Текст книги "Six of Hearts"

Автор книги: L. H. Cosway

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

“And I’ll be placing the bets? I have no clue about playing blackjack, Jay.”

“Can you count to twenty-one?”

I shoot him a cynical look. “Of course.”

“Then we’re off to a good start.” He walks over to throw the core of his apple in the bin. “We’ll leave here at eight. And wear something nice.”

With that, he exits the room again.

Four

As luck would have it, my machine sputters its last breath just as I’ve finished the dress. I put everything away and then head upstairs to bed, hopeful that come Thursday evening I’ll have a brand-new machine sitting on my table.

Settling myself under the covers, I pick my phone up off the nightstand to check my messages. There’s just one from Michelle.

Michelle: How was your day? Xxx.

She always puts kisses at the end of a message, no matter what, and ninety-nine percent of the time they aren’t necessary.

Matilda: Quite eventful, actually. How was yours? P.S. Stop kissy kissing me. I’m not one of your boyfriends :-P

Michelle: You think I don’t know that, lol? You give me far more affection than any of those arseholes. Mine was boring to the max. So, yours was eventful, eh? Do tell.

Matilda: Dad finally found someone to rent the spare room to…

Michelle: Those dots look ominous. Anyone I know? God, it’s not Larry with the big nose, is it? We put a stop to the whole friends with benefits thing a while back. He got clingy.

I go on Google for a second to search for images of Jay. As it happens, there are quite a few. The best one is of him standing on a stage in Vegas wearing jeans and a Sex Pistols T-shirt, the gun show well on display. I save it to my phone and then send it so Michelle.

Matilda: Him.

Michelle: OMFG! You’re joking me!

Matilda: No joke.

Michelle: I read about him in the news last week. So hot. I refuse to believe anyone that good looking could be evil.

Matilda: Eh, Justin Bieber?

Michelle: Bieber doesn’t count. He’s more like a semi-pretty lesbian.

Matilda: Thanks for that. Now I’m creeped out. Jay seems like a nice guy, though. You know the press is full of lies.

Michelle: Yeah, you’re right. But how did this come about?

Matilda: He came to the office looking for a solicitor and left with a landlord instead.

Michelle: Lol. Funny how often that happens. So, when can I come over and meet him? I’ll be all like, TOLO come over here and impregnate me with your sexy magician babies.

Matilda: TOLO…?

Michelle: Tits out, legs open.

Matilda: Okay. Sorry I asked.

Michelle: Seriously, I want to meet him. I promise I’ll behave.

Matilda: I believe that about as much as I believed Crossing Over with John Edwards.

Michelle: Hey, that was a good night out!

Matilda: Biggest waste of sixty euros I ever spent.

Michelle: Such a sceptic. Please let me meet him? I’ve never met anyone famous before.

Matilda: Famous is stretching it a little, but okay. I’ll ask if he wants to come for drinks with us on Friday.

Friday is mine and Michelle’s regular night out. It usually ends with her going off with some lucky fellow and me going home alone. Unsurprisingly, I’ve never managed to perfect the art of the one-night stand. I should invite her to this whole casino thing tomorrow, but selfishly I kind of want to keep Jay to myself for a while.

Michelle: Yay! Now I just need to figure out what to wear.

Matilda: Lol. Wear the black Chanel dress. That’s always a winner.

Michelle: I will. You never steer me wrong.

Matilda: Sleep tight. Talk to you tomorrow.

Michelle: You too. Xxx.

As I go to shut down the search page, I notice a link to a YouTube video, and I can’t help but to let my clicky finger do the walking. The title to the video is “Jay Fields: Freaking people out, making people hate him, and making people love him.” Bit of a mouthful.

I press “play,” and it goes to a street scene, a shopping district in Boston. Someone’s walking behind Jay, filming him as he strolls down the street in beige chinos and a grey T-shirt that shows off his tats. He’s got this confident swagger that gives me tingles in my chest. He’s one of those people that you can’t tell if you want to be with him or you just want to be him.

