. Chevy intercepts the cards and starts shuffling for her.

“Friday. I’ll stay at the hotel rather than the house just so I don’t have to keep driving back and forth. You know, traffic. I just need to make a reservation.”

I’m dreading the Craft Brewer’s Annual Conference and Trade Show this weekend for a lot of reasons. First: people. Lots and lots of people. I’ve been around enough people this week to last me a month, so the timing is poor.

The second reason is that, despite needing to connect with other people in my industry and talk to various vendors, I don’t like the vibe at these things. It feels like a bearded boys’ club. I attended one meeting last year and haven’t felt that out of place since I was in high school.

I just want to brew the best beer I can, by myself. I don’t need beer buddies or whatever. I am up for awards in the Strong Hoppy and Chocolate & Coffee categories—something I’m proud of but trying not to think about. The chances of winning are unlikely.

My plan: get in, connect with some vendors, hit a few sessions, and get out.

“What conference?” Winnie asks, as Chevy slides the fully shuffled deck in front of her.

“It’s a beer thing,” I say. “For work.”

Winnie eyes me coolly. “When are we leaving?”

“You don’t need to be there. It’s boring industry stuff.”

“Boring industry stuff is my middle name.”

“No.”

“I could be an asset. After all, it’s my job, boss.”

No. Not happening. The only thing I can imagine making the conference worse is having Winnie next to me all weekend. But I can’t exactly extricate myself from this with so many eyes watching this conversation play out. I swear, even Harper’s dogs have woken up and are glancing my way.

Collin clears his throat, and I don’t miss the sharp glance Tank shoots my way. I know he’s going to give me a lecture about manners later, one I probably deserve but will also ignore. Is the tension spiking between Winnie and me THAT obvious? When I catch Big Mo hiding a smile behind his can of soda, I have to concede that it is. I wish Tank had kept his big mouth shut about the conference.