Bryan cackles. “The kid was seriously obsessed with his rock polisher in middle school. He would spend all day in his room with that thing. A girl once phoned the house asking to talk to him at 13….”
“Shut your pie hole, Bryan,” I warn.
He is undeterred. “…he refused to take the call because he was too busy polishing his rocks.”
Tabitha sighs and cuts her eyes at my brothers. “Unfortunately, some family members turned the phrase ‘rock polishing’ into a euphemism used to embarrass our baby brother.”
I nod and grumble. “Yep. Brotherly love.”
The family continues to beat to death the subject of polished rocks, but Mila isn’t listening. At some point, I feel her eyes on me. When I notice she’s looking at me, she’s angling her face down and pressing warm, welcoming lips against mine.
The kiss is safe enough for the public but slow and long enough to send a message to me and everyone in the room:You’re mine, and I’m not laughing at you.
My arms tighten around her in that brief, all too public moment. The side of her soft, large breast presses against my chest, and I possessively hook one finger through the belt loop of her jeans.
Mila follows the kiss by briefly swiping the tip of her nose against mine and maintaining heated eye contact while my family looks on.
“Okay then,” I faintly hear Beau say.
Tabitha chuckles.
Sawyer and my mom are swooning.
Everyone sounds so far away. The whole damn world feels far away when she looks at me like that.
Mila didn’t have to do that for my benefit. But I’ll take all she’ll deign to give me.
* * *
Milaand I lose big after the first few hands. Soon, though, our luck starts to change.
After ten or so hands, we win every time, based on Mila’s advice.
“Damn girl, you are a good luck charm!” Beau shouts.
Mom deals another round, and pretty soon, everyone in the house is crowded around the table. Siblings, tween nieces, nephews, and anyone else who’s still awake.
When Mila wins the next hand, the room explodes with shouts of amazed laughter and applause.
“How?” Bryan wants to know.
Mila shrugs. “Don’t you guys know how to count cards?”
Oh. Oh shit.
Beau shakes his head and scans the room. “You do?”
“Yeah. It’s easy. You keep track of the highs and lows that have been dealt. It’s pretty simple math. Want me to teach you?”
Everyone looks around bewildered for a second, then Dad nods. “Sure, teach us your ways, oh wise one.”
“Pretty sure this is illegal,” Bryan says.
“Oh, calm your tits; it’s a family card game,” says Tabitha.
“She won all my rocks,” Bryan mutters, his dark mustache twitching.
What comes next is a master class in card counting that equips everyone in my family, including a few middle-school-age kids, to try to beat a casino at its own game.