Two women approach, chatting and carrying shopping bags. They don’t notice him until he walks by them with one of those big takeaway Cokes. He knocks into the blonde by mistake, spilling the brown liquid all over her white top.

“Oh, Jesus, I’m so sorry,” says Jay as the woman gasps and gives him a death look.

“Fucking hell!” she exclaims as her friend stares on in surprise.

“I said I’m sorry. Hey, I can fix this, just give me a sec,” he says, and then starts circling his hand over the stain. The two women eye him like he’s a lunatic, and the camera zooms in on her top. Quite miraculously, the brown stain begins to shrink until it’s completely disappeared, like he drained it from the fabric by sheer force of will.

“What the….” the blonde breathes, staring at her previously destroyed garment, which is now as good as new.

Her friend has a big smile on her face as she spots the person with the camera behind Jay. “How did you do that? Come on, tell us! Are you guys filming for a show?”

The video cuts to another scene, this one inside a nightclub. It pans over crowds of people on the dance floor, above which is a massive screen flashing dozens of coloured lights. An epileptic’s nightmare. Jay walks through the crowd and approaches a girl with short red hair wearing a silver top. He’s got a deck of cards in his hands, doing this fancy shuffle that sends them sailing through the air from one hand into the other. People eye him up as he walks by, the women in particular.

He holds out the deck to the girl. “Pick a card.”

“What?” she shouts over the music.

“Go on, pick a card, but make sure you don’t let me see it.”

The girl looks slightly confused. “Oh, okay.” She picks a card and looks at it. Jay hands her a Sharpie.

“I want you to write down the names of your favourite song, your favourite colour, and your favourite animal.”

She nods, thinking for a second before scribbling onto the card, then looks up. “What now?”

“Put it in your pocket.”

Sliding it into her tight hot pants, she giggles and asks, “Is this some kind of magic trick?”

Jay steps closer to her and grins. “I bet I can guess what card you’ve got.”

The girl beams. “No way. There’s no way you could know.”

He eyes her, like he’s thinking really hard about it. “Eight of diamonds.”

Her smile grows wide with triumph. “Nope.”

“Shoot! How about queen of hearts?”

“Wrong again. I think you should buy me a drink.”

Jay steps back and rubs either side of his forehead. “Nah, nah, wait. I can do this.” He pauses and looks up, then points at the screen behind them, now displaying a gigantic, flashing two of clubs.

“Hey…is that your card?”

“Oh, my God!” the girl squeals as she turns around.

The music playing stops midway through a song, switching over to “Single Ladies” by Beyoncé.

“No way!”

“What?” Jay asks.

“This is the song I wrote down!”

That’s her favourite song? Talk about crap taste.

“It is?”

“Yes! How did you know?”

“Lucky guess.” He grins. “But hold your horses. I still gotta figure out your favourite colour and animal.”

All of a sudden every light in the place turns purple, and the two of clubs vanishes from the big screen, being replaced with the outline of a turtle. The redhead stares in awe.

“Fuck,” she gasps.

“Did I guess right?” Jay asks. “Let me see your card so I can check.”

Slack-jawed, the girl reaches inside her pocket but comes up empty. Her brow furrows. “It’s gone.” She looks around as though checking to see if anyone could have gotten close enough to steal it.

“Wait a sec, what’s that?” says Jay, pointing in the direction of the screen again, a good fifteen feet away. The camera follows. It’s flashing trippy colours like before, but right in the centre it looks like there’s something stuck to it. The girl squints at the screen, shaking her head and laughing like she doesn’t believe it.

“Fuck off, that can’t be my card.”

“Go get it and see,” Jay replies, gesturing for her to go forward.

After hesitating for only a moment, the girl starts to walk through the club. She climbs onto the stage where the DJ’s booth is and goes to the screen, grabbing the card that’s been stuck to it. She stares down at it in her hand as she walks back, her mouth open in disbelief.

