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The dealer pushes some chips toward us, and Spencer stacks four and puts them on a little spot in front of him.
I do the same as I lean in toward him. “How much is each chip?”
“Five bucks. So you’re betting twenty on this hand.”
I nod, and I wait for the dealer to shell out our cards as I try not to think about what I could spend twenty dollars on. I’m not hurting for money, exactly, but I’m also not used to blowing it like this. I get what I need when I need it, and I don’t have a ton of expenses since I live at the vineyard.
I’m dealt a seven, and Spencer gets a queen. My next card is a ten, and Spencer gets a nine.
The dealer busts with a twenty-three, so we both win.
I rake in my winnings, feeling pretty damn good but also thinking I should cash in and keep my extra twenty dollars.
We both win some then lose some, and the next hour flies by as a server brings us wine, and I find myself passing the threshold of tipsy land.
I cash in when I’m back to even, and I stand behind Spencer and watch him as he starts to win. He high-fives me with each win, and when he triples his original investment, he calls it quits. We head toward the cashier to trade in our chips for cash, and then we head toward the nightclub.
“That was fun,” I say as we walk, and then, because I’m me, I trip on absolutely nothing at all, and Spencer moves quickly to catch me.
I find myself holding onto his arms, my chest heaving as he clutches me. Our eyes meet, and a heated moment passes between us.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod as I straighten and step back out of his arms despite every single urge telling me to stay right there, to move in closer, to cling to him. “I’m fine. Just a klutz.” I offer an embarrassed smile as we keep walking.
“No, you aren’t,” he says softly, his tone slightly defensive of me for insulting myself.
We arrive outside the nightclub, which has a line of people waiting to get in wrapped around the corner, and I start walking toward the back of the line.
“Where are you going?” Spencer asks me.
“To get in line.” I say it almost like a question, and he chuckles.
“No need for that.” He walks up to the bouncer and says something, and the bouncer nods and pulls aside a rope for the two of us to walk right in.
“Who even are you?” I wonder as we head into the loud club.
“Spencer Nash. NFL superstar. Nightclubber extraordinaire.” He grins, and he detours toward the bar. Once the bartender hands over his beer and my vodka soda, I let go of my own self-consciousness as Spencer leans in closer to me. “Want to dance?”
I nod, and he leads me to the dance floor, where bodies all around us are grinding. We stand out as we sway to the music, bouncing together with a respectable distance between us since we’re just friends, but there’s a lot of people out here. Someone bumps into me, sending me directly into Spencer’s chest.
His hard, solid chest.
Lucky for me, Spencer is recognized as the person who bumped me turns around to apologize, and thus begins the frenzy of people wanting selfies with the popular football player.
I’m sort of edged out of the way all together, and I step back awkwardly to let him have his moment. I’ll just stand back here and drink my vodka as I wait for the crowd to disperse.
Maybe he’s more like Amelia than I thought. Maybe he likes this attention.
And as soon as I have the thought, I hear a voice close to my ear. “Have you had enough?”
I glance over at him, and he’s looking at me in earnest, like he’s ready to get the hell out of here.
“Let’s go.”
He grins, grabs my hand, and navigates through the crushing crowd of people. He drops my hand once we’re out of the club, and I push away the thought that I sort of wanted him to hold onto mine for another minute.
I also push away the feelings of guilt that slide right in beside it.
