Marry Screw Kill(77)

Harlow and I make our way to the buffet restaurant, Canopy. It’s exactly that, too, with glass shields covering the food. I guess calling it Sneeze Guard would have been odd.

“At least the food smells good,” I say as we follow the hostess to our table.

“I’m only here for the chocolate,” Harlow whispers, holding a finger to her lips.

“Maybe we should just skip to dessert.”

“Maybe.” We pass by a tray full of green Jell-O and laugh.

Harlow fills her plate with some filthy looking mac and cheese; filthy in a way that means you’ll be going for seconds. She says mac and cheese is her comfort food and I want her feeling comfortable tonight.

The chocolate fountain was a bomb. How can chocolate have practically no taste at all? The strawberries were ripe and juicy, at least. I even kissed a few drops from the corner of her lips. Why waste a perfectly good napkin?

A man at the security entrance checks our driver’s licenses to ensure we are over twenty-one, and I don’t care for the way he leers at Harlow. She’s the kind of woman people will always stop to watch enter a room. Her beauty turns all heads, both women and men. It’s the undressing with the eyes look that has me on edge.

After we clear security, I place my arm around her waist and draw her tight against my side. I glance over at the dude and give him a leer of my own. I shake my head, wondering who the hell I am. I have never behaved like a pound-my-chest, don’t-touch-my-woman caveman before. Then again, I’ve never had a serious case of being “in like” with anyone, maybe even sliding over to the other “L” word camp. Time will tell, but I want to be with this woman every waking second. I think I’m addicted.

“The tables are up ahead,” I say, pointing out the Blackjack area.

“Can I just sit at a slot machine?” Harlow slows down as we walk, almost to where we are standing still. I don’t want to drag her to the table, but I want her to do something wild—something she’s never done before. She’s a perceptive person, a deep thinker, and probably a natural at Blackjack.

“Give me fifteen minutes,” I plead, making sad eyes and adding a pout. She smiles at my silliness.

“Okay.” She throws her hand on her hip in a challenging move, which I like. It shows she’s got some sass.

“You’re my lucky lady tonight, princess.” Placing my hand on the small of her back, I guide her willingly this time.

I scan the Blackjack tables and pick the busiest one. I want Harlow to observe the game, see a few hands dealt before she sits at a table. It will help calm her fears, because on a good day, tables are intimidating, especially to a newbie.

“We can stand here.” I position us at the side of the table, not too close, but in clear view of the dealer in the center.

Harlow fixes her eyes on the dealer and his fast moving hands. The chairs around the table are full, and players have their betting chips laid down to play.

Card are placed in front of the players face up. Some gamblers hold, others ask for another hit. The dealer beats them all with the queen of diamonds and ace of hearts, a perfect twenty-one.

The dealer gathers all the chips left after his win. He made a good haul. Harlow gazes up at me, biting her lip. Her forehead scrunches together in either confusion or worry.

“What just happened here?” she asks.

“I’ll take you step by step with the next hand.”

The next game begins with each player setting down the chips they want to bet. Most of the players put in a couple ten-dollar chips.

“Each player bids on their chance to beat the dealer. Whoever comes the closest to twenty-one, wins,” I instruct on the basic level. The rules are simple; it’s winning that’s hard.

“And the queens and kings are ten, right?”

“Yes, and the aces are one or eleven, depending.” I nod toward the table so Harlow will look back as the dealer passes around the next hand.

Each player receives two cards, face up. The dealer gives himself one down, and one face up. It’s a six of spades. Perfect. I can teach her the rules better now.

“Here’s where the fun begins. Everyone at the table is guessing what the dealer’s card might be. A sixteen or lower means the dealer has to play another card. He can’t keep a hand below sixteen. Unless he has an ace, which would give him seventeen, then he’ll have to stick. For the dealer the ace is always eleven unless it would put him over twenty-one.”

One woman brushes her fingertips in front of her two cards. “She’s signaling to the dealer that she wants another card.” Harlow looks up at me and nods. I knew she would be a quick study.

Another player waves his hand over his cards. “He’s saying, ‘no more cards.’”

“What do you think the dealer has?” She quirks her red lips to one side in thought.

“No clue, but either way, he has to draw another card, unless he has an ace.”

We watch the dealer turn over his card. It’s a ten of hearts. Since he is sitting at a total of sixteen, he draws another card. It’s an eight of diamonds, making him go bust at twenty-four.

“Everyone at the table is still betting one, right?” Harlow asks me with a big grin. She gets it.

“Yes, pretty simple.” Not wanting her to overthink the fun night, I play down the odds. There’s a reason this place has blinking lights and free drinks. Losers abound.