“It’s my card,” she says, lifting it up to the camera to show her writing. There in a list it reads: Beyoncé “Single Ladies,” purple, and turtle. “I’m freaking out right now,” she goes on, running her hand through her hair.

You can hear whoever’s holding the camera chuckling, and Jay turns to smile at them. He really does have a gorgeous smile. Jay goes to the girl and throws his arm around her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go get you that drink.”

The next clip is during the daytime, in a beer garden where there are a bunch of men and women wearing football jerseys watching a game. Jay stumbles through to a group of burly-looking men holding pints of beer. He’s unsteady on his feet and looks drunk off his face. Going to one of the men (the biggest and burliest of them all, by the way), he grabs the beer right out of his hand and brings it to his own mouth before downing the entire thing in one go.

The big guy looks at Jay like he can’t believe he just had the balls to do that. Then his expression turns angry.

“You fucking shithead, you just robbed my beer,” says the man, looking to his friends for support. “This fuck just took the beer right out of my hand.”

Seeming pleased with himself, Jay sets the empty glass primly down on a table just as one of the friends grabs his shoulder. “That’s not okay, dude.”

I was thirsty,” says Jay with a casual shrug, almost as though goading the man to hit him. No more than a second later he does, swinging his fist through the air, aiming straight for Jay’s face. Jay ducks and sidesteps out of the way before he’s hit. “Hey, no need to get violent. I have every intention of replacing it.”

“Go get me a fucking beer, then,” says the burly one.

“Okay, okay, just watch,” says Jay as he hovers his hand over the empty glass. “I bet you fifty bucks I can make your drink reappear without even touching this glass.”

“Yeah, you’ll make it reappear by marching your ass over to the bar and buying me a new one.”

“Nope. That’s not how I’m gonna do it. Do we have a bet?”

The other men seem interested now, their attention on Jay and Mr Burly, the football game long forgotten. “You’re a nut, but fine, it’s a bet.”

“Shake on it,” says Jay, thrusting out his hand, and they shake. I notice that he’s not acting drunk at all anymore, and I suddenly realise it was only an act before. Part of the ruse. The camera focuses in on Jay’s hand above the empty glass. He moves it in circles, like he’s about to conjure a rabbit from a hat (or beer from a glass, in this case).

Slowly, something brown starts to appear, and then liquid is rising from the bottom of the glass, moving upward. The men around him let out a whole bunch of expletives as Jay proves that he could do it. He just made the drink reappear, seemingly out of thin air. Now the glass is full again.

“You’re joking me,” Mr Burly exclaims, rubbing at his head, a confused look on his face.

“Ah, shit, I’ll give you fifty bucks and a beer,” says one of the others as he steps forward to slap Jay on the back. “That was amazing.”

“Do you do parties?” a woman, presumably one of their wives, asks. Jay gives her an arch look and shakes his head before all the men start crowding around to congratulate him on his trick. Mr Burly chuckles. “Okay, you win, but I ain’t drinking that beer. That was fucking freaky.”

The video ends and I sit back, a big stupid smile on my face. There are more videos that I could watch, but I decide not to, knowing I’ll be up all night if I do. Instead I do a quick read-up on how to play blackjack before passing out cold.

My alarm springs to life with its peaceful morning sounds and I wake up, having dreamt of Jay shrinking me to the size of a penny and dropping me into a pint of beer. I don’t think I’ll be finding any interpretations for that one in a book.

I hear the shower come on in the spare room, so I know he’s just woken up, too. There’s something exciting about knowing we’re going to be living our lives side by side for the next couple of months.

I go grab a shower, and by the time I’m dressed and ready for work, the smell of bacon is drifting up from downstairs. Dad never cooks breakfast; he always just grabs something easy, so I know it has to be Jay. My heels click on the wood floor as I walk into the kitchen, wearing a plain black shift dress and a cream cardigan, my hair down. I’m wearing minimal makeup, mostly just some concealer over my scar, lip gloss, and mascara.

