at that forty-five thousand dollars on the line made her sweat. She thought, please, please, please, seven or eleven and threw the dice, holding her breath.
“Easy six,” the stickman announced, corralling the dice. “Mark the six.”
“Well we didn’t win.” She frowned, watching as the “off” marker got flipped over by the stick man to “on” and then placed it on the six.
“You didn’t lose,” Dorian explained. “Now you just want to roll a six before you roll a seven.”
“I think I’m getting the hang of this.” She smiled at him as more people joined the table, placing more bets.
“You want to make another sucker bet with that, Miss Lucky?” He nodded at the thousand-dollar chip sitting on the pass line.
“I’m lucky at dice but…” She shook her head. “Not that lucky. It’s Jodie, by the way. Jodie Miller.”
“Dorian Cole.”
“Dice are in play.” The stick man slid them all the way down for Jodie.
She looked around the table, feeling the pressure of everyone’s eyes on her. It was disconcerting to say the least. And that forty-five thousand dollars sitting there? It made her sick to her stomach thinking about losing it, even if it wasn’t hers.
“Shooter’s still looking for a six!”
Taking a deep breath, she picked up the dice and thought six, six, six. She could see it in her mind, three pretty dots making diagonal lines across each die. Her fingertips tingled as she let the dice go, heart caught in her throat. The dice were so far away she couldn’t see what came up and had to wait for the reaction of the crowd or the stickman’s announcement.
“Four easy.” The stickman pulled the dice in. “An eighter from Decatur.”
It was like listening to a foreign language that Jodie, somehow, was beginning to understand.
“So nothing happens?” she asked, watching everyone placing more chips on the table.
“Not for us,” said Dorian. “You’re still rolling for a six.”
The excitement had the table absolutely buzzing. People were smiling and happy—winning. Their enthusiasm was catching. She tried not to put too much pressure on herself but somehow she felt responsible because she was the one who had the dice in her hands. It was ridiculous, of course. It was all mathematical odds, right? There was no such thing as luck, not really.
“Jodie!” Kimber nudged her from the other side, all wide-eyes. “What is going on?”
She’d almost forgotten about the girls. They were all staring, whatever bets they’d placed completely forgotten. The excitement of Dorian Cole at the table, paying close attention to one of their own, had completely trumped gambling.
“Apparently, I’m shooting craps.” Jodie laughed, realizing she hadn’t even thought about Jason, or her constantly vibrating phone, in almost half an hour. That had to be a record.
“Quite well, in fact,” Dorian added. His hand moved to her lower back again, shifting her closer, and she let him. It felt incredible to have a man—a very handsome, very rich man—flirting with her, clearly attracted to her, especially in front of all of these rich, snobby women. Well except Lauren, and, she supposed, Kimber.
“You ready to roll that six?” He moved her hair aside to ask her, close to her ear, and she shivered. “If you do, you’ll double that forty-five thousand.”
“No pressure.” She shifted nervously, hearing the stickman calling for last bets.
“Don’t worry. I can afford to lose it.” He chuckled, his breath warm.
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Nervous?” he asked, pressing her against the table with his body.
She nodded, swallowing as she glanced around, everyone’s gaze turning toward her as the dice started making their way down the table, guided by the curved stick.
“Excited?” he whispered, his thigh between hers. Oh God, the feel of him, the
“Easy six,” the stickman announced, corralling the dice. “Mark the six.”
“Well we didn’t win.” She frowned, watching as the “off” marker got flipped over by the stick man to “on” and then placed it on the six.
“You didn’t lose,” Dorian explained. “Now you just want to roll a six before you roll a seven.”
“I think I’m getting the hang of this.” She smiled at him as more people joined the table, placing more bets.
“You want to make another sucker bet with that, Miss Lucky?” He nodded at the thousand-dollar chip sitting on the pass line.
“I’m lucky at dice but…” She shook her head. “Not that lucky. It’s Jodie, by the way. Jodie Miller.”
“Dorian Cole.”
“Dice are in play.” The stick man slid them all the way down for Jodie.
She looked around the table, feeling the pressure of everyone’s eyes on her. It was disconcerting to say the least. And that forty-five thousand dollars sitting there? It made her sick to her stomach thinking about losing it, even if it wasn’t hers.
“Shooter’s still looking for a six!”
Taking a deep breath, she picked up the dice and thought six, six, six. She could see it in her mind, three pretty dots making diagonal lines across each die. Her fingertips tingled as she let the dice go, heart caught in her throat. The dice were so far away she couldn’t see what came up and had to wait for the reaction of the crowd or the stickman’s announcement.
“Four easy.” The stickman pulled the dice in. “An eighter from Decatur.”
It was like listening to a foreign language that Jodie, somehow, was beginning to understand.
“So nothing happens?” she asked, watching everyone placing more chips on the table.
“Not for us,” said Dorian. “You’re still rolling for a six.”
The excitement had the table absolutely buzzing. People were smiling and happy—winning. Their enthusiasm was catching. She tried not to put too much pressure on herself but somehow she felt responsible because she was the one who had the dice in her hands. It was ridiculous, of course. It was all mathematical odds, right? There was no such thing as luck, not really.
“Jodie!” Kimber nudged her from the other side, all wide-eyes. “What is going on?”
She’d almost forgotten about the girls. They were all staring, whatever bets they’d placed completely forgotten. The excitement of Dorian Cole at the table, paying close attention to one of their own, had completely trumped gambling.
“Apparently, I’m shooting craps.” Jodie laughed, realizing she hadn’t even thought about Jason, or her constantly vibrating phone, in almost half an hour. That had to be a record.
“Quite well, in fact,” Dorian added. His hand moved to her lower back again, shifting her closer, and she let him. It felt incredible to have a man—a very handsome, very rich man—flirting with her, clearly attracted to her, especially in front of all of these rich, snobby women. Well except Lauren, and, she supposed, Kimber.
“You ready to roll that six?” He moved her hair aside to ask her, close to her ear, and she shivered. “If you do, you’ll double that forty-five thousand.”
“No pressure.” She shifted nervously, hearing the stickman calling for last bets.
“Don’t worry. I can afford to lose it.” He chuckled, his breath warm.
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Nervous?” he asked, pressing her against the table with his body.
She nodded, swallowing as she glanced around, everyone’s gaze turning toward her as the dice started making their way down the table, guided by the curved stick.
“Excited?” he whispered, his thigh between hers. Oh God, the feel of him, the
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