Shine Not Burn(13)

“OH MY GOD, I’M SO sorry. Holy shit.” I dropped the napkins on his boots again, my face going up in flames. I jerked my eyes to the ceiling, ready to cry with humiliation. I’d practically given him a hand job in front of no less than a hundred people. Someone nearby snickered. I decided a prayer to the universe was my only recourse. It couldn’t possibly make things worse. “Floor, if you will please swallow me now, I promise to dedicate myself to feeding the homeless for the rest of my miserable life.”

A hand gently grasped my upper arm. It was warm and big, the fingers going all the way around. “No need to sacrifice yourself to the Vegas gods on my account,” said the cowboy. “I’ll be fine. I’m just going to go wash up.” He leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “Watch my chips for me, would you? I’m on a roll and I don’t want to leave just yet.”

I nodded, sitting down in the chair he’d vacated, staring at his wide back and trim waist as he walked away. Holy shit, is this really happening? I sat up straighter, turning to face the dealer. I picked up a few of the chips, reading the amounts on their faces. Assuming my math brain hadn’t completely abandoned me in my moment of crisis and had allowed me to calculate correctly, there was over a thousand dollars sitting in front of me, and the cowboy had just walked away and left it with me. Is he crazy? Am I being punked? No, I can’t be in the middle of being punked when it’s my own fault that I’m in this situation.

I looked down at my feet. My aching feet. The heels were the problem. They were the cause of my complete humiliation. Not only did I let men run all over me in my pitiful life, I let my girlfriends do it, too. Kelly and Candice had insisted my practical heels were totally impractical in Vegas. The whole idea made me feel angry and sad and reckless all at the same time. I reached down and pulled the torture devices off, letting them drop to the floor beneath the stool. Ha! Let that be a lesson to you, Kelly! I’m leaving them here! I will not wear heels that hurt my feet ever again! This is the new Andie taking over! No more railroading. No more bossing me around. No more telling me what to do.

“Are you in or out?” asked the dealer. “If you don’t place your bet you’re going to have to leave the table.”

My mouth dropped open as he stared at me. “Are you talking to me?” I squeaked out.

“Yes, I’m talking to you.” He glanced at the chips in front of me. “This is a ten dollar minimum table.”

So much for people not telling me what to do anymore. I picked up a couple chips, my fingers not really wanting to cooperate. Could I spend the cowboy’s money while he was in the bathroom cleaning up my mess? Wouldn’t that violate every rule of socially acceptable behavior ever written?

I put two chips down on the table, mimicking the actions of the person on my right. I had no idea how much money it was. The old man to my left gave me a smile, revealing perfectly straight dentures and bright pink gums. “Ever play blackjack before?” he asked.

“No. Never.” I should have been scared out of my wits, probably. Gambling wasn’t my thing and spending other people’s money felt ten times wrong. But something about being here in this neon-glitzy place, my shoes off and my boobs pushed up to my neck made be feel bold. Daring. Ready to grab the world by the balls and make it beg for mercy. Rawr.

“Just get as close to twenty-one as you can without going over,” he instructed.

“Sounds easy,” I said, picking up my first card. I showed it to him. “Is this a good one?”

He nodded and leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Soft hand.”

I held out my fingers in front of me, smiling. “Thank you. I use hand cream to keep them moisturized.”

“Not your hand, the card. That’s an ace … possibility of a soft hand. It’s worth either one or eleven, you can decide which. If you get a ten or higher - any of the face cards - you win. You get a return of a hundred and fifty percent of your bet.” He glanced at the table. “You’ve put down two hundred dollars, so that could net you three hundred.”

I stopped breathing for a few seconds as the blood drained out of my face. My voice came out an octave higher than usual. “I just bet two hundred dollars?”

He chuckled, flashing me more of the dentures. “That you did.”

I looked around the casino, hoping the cowboy wouldn’t come back and see the huge pile of money I was playing with. Why didn’t I look at the chips closer? Why didn’t I check them first?

“Insurance anyone?” asked the dealer.

I felt the blood drain out of my face even more. I was a ghost now. “Insurance?” My voice came out as a whisper.

“Dealer has an ace. He’s giving you a chance to bet a little extra on the side. It pays two to one. If he gets a face card next, he wins automatically, so this can help offset your losses. You can bet up to half of what you have on the table right now.”

“He wins, even if I get blackjack too?”

“No, then it’s a push. But you’d lose your insurance money, so you’d lose net.”

“Should I do it?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I can’t tell you if you should or not. Gotta do what your gut’s telling you.” He examined his own cards and shook his head at the call for insurance.

“My gut’s telling me to run and lock myself in the bathroom.”