I’m not a great fan of applying makeup in the morning. Or ever, really. I think that when you have to put it on to cover something up, it becomes more of a chore than an enjoyment. And then you’re always worrying if it’s rubbed off and people can see what you’ve been trying to hide.

When I was fifteen I had a crush on this boy who lived down the street. When I tried to talk to him one day on my way home from school, he pointed and asked me what was wrong with my neck. It wasn’t so much what he said, but the disgusted look on his face that made it a horrid experience. Ever since then I’ve always tried to cover it up.

In the kitchen, Jay’s standing by the cooker with his back turned to me, while Dad sits at the table, happily reading the paper and eating bacon and eggs. I admire the sexy, muscular lines of Jay’s back and get a fright when he asks, “You hungry, Watson?”

How did he know I was there? It must have been the telltale click of my heels.

Dad chuckles at the nickname, getting the meaning right off the bat. Ever since I was a child I’ve had a curious nature, always wanting to figure out mysteries, not that I’m really any good at it. Dad used to call me Harriet the Spy, but I always hated it. I like it when Jay calls me Watson, though. It kind of makes me feel like I could be his sidekick. And that makes me cool by association.

“A little,” I answer as he turns around and puts some food on a plate for me.

“I figured I’d pay you back for dinner last night,” he says, setting the plate down as I pour orange juice into a glass.

“That was thoughtful of you. Thanks,” I reply with a smile.

“I hear you two have a night of gambling planned,” says Dad, folding his newspaper and putting it away. “I used to love the slot machines when I was young. Never won much money. I don’t have the luck for it.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it, Hugh. You’re playing poker, you learn how to read your opponents. You’re playing roulette, you weigh your odds. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to be disastrously bad at blackjack,” I put in. “Isn’t there some easier game I could play?”

“You can watch me play a few rounds first. You’ll pick it up quick,” Jay reassures me with a warm smile as he takes a bite of toast.

“I’m not so sure, but I’ll take your word for it,” I say modestly, and Dad gets up from the table, done with his breakfast. “I’m going to catch the earlier bus, Matilda, but I’ll see you at the office.” He gives me a quick peck on the cheek, and then goes to grab his coat and briefcase. I eye the battered leather, thinking I could get him a new one for Christmas.

The front door opens and shuts.

“You look nice today,” says Jay, and I can’t bring myself to look at him, so I focus on eating.

“Thanks,” I mumble, brushing my hair close to my neck.

“You do that a lot, you know.”

Now I glance up. “What?”

“Your hair. You run your hand through it a lot, moving it to hide your scar.”

“Oh.” Crap, he noticed the scar. I suppose he saw it when I’d had my hair up in a bun last night. “Yeah, it’s unconscious most of the time.” I shrug.

“I could teach you how to stop. It’s pretty easy.”

“That’s okay. It’s not like one of those awful habits, like biting your nails until they bleed or something.” Biting your nails until they bleed? Lovely imagery, Matilda.

Jay nods, still watching me eat. Right now I’m wishing I were anywhere but here. His attention is exciting, yet unnerving.

“Well, let me know if you change your mind.”

A moment of silence elapses. “You’re not going to ask how I got the scar?” I say quietly.

“That’s your business. Though if you wanna tell me, I’m all ears.”

I give him a grateful look, not saying anything more. I’m not fond of reciting stories about myself, so in this case I don’t want to tell him. Perhaps another time when I’m feeling braver. Nobody feels brave at breakfast. Dinner is the meal of bravery. Lunch at a push.

We finish eating, and Jay offers to drive me to the office.

“I’m fine getting the bus,” I say, not wanting to put him out, even though I really want to go with him.

Jay cocks a brow. “You want to ride the boring bus or experience the fucking sexy beast that is my car again?”

An unexpected laugh erupts from my throat. “I think it’s a little early for experiencing sexy beasts.”

My response surprises me. There’s something about Jay that brings out my flirtatious side, and, to be honest, I never really knew I had one until now.

