The whiskey in my glass was mostly ice by now, and I'd been nursing the same two fingers of it for the better part of an hour. It wasn't doing its job. Nothing was, tonight. The cards in front of me looked like they'd been dealt by a man with a personal grudge.

"Seven high," Tommy said, flipping his hand over with a theatrical sigh. "And I still beat you, Xavier."

The table erupted. Derek slapped his palm against the felt, and Marcus let out a low chuckle from behind his cigar, smoke curling up toward the ceiling fan. Hal was already refilling glasses, his belly shaking with laughter before the joke even landed.

"I'm telling you, kid," Derek said, leaning back in his chair, "you've got the worst luck I've ever seen. And I've seen Tommy try to pick up a woman at a bar with his wedding ring still on."

"That was one time."

"It was three times."

I set my cards down and let the grin find my face, the one that had been getting me out of trouble since I was old enough to know what trouble was. "You know what I think? I think this table is rigged. I think you all got together and decided the kid should lose every hand for the rest of his natural life."

"Rigged," Hal repeated, savoring the word. "The kid thinks we rigged it."

"I'm just saying—" I spread my hands, the ice clinking in my glass. "—it's a statistical impossibility to be this bad. There has to be a conspiracy."

Gina's laugh cut across the room from where the women had gathered on the couch, a bright, sharp sound. "Maybe you're just not as good as you think you are, Xavier."

"That's the cruelest thing anyone's said to me all night."

"It's also the truest," Sofia added, and the women giggled.

I pointed my glass at them. "I'm wounded. Deeply."

Ellie was by the window, half-turned from the conversation, and she caught my eye over her wine glass. The pale yellow of her dress caught the light from the lamp behind her, and for a second, she was backlit like something out of a painting. Her smile was small, private, like she was in on a joke the rest of the room hadn't heard yet.

I looked away before Hal could notice. Or maybe I didn't. Maybe that was the thing about tonight — I was starting not to care who noticed.

"Alright, alright," Hal said, settling back into his chair with a fresh drink. "New round. Same stakes as always, but—" He held up a finger, and Derek's eyes narrowed with interest. "—random high-stakes round. Keeps everyone honest."

"High stakes," Tommy repeated, adjusting his glasses. "How high are we talking?"

"That's the thing about a random round. You never know until it's on you."

Derek was already nodding, shuffling the deck with practiced hands. "I like it. Keeps the blood moving."

I watched the cards move between his fingers, the worn edges of the deck familiar from a hundred game nights. Six years I'd been coming to these. Six years of getting my ass handed to me by men who'd been playing poker since before I was born. And every year, I came back, because these were the people who'd taken me in when I was just a kid who'd moved into the neighborhood with nothing but a duffel bag and a startup idea that everyone said would fail.

Four years later, the startup was still standing. The card losses, less so.

The cards started landing in front of me. Two, then a seven, then a king. I didn't even look at them properly. What was the point? I'd fold by the third card anyway, and everyone at the table knew it.

"Xavier's got that look," Marcus said, tapping ash from his cigar. "The look he gets when he's about to lose his shirt."

"I'm not wearing a shirt worth losing."

"Then maybe you'll lose something else."

I laughed, and it was easy, because that was the thing about this group. The teasing never had teeth. They'd watched me grow up, watched me fumble my way through my twenties, and they'd never once made me feel like the kid at the grown-ups' table. Even when I played like one.

The round went around. Tommy folded early, muttering about his hand. Derek raised, and Ethan matched him without saying a word, his jaw set in that focused way he had. Marcus called, his eyes half-closed behind the smoke.

I looked at my cards again. A pair of eights. Nothing to write home about. I was about to fold when Hal raised the stakes.

"Let's make this one interesting," he said, and the room went quiet. "High-stakes round. Right now."

Derek's grin widened. "How high?"

Hal thought about it, stroking his graying stubble. "Let's say... winner takes all the pot. Plus one favor. From anyone at this table."

"A favor," Tommy said, and I could hear the wariness in his voice. "What kind of favor?"

"Whatever the winner wants."

The room hummed with the weight of it. I could feel the shift in the air, the way the women's conversation had gone quiet. Gina was watching now, her chin resting on her hand, a slow smile spreading across her face.

"You're serious," Derek said.

"I'm always serious about poker."

"You're also always drunk by this hour."

"That too." Hal laughed, that booming sound that filled the room. "But I'm serious about this. One favor. No take-backs. No exceptions."

I looked at my cards again. Pair of eights. Against these guys? I'd need a miracle.

"You know what?" I said, and the words came out before I could stop them. "If I win this hand, I'll need a miracle. And if I get one—" I let the pause hang, feeling the grin spread across my face. "—I should get to fuck your wife."

The table went silent.

For a second, I thought I'd gone too far. Tommy's eyes went wide behind his glasses, and Derek stopped mid-shuffle, the cards frozen in his hands. Ethan's jaw tightened, and even Marcus raised an eyebrow, a thin ribbon of smoke curling from his lips.

Then Hal laughed.

It wasn't a small laugh. It was the kind of laugh that shook his whole body, that made the ice rattle in the glasses and the women turn their heads. He slapped the table so hard the cards jumped.

"That's the best joke I've heard all night!" he bellowed. "You hear that, Ellie? The kid wants to fuck you!"

Ellie turned from the window, and her smile was slow, like honey. "I heard."

"And you know what?" Hal wiped a tear from his eye. "If he wins, he's got my blessing. Because we both know—" He pointed at me, still laughing. "—he's not gonna win."

The table erupted. Derek was howling, Tommy was shaking his head, and even Ethan cracked a smile. I sat there, my heart hammering against my ribs, a grin frozen on my face that I hoped looked like I was in on the joke.

Because I was. Wasn't I?

