Chapter Eleven — Callum
I stare down at her cards.
I can’t believe it.
I cannot fucking believe it.
That little bitch, I think to myself. I look up at her smug face, smiling like she’s just met Mickey Mouse or something. I’m enraged. How did she pull one over on me? She doesn’t know jack shit about poker. She thought that you could get five of one kind for Christ’s sake.
I glance at her again, though, and suddenly that smug smile is gone. It’s replaced by a look of confusion.
“Wait, does that mean I won?” she asks.
What the fuck is going on? I can’t tell now if she’s playing with me or if she just got lucky.
“You won,” I say bluntly, studying her face closely.
“Did I?” she asks. “But I thought I had —” Her eyes scan the cards slowly. She reads them quickly. “Oh — I have a full house.”
“You had a flush,” I say.
“Wow,” she says.
I stare at her intently, watching her breasts heave under that tight turtleneck sweater of hers. My cock stirs against my pants again, and I feel my blood race faster. I’m finding it hard to focus right now. I want her out of those clothes right. fucking. now.
I also need to get to the bottom of this. Was that beginner’s luck?
“I can’t believe I won,” she says.
It has to be luck, I decide. It has to be. If not, then… Well, what’s the alternative? She’s been putting on an act this whole time? That would be ridiculous.
I smile and feel my chest relax. I’m being paranoid, which isn’t unusual for me. I mean, I basically got paid to be paranoid for years when I was founding my cybersecurity startup. That doesn’t mean everybody is putting on a facade or trying to con me. Sometimes people get lucky. That’s life.
And yeah, I’m in a bad spot. I lost all my chips, but I still have my clothing. I’m sure I can still win this. She’s clueless, and luck can only get you so far.
“Congrats, sweetheart,” I say.
“Well played. Thanks,” she says, beaming. “So what happens now?”
“You’re out. I still have this,” I say, looking down.
“Oh right,” she says, winking.
I laugh. “Okay, let’s keep going, then. Next round?”
She nods.
And then the same thing happens.
The same fucking thing.
She pushes. Raising higher and higher. I match her on the first round, then fold. I have a middling hand, and by chance, she might have a better one than me. The only chips I have left are a few pieces of clothing. I can’t waste them on a middling hand.
And so it goes like that for a few more rounds. I fold each time, or I hold out and then fold. Meanwhile, she’s not losing any chips. I need to make a move, or I’m gonna lose.
The next hand I get, I tell myself, if it’s any good, I’m going all in.
Finally, I have that hand. It’s a good hand, not great, but I need to act as if it’s great. So I do.
I expect her to fold, but she doesn’t. She looks at me like she can see right through me.
She calls on each round, matching me right until the end.
Well, here goes, I think to myself as we flip over our cards. I hold my breath as I stare intently at her cards.
Fuck.
She won.
I watch her entire face transform, and all of a sudden that girlish grin of hers — that naive, doe-like smile — disappears and transforms into a cunning smirk.
In fact, her entire aura seems to transform all at once.
Even her voice changes. It’s still high, but not saccharine sweet like it was before.
Now it’s slightly raspier, sexier even, but less overtly feminine. Less childish. Less naive.
“I guess we’re done then,” she says, glancing at me. I’m wearing just my boxers and sweatpants. I’ve already taken off my shirt and socks.
“Unless you’re willing to take those off,” she says, glancing down at my boxers.
As her eyes glance over my cock, it stirs again.
She’s so damn smug, and it infuriates me. It infuriates me even more that I should be the smug one right now, pinning her down and making her pay for teasing me throughout that entire game. But I’m not. Because she won. Fair and square.
And as much as I hate it, a deal’s a deal. And I would never go back on my word.
“I’m not,” I say bluntly. “We’re done.”
“That’s what I thought,” she says.
It’s only four words, but there’s so much more behind them. A knowing. She knew I would never do that. Somehow that little bitch knew I’d never take off my sweatpants and boxers in front of her, debase myself like that. She fucking knew.
All of a sudden, I realize I’ve had it all wrong. I’ve had her all wrong. I haven’t been playing against a naive little girl like I thought. I’ve been playing against the polar opposite: a cunning woman. A devious woman. A smart woman.
A woman, who, against all odds, has somehow outwitted me. Lola read me like a book, and now I’m paying the price for underestimating her.
I don’t know if I’ve ever hated a woman as much as I hate her right now.
Or wanted to hate fuck one either.
I stand up, and she follows suit. I feel a small surge of satisfaction at her copying me, but it’s short-lived.
“You little brat,” I say, taking a few steps towards her.
She looks startled and scrambles backwards until she bumps into a bookcase. It rattles, and a book falls onto the ground.
“Pick it up,” I say, not breaking eye contact.
“You pick it up,” she says.
I can tell she’s trying to be tough. Her face is blank, but she’s breathing hard. I can smell it on her.
She’s scared and aroused. My chest tenses. My favorite combination.
“Pick that book up right now, Lola,” I say, “or you’ll regret it.”
“Oh yeah?” she says, raising an eyebrow.
I don’t respond. I just raise an eyebrow back.
“I don’t believe you,” she says.
“Oh, you’ll believe me,” I say, “when I have you bent over my bed next week, begging for mercy.”
Her mouth involuntarily opens, and I can’t help but notice how supple her lips are.
“Or you could just pick up that book,” I say, “and I’ll go easy on you next week. Your choice.”
She tenses. I can tell there’s an inner conflict going on. She’s turned on and scared, and she’s not sure if I’m being serious.
“Oh, I’m serious,” I say. “But maybe you like that. Maybe you want me to punish your insolent, bratty ass. Is that right? Because if so, sweetheart, just say the word and I’ll do it right fucking now.”
She inhales shallowly. I can tell she’s trying to hide it, but I catch it. The hesitation. The nerves. I step forward, closing the already small gap between us.
“Look at me, Lola,” I say, grabbing her chin with my hand. “Do you want me to punish you? Is that what you want?”
“No,” she stutters.
“Now I’m the one who doesn’t believe you,” I say. We stay like that for a few seconds, locked in silence.
I step back and release her chin.
“You can go,” I say.
“What?” she asks, shaking her head as if she was in a trance.
“I said you can go. I’ll text you to figure out our next game. Congratulations. Again.”
She looks at me as if she’s waiting for me to say more, but I have nothing else to say to her. I need to regroup after today and figure out my next steps.
I thought I was dealing with something, no someone, completely different. I’ve never come across a woman like this before. And frankly, I don’t know what to do about it.
I may have just met my match.
The End