Jay steps closer, his smile matching my own. “It’s never too early for that.”

I shake my head and go to grab my handbag, needing to put some distance between us. He’s definitely unnerving. So unnerving. But in the best way.

“Okay, then, you can drive me.”

“Get ready for the ride of your life, Watson.”

I have to say, his confidence is quite the turn-on.

Five

“So, eh, you’re not planning on cheating tonight, are you?” I ask on the drive.

Last night while I’d been reading up on blackjack, I’d noticed an article about counting cards and got a little nervous. I had this vision of being hauled into the back offices of the casino by some scary bouncers. There’d be a bunch of migrant workers sitting at long tables, counting money in their underwear, while some old mob boss character would threaten me with a gun for trying to cheat the system.

Okay, so maybe I’ve been watching a few too many heist movies. I’m not even sure if there are mob bosses in Ireland. Not the proper Italian ones, anyway. Chinese triad, maybe.

Jay laughs quietly, his hands loose on the steering wheel. “You really think I’m a shifty fuck, don’t you?”

“I never said that! It’s just that you do what you do…and I’m sure you must know how to count cards.”

“You been doing some detective work, Watson?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I reply, crossing my arms.

“I mean, have you been looking me up?”

I snort (rather unattractively). “Noooo.”

“Lie.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Another lie.” He chuckles. “You’ve got to remember the behavioural science crazy uncle, Matilda. I can tell when someone’s telling a fib. Mostly.”

I let out a sigh. “Fine. I might have come across a YouTube video.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” He looks at me sideways, his eyes smiling. “Were you impressed?”

“Obviously. I’m still trying to figure out how you managed to get that girl’s card up onto the screen in the nightclub.”

“That was a fun one. But if you’re hedging for me to reveal my secrets you’re shit out of luck.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun.”

He nudges me with his shoulder. “Hey, don’t look so sad. Maybe I’ll tell you one or two sometime if you’re really, really nice to me.”

“Okay, that doesn’t sound sinister at all,” I say, deadpan.

Jay laughs. “Look, I’m not going to be counting cards, so you don’t have to worry. The secret to good gambling is to know when to bet and when to stop.”

“How very vague. That tells me nothing,” I groan.

“Watch me tonight and you’ll learn,” he says, pulling the car into a parking spot close to the office. “Now, out you get, and have a good day at work, munchkin.”

I slide out of the car and turn to face him. “Oh, please, no. Watson I can handle, munchkin, not so much.”

He raises his hands in the air. “Hey, we’ve got to eat a few sour grapes before we get to the sweet ones.”

I just shake my head at him and turn to leave. All the way to the office I can hardly keep the smile off my face.

***

My day passes in the usual mundane fashion. Every hour that brings me closer to home time makes me more and more anxious. I’ve gone through a number of outfit possibilities in my head for tonight. Jay said to wear something nice, but I can’t tell if he meant “nicey nice” or “sexy nice.” I’ve always adored fashion, but I’ve never been able to pull off “sexy nice,” so I suppose “nicey nice” is the direction I’m going to have to take.

I settle on a pretty dark blue tea dress that I made myself. It reaches just past my knees, and I’ll match it with my coveted black Louboutins. They’re probably the only “sexy nice” item I own. I mostly wear them for special occasions, but I’m thinking my first foray into the world of casino gambling definitely counts as special.

When I arrive home, I pop a ready meal for one in the oven, since Dad’s working late in the office with Will and then he’s going to the book club. When I go upstairs, I pass by Jay’s room and see the door’s wide open. He’s sitting on the floor, messy stacks of books all around him and dozens of sheets of paper with indecipherable handwriting spread out on the wood floor. The bin is full to the brim with crumpled papers and his laptop is open, playing a video of a surgeon carrying out some kind of operation. Quite bizarre.

I’ve always been squeamish about blood, so I look away.

