The Pretend Boyfriend novel Chapter 4

"Call," the black man says, pushing two hundred dollars as well into the pile.

"All right, showdown please," the dealer says.

The black man reveals his cards. The dealer takes them to arrange them in the best five card combination out of the seven.

"Full house," he says.

"Damn." Caleb throws in his cards. The dealer grabs them.

"Two aces."

Caleb is crestfallen. Brian watches as the black man seizes the entire pot of money on the table. His mind is churning.

He has just found a way to give Caleb his mother's mortgage money.

"What about this one?" Cassie says. "We haven't tried this one before."

Sam cranes her neck to look up at the sign above the bar. 'WOODY'S'. The multicolored oblong lights dance around the letters.

"OK," she says dubiously.

"Oh come on, Sam, when was the last time you got laid?"

"I'm not going in there to get laid! I don't ... do things like that," Sam almost splutters.

She catches sight of her semi-reflection in the dark panels of glass on the door. Her hair consists of unruly brown curls that just refuse to be tamed by a comb. She has pleasant features and an upturned nose. Most people consider her cute rather than pretty. Her best features are her eyes - large and baby doll blue.

She's not someone any man would go for in a jiffy.

Cassie on the other hand is significantly attractive with her shoulder-length blonde hair and green eyes. She has the notches on her bedposts to prove it too. She's the type of gal who would actually walk into a bar to pick someone up. Or a chatroom. She has two thousand Facebook friends to prove it too.

Cassie is already walking through the door. Sam sighs and bounds after her. Anything to get out of the cold.

The barstools are all occupied, but there is an empty table beside the bar. They seat themselves before someone else gets there. There are a couple of pool tables to the side of the room.

Sam peruses the people at the bar.

"Maybe instead of downloadable photos from the Internet, I should get a real photo of a nice-looking guy for my screensaver instead," she remarks.

"Better still, hire an escort and take him with you."

"I can't do that."

"Why not? I can lend you the moolah. Oh wait, you don't do escorts." Cassie signals to a passing waiter. "What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here? Two vodka martinis, please."

A disheveled looking blonde strides out from a doorway. Her little black dress is askew with one shoulder strap off. She looks like she's just been fucked thoroughly, but her expression is a thundercloud.

"Bastard," she says as she storms to the bar. She glances at the bartender. "Gimme a gin. Stiff."

"What's the matter?" a short-haired brunette at the bar drawls.

"Only if you're good for it."

Caleb says, "Oh, he's good for it all right. Don't you know who he is? He's Brian Morton, owner and CEO of Vanguard Advertising."

The dealer says, "Morton? As in Morton Enterprises?"

"Yeah. My uncle is the Chairman, so sue me." Brian has never been too comfortable in revealing who he really is even though he has never hidden his family name. But in this case -

He takes out his checkbook from shirt pocket and scribbles an amount. He shoves it to the pot. The dealer picks it up and scrutinizes it. He glances at Brian.

"You serious?"

"Yeah."

"That's a pretty huge raise."

"I'm confident I'll win." Brian flashes a grin at Caleb, who is eyeing him quizzically.

The dealer says, "Twenty thousand, gentlemen. Next round of betting, please."

He deals the final community card, face up. It's the nine of clubs.

The black man's tic is more pronounced than ever.