"Deal the cards," Hal said, still chuckling. "Let's see if the kid's got any miracle left in him."

Derek dealt. The cards slid across the felt, one by one, and I watched them land in front of me like they had a grudge.

Eight of hearts.

Eight of diamonds.

I had a pair.

The flop came: a king, a three, a nine. Nothing helpful. Derek bet, and I called, because what was the point of folding now? I was already the punchline. Might as well see it through.

The turn card slid across the felt.

Eight of spades.

I stared at it. Three eights. A set. Against the table, it wasn't unbeatable, but it was good. Better than good. It was the kind of hand that made you believe in dumb luck.

"You're not folding," Tommy said, watching me.

"Nope."

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

I kept my face neutral, the way I'd learned to do in boardrooms when the numbers weren't going my way. "Just thinking about my miracle."

The river card came. A two of clubs. Nothing that changed anything.

Derek bet high. I matched him. Hal called, and Marcus folded, and Tommy folded, and it was just the three of us, the pot growing in the center of the table like a living thing.

"Alright," Hal said, setting his cards down with a grin. "Let's see what you've got, kid."

I turned over my hand.

Three eights.

The silence that followed was the loudest thing I'd ever heard.

Derek cursed, low and soft. Tommy let out a breath. And Hal just stared at my cards, his grin slowly fading, replaced by something I couldn't quite read.

"Well," he said finally. "I'll be damned."

"What is it?" Ellie's voice came from across the room, and I could hear the curiosity in it, the edge of something sharper.

"The kid won," Derek said, and his voice had a strange quality to it, like he was watching something unfold that he couldn't look away from. "He actually won."

The room was still. I could feel every eye on me, and I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I left them on the table, palms flat against the felt.

"Well," Hal said, and his voice was steady, but there was something new in it. Something I'd never heard before. "A bet's a bet."

He looked at me, and then he looked at Ellie, and then he nodded.

Just once.

And I was out of my chair before I knew I was moving.

Ellie was by the window, and she didn't move as I crossed the room. She just watched me come, her blue eyes wide, that small smile still on her lips. The other women had gone quiet, their glasses frozen halfway to their mouths, and I could feel their eyes on me like a physical weight.

I stopped in front of her. Close enough to smell her perfume — something floral, something warm.

"Well," she said, and her voice was low, meant only for me. "That's quite a hand you played."

"I got lucky."

"Is that what you call it?"

I couldn't read her expression. There was something in it — a spark, a dare, a question she wasn't asking out loud. And I realized, standing there, that I didn't know what she wanted. Whether she was going to slap me, or laugh, or walk away.

She didn't do any of those things.

She reached out and took my hand.

Her palm was warm against mine, and she pulled me gently toward the couch, her dress swishing against her legs. The worn cushions sank under our weight as she bent forward, her hands finding the arm of the couch, her body arching in a way that made my mouth go dry.

"Ellie—" I started, and my voice cracked.

"Shh," she said, and she looked back at me over her shoulder, that smile still on her lips. "You won the hand, Xavier. Don't go getting shy on me now."

I heard someone laugh — Gina, I think, bright and sharp. And then the room faded, and there was only Ellie, her dress bunched up at her waist, her skin pale and warm in the lamplight.

My hands found her hips. She was soft there, yielding, and she made a small sound when I pulled her against me, her ass pressing back into my cock, which was already hard, already straining against my jeans.

"Jesus," I breathed.

"Language," she said, and it was a joke, but her voice was breathless, and I could feel the heat coming off her skin.

I fumbled with my belt, one-handed, and I heard Derek shout something from the table, something about taking my time, and the sound of chairs scraping back as the men got up to watch.

I didn't care. I couldn't care. There was only Ellie, and the way she was looking back at me, and the way her cunt was already slick when I pushed her panties aside.

"Fuck," I breathed, and she made a sound that was almost a laugh, but it died in her throat when I pushed into her.

She was tight. Hot. Perfect. And the sound she made when I bottomed out — a long, low moan that seemed to come from somewhere deep in her chest — was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard.

"That's it," Hal said from somewhere behind me, his voice oddly steady. "That's it, kid. Give it to her."

I started to move, and the world narrowed to the feel of her, the slick heat of her cunt gripping my cock, the way her body took me in, welcomed me, pulled me deeper. I grabbed her dress and yanked it up around her waist, baring her ass, pale and round and perfect, and she moaned something I couldn't catch, her fingers digging into the couch cushion.

"Faster," she said, and her voice was different now, rougher, needier. "Please."

I gave her faster. Harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, and I could hear the men's voices, low and rough, the shuffle of their chairs, the wet sound of their hands moving on their cocks. I didn't look at them. I couldn't. There was only Ellie, only the way she felt around me, the way she was clenching, tightening, pulling me deeper.

"You feel that?" I asked, and my voice was ragged, barely mine. "You feel how deep I am?"

"Yes," she gasped. "God, yes."

"Good." I drove into her harder, and she cried out, and I could feel myself getting close, the pressure building low in my gut. "I want you to feel it. I want you to feel every inch of me inside you."

She was close too. I could tell by the way she was clenching, the way her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps. I reached around and found her clit, slick and swollen, and she bucked against my hand, a desperate, wordless sound tearing from her throat.

"Come for me," I said. "Come on, Ellie. Come on my cock."

She did. She came with a cry that was half my name, her cunt clenching around me so hard I saw stars, her body shuddering against mine. And I followed her over the edge, driving deep and coming inside her, filling her, feeling her grip me through every pulse of my release.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of our breathing, the smell of sex and sweat, the warmth of her body pressed against mine.

Then someone laughed, and the room came back.

"Well," Hal said, and his voice was thick, but there was a grin in it. "I guess the kid's not so bad at cards after all."