“I didn’t realise you were home,” I say, standing in the doorway. His head comes up, his eyes meeting mine as he scratches his jaw. His hair is all dishevelled, which for some reason makes me want to touch it.

“Matilda. How was your day?” he asks, shoving some of the papers aside and pressing “pause” on the video. I take one step inside the room.

“Good. Can I ask what you’re doing?”

“Ah, just working out some new tricks.”

So he’s not studying to become a surgeon, then. “So you’re definitely not quitting?” I ask, curious.

He shoots me a wry look and laughs harshly. “What, because some bitch who doesn’t even know me decided to sit at her computer and rip me a new one? Hell to the fuck no. It’ll take a lot more than a few articles to put a stop to me.”

I don’t know what to say to that. In fact, his passionate anger puts me a little on edge, even though it isn’t directed at me, so I change the subject. “Do you want dinner? I’m just making something quick.”

“No, I’m good. I already ate.” The flat tone and faraway look in his eyes give me the impression he’s somewhere else right now, so I quickly take my leave.

“Okay, well, I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Be ready for eight,” he calls after me, his eyes returning to the laptop screen.

“Will do.”

I close the door and go to my own room. Jay’s demeanour seemed different just now, mercurial somehow. Granted, I’ve only known him a day, so I’m sure there are many more sides to him than the witty charmer I’ve known him to be.

I eat dinner in front of the TV. Jay doesn’t come down at all, still up in his room doing his research, or whatever it is he’s doing. A while later I’m in the bathroom, putting the finishing touches to my makeup, when there’s a tap on the door.

“Knock, knock, can I come in?” Jay asks from outside as I clip a strand of hair at my temple.

I get a momentary jolt but then realise I’m decent, so I say, “Sure.” Still, I find it a little odd that he wants to come in here.

He steps into the small room, casual as you please, wearing a dark shirt and slacks. The first button of the shirt is undone, showing a hint of the tattoos at his collarbone. He lets out a low whistle, and I can’t help but blush. “You scrub up well, Watson.”

I focus on putting in my contact lenses as his eyes trail down my legs to my feet. “Nice shoes. Real nice. They make up for the conservative neckline.”

“Uh, thanks. I think.”

I have my contacts in now, and his eyes are still on my shoes, a thoughtful expression on his face. Then he swallows. What the hell is he thinking about? I brush on some lip gloss and I’m done. Jay’s still standing behind me, but now his eyes are on my face. I can’t really decipher his look, since I’ve never had a man stare at me like he is. The only way I can describe it is somewhere in between hot and smouldering. Yikes.

I find it difficult to believe it’s directed at me, but it must be. I mean, there’s nobody else in the room.

I cough. “Are you driving?”

He shakes his head, and his expression clears. “Nah, I think we’ll taxi it. After we get you your eight hundred, we’re going to want to celebrate.” He flashes me a wide, toothy smile.

“Right. I hope not too much. It’s a work night,” I say, unable to help myself. And I had almost pulled off cool. Almost.

Jay’s hand moves to rest on my shoulder, his voice unexpectedly soft. “Don’t worry, Watson. I’ll have you home and tucked in bed by one.”

If I were a provocative person I might say something sassy, like, “Oh, yeah, and are you going to be the one doing the tucking?” But I’m not, so I don’t. Jay says he’ll wait downstairs for me and leaves me to it.

Dad’s coming in the door just as we’re leaving, the taxi idling by the side of the road. He tells us to have a great night, and then Jay’s ushering me in the back of the taxi. I’m nervous on the ride, while Jay makes boisterous small talk with the driver.

I check to make sure I brought my hundred and fifty with me several times. Then I check to make sure I brought my I.D., since you’ve got to be twenty-one to get into some of the casinos.

Jay pays the fare when we arrive in the city a couple of minutes later. I look up at the sleek black front of the building with the flashing sign above the entrance. There’s a bouncer on the door who’s about as wide as he is tall, and I can’t tell if it’s muscle or fat. He’s wearing a suit and has an earpiece.

