She’s got her hand, and I’ve got mine. She played me like a blank, a card with no value to her. She didn’t need me, but she acted like she did – raising the pot, setting the stakes high – she fooled the entire table. Even I fell for the trick, thinking I was part of her hand, thinking I was the Ace on the river.

Well, I refuse to be anyone’s blank.

I’ve got a few Aces up my sleeve, too, and they’re ready to play.

Game on, Skyler Thorne.

One day.

I promised myself one day to get my shit together. One day to erase the feelings I had for Skyler. One day to review her file and get my head back on track. One day to work off my aggression and find my focus. One day.

And time is up.

It’s Sunday and one of those weird days in Florida. The rest of the country is either buried in snow or just barely hanging out above fifty degrees. Meanwhile, South Florida is sunny and seventy-six. Not that I would know, really. My phone says it’s a beautiful day, but I’ve yet to move from the couch. I thought I would spend yesterday getting my swag back, but instead I spent most of the day watching old sitcoms and writing scripts that will never make it anywhere – mostly because they all involve some strikingly beautiful girl who ends up being an evil bitch. The end.

Not exactly the best television content.

And I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve been cuddling with Sparky, although I probably should be.

Fucking pansy.

How was I supposed to know the kind of drug I was getting into? It seemed so innocent, something that would give me a little high but that I could drop easily. Fuck was I wrong about that last part. The high was incredible, but after Friday I was speeding fast toward the ground, bracing myself for the impact that won’t fully come. The withdrawals are too much, my body is shaken. My mind is fucked.

Skyler Thorne is one hell of a drug.

At least now I’m holding her file in my hand, browsing through her tournament history and articles about her background. I run my thumb across a photo of Skyler with her parents, the article detailing how instrumental they’ve been to her success. I think of the way they taught her to play and imagine how I could have met them one day, maybe played a game after Thanksgiving dinner or something.

God, how fucking stupid can I be?

Even if this wouldn’t have happened, if Friday hadn’t happened, it all still would have ended. Crash and burn. The moment she found out I was entering the tournament, it would have been over.

Yet still, I can’t find it in me to let it go just yet.

I fish my phone from my sweatpants pocket and dial Dad, pushing the speaker button as I lay it on my chest and continue sifting through the file.

“Hello?” Dad answers groggily.

I check the time on the oven clock. It’s just past ten there, no way he’s still sleeping.

“Dad? Did I wake you?” He’s always up before the sun. In fact, by the time I woke up for school in high school he had already been up, completed his run for the day, and showered.

Dad coughs a little and I hear him adjusting, the phone making strange muffled noises as he shifts. “I was just resting a bit, things have been busy around here. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I was hoping we could talk about Skyler. I need some help.”

“Help? With what?” He clears his throat, interested now that he knows the topic of the call. I can’t help but wonder if he would have given a different reaction had I said I wanted to read him the script I wrote for class.

“We got into a fight. Don’t worry,” I immediately assure him as he frustratingly sighs on the other end. “I’ve got it under control. I think it will be better this way, actually. We’re going to go back to just being friends, which I think will be better. No more photos in magazines or anything.”

“So she’s still talking to you?”

I shift uncomfortably. “Not yet, but she will. Just trust me, I’ve got it under control. I’m going to get her to some more tournaments, try to help her focus on May. But I need your help. Last time I watched her play, I was distracted. I couldn’t really focus on what I needed to be looking for. What should I keep my eyes open for?”

“Well.” He coughs a little and I notice a strange wheezing through the phone. My small hometown is part of the country dealing with snow right now, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s getting sick. Although, he always stays on top of his vitamins and shit. “First thing, you need to figure out what rattles her. Try a few different things before you take her out for practice. Nothing she will know you’re intentionally doing, but maybe talking about her past, or pushing her buttons. And once you get her at the table, you need to see if she has any tells. Talk to her about her cards afterward, find out when she was bluffing and when she wasn’t and see if there was a giveaway that maybe she didn’t notice. It might be something she does unconsciously, licking her lip or something.”

Well fuck, if she’s licking her lips I have a feeling my focus isn’t going to be thinking about what her cards are.

No, fuck her. She wants Adam and I was just a fucking pawn to help her get him back. The fact that I ever even trusted her is completely moronic.

But she seemed like the one who was trying to resist. Was that part of the plan? Shit, did I only want her so bad because she was holding back? I mean, the second she gave in, I went away for a week and then came back to a closed off version of the girl I had left behind. And then Friday happened.

I have no idea what to think anymore.

“Look for her tell, got it. Anything else?”

“Figure out how she bets, too. Is she aggressive or a nit?”

“A what?”

He sighs. “Someone who only bets on the cards they know have a high chance of winning. Does she take risks or is she safe? Does she bluff a lot or never at all? Just try to be perceptive of her game plan.”

I pinch my fingers over the bridge of my nose. “This isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.”

Dad chuckles, which isn’t a sound I’m used to hearing from him. “Nothing in life ever is, Son.”

It’s silent for a moment as I flip through the file, trying to see if there’s anything else I need to ask, but it’s my father who speaks first.

“Was I a good dad, Kip?”

I close the file, sitting up on the couch and rubbing one of my eyes under my glasses. Where the hell did this come from?

I repeat the words in my head… a good dad. What exactly does that mean? He had a job, he was brave and taught me everything I know about respect. He provided for our family and I never went without. Hell, we have way more than any other family I know. He put me in sports and let me take piano lessons even though he wasn’t a fan of the idea. He never beat me, never cheated on my mom. So, that’s a good dad, right?

“Sure, you were a good dad. Of course you were. You still are. Why?”

He sighs. “I don’t know, sometimes I just wonder if maybe I was too hard on you. I know you don’t care about this poker tournament and I don’t want to push you away by asking you to do this for me, Oliver.”

What is with all the name drops lately?

“Listen Dad, I know this is important to you. And UCLA is important to me. You’ve always taught me that nothing in life comes free or without sacrifice, and this is my sacrifice. One semester and tournament isn’t going to kill me. And believe it or not, I’m having some fun here in Florida, too. In fact,” I add, standing and peeking out the blinds of my window toward the beach. “It’s a beautiful day here and I was just about to go enjoy it.”

“Okay Son,” he says, coughing again. “Well, work on getting everything squared away with Skyler this week, okay? You don’t have a lot of time left.”