Unexpectedly, Jay slides his arm around my waist as we approach, pressing the side of my body flush to his. Okay, this is new. I haven’t been this close to a man in quite some time. He looks down at me for a second, and I think I see his gaze zone in on my lips, tracing the lines of my mouth.

And now I think I just came. I really need to get a handle on this crush of mine.

The bouncer lets us in right away, no asking for I.D. It must be Jay’s confidence that got us through without incident. Right now Jay’s hand is resting on my hip, and I can hardly concentrate on anything else. It feels so warm and tingly and good. He shows me how to exchange my cash for chips, his arm dropping and my expectations dropping with it.

I put my chips in my bag, and then Jay’s gripping my chin with his fingers, bringing my eyes up to his. “Okay, Matilda, you’re making me anxious just looking at you. Let’s go get you a drink first to loosen up.”

“I’m not nervous,” I mutter as he guides me to the bar and I slide my bum onto a stool.

He shakes his head and nods for the bartender to come over. “What’s it going to take to get you to stop lying to me?”

“I’m sorry. It’s kind of my default setting,” I reply quietly. “I don’t lie because I’m being duplicitous. I just lie because I don’t want people to know when I’m, like, scared and stuff.”

Whoa, that was quite honest.

His smile when he looks at me is warm. “I know. But you don’t have to lie to me. Plus, I can tell when you’re scared and stuff anyway.”

Well, there is that.

The bartender arrives, and Jay asks for a J.D. and Coke. I’m in the mood for a cocktail, so I scan the menu above the bar. Damn, why do the cocktails that sound the best always have the most embarrassing names?

Fuck it, I might as well order what I want. Jay will probably be able to tell anyway, what with his psychic body-language-reading skills, or whatever it is you’d call them.

“I’ll have the Porn Star Martini, please,” I say decisively.

The bartender doesn’t even bat an eyelid as he goes off to fetch our orders.

“Brave choice,” says Jay with a smirk. “You fixing to get drunk, Watson?”

“Hmm, not until after I win my eight-hundred…or lose my one-fifty. Either scenario will call for alcohol, I’m guessing.”

He touches my elbow for a second. “You won’t lose your one-fifty, I promise.”

“And you have no idea how bad I could be at this.”

Our drinks arrive, and I delight in how there’s an actual passion fruit floating in the yellow liquid. Whenever I see there’s champagne in a cocktail, I just have to have it. My brain tells me it’ll be classy.

I suck it up through a straw (not so classy) and find that Jay was right – it is loosening me up. The place isn’t too packed, since it’s only a Wednesday night, but there are a reasonable number of people around. My attention is drawn to a balding guy who’s swearing like a madman at a slot machine.

“He does realise the machine can’t swear back, right?” I whisper to Jay jokingly.

“Gambling crazies. There’s always one.”

Jay orders another drink and brings it with him as he leads me through the casino. I look around, taking it all in. When I spy the roulette table, I hurry on ahead, eager to see what it’s like. A middle-aged man in a suit makes a bet, and the wheel spins. When he wins, he gets a satisfied look on his face as his businessmen friends congratulate him. I can certainly see how this stuff could become addictive.

When we get to the blackjack table, there’s a guy in his twenties and a woman in maybe her early forties playing. The woman has platinum-blonde hair and is wearing a lot of gold jewellery, a look of faded grandeur about her. The guy is decent-looking, with dark hair and nice eyes. Jay takes a seat, setting his glass down on the edge of the table. The dealer is a tall, bored-looking woman with short black hair and almost as many tattoos as Jay. You can’t see them all, though, since she’s wearing the casino uniform. She also has two silver hoops through her nose and one in the centre of her bottom lip.

She reminds me of one of my lady heroes, Lisbeth Salander, from The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. If only I were half as cool as Lisbeth, I’d be twice as cool as I actually am.

When the dealer sees Jay, her eyes light up and she gives him a measured smile. Hmm, do they know each other?