Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 91079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“I’ll see your….” I pick up my opponent’s watch and hold it toward the light. “…Timex, and raise you one Louis Vuitton boot.” Sliding my seat—a five-gallon bucket—away from the table, I pull off the boot and toss it in the pile.
Jasper, a guy in his late twenties whose been at Canton Industries since he was fifteen, takes a drag from his cigarette, thumps it then shoots me an incredulous glare. “What the fuck am I gonna do with one boot?”
“Sell it to a pirate. I don’t know. And I don’t care. But it’s worth a helluva lot more than that raggedy ass shit you’ve been throwing in the pot.” Everyone around us laughs. It seems Jasper is one of those who can dish it out but can’t take it. And he met his match when he met me—about twenty hands ago.
“How the hell do I even call that?” He picks up the boot and examines it. “How much does this thing cost?”
There are only a couple women still out here. Neither of them, like me, have a clue. But they, also like me, know enough to know that it’s expensive. They’re arguing that point while I try to decide what possessions of Jasper’s might be equivalent to one boot.
“Your hat.”
Jasper stiffens. “What did you say?”
“Your hat.” I motion with my finger toward the hat he keeps twisting on his head. The one that’s old and worn. That I’m sure has little value to anyone but him. “Throw your hat in if you want to call.”
He shakes his head. “No. This is my lucky hat.”
“Yeah? And how has that worked out for you?” I point to my stack of winnings that consist of money, a few keychains, a couple knives, a ton of pens, a rubber ball, a box of rubber bands and a rubber chicken—most of which belonged to him. “Throw in the hat or fold.”
He narrows his eyes on me. “Throw in the other boot and I’ll consider it.”
“This boot is worth a lot of money.”
“No. The pair of boots is worth a lot of money. One boot ain’t worth shit.” He points to his hat. “This hat? Is worth more than money.”
I nod slowly. “Fair enough.” I pull off my other boot and toss it on the table. “Well, there’s my five hundred dollars.”
“Um, I just Googled it,” one of the women says. “Try two thousand dollars.”
Everyone starts murmuring that it’s not an equal bet. That Jasper is a piece of shit for trying to bet an old hat against a pair of designer boots.
I believe it’s safe to say I’m the crowd favorite.
“You hear that?” Jasper waves toward the crowd circled around us. “I have to work with these assholes every day. This is a lose-lose for me. If I win, I’ll be shamed for taking a lady’s boots. If I lose, I’ll never hear the end of how I lost everything to my boss’s girlfriend.”
I shrug and take a pull from my beer. “So fold.”
“Not a chance in hell. I want to renegotiate.”
“I’m listening.”
“Keep your boots. They’re probably fake anyway.”
I shake my head. “Jake bought them. Trust me. They’re not fake.”
Suggestive murmurs and teasing sounds from the crowd. My cheeks flush and I roll my eyes at them—grinning ear to ear.
“Like I was saying, you keep your boots. I keep my hat. Winner takes the pot. And the loser…” He leans in and points toward the open field that stretches as far as the eye can see. His eyes twinkle and he grins. “Streaks across the field.”
The crowd erupts in laughter. Some tell Jasper he’s crazy. Some say they’re going to video him streaking. One says Mr. Swagger is going to kill Jasper if he finds out. And that one is met with a response.
“Why would I kill Jasper?” I whip my head around to find Jake emerging from the shadows—an amused expression on his face. A possessive look in his eyes. “He’s not the one betting something that doesn’t belong to him.”
Everyone falls silent as he approaches. I make a mental note to talk to him about when it is and when it isn’t appropriate to show up unannounced around his employees. Nobody wants to hang out with their boss. But of course he wouldn’t know that. He doesn’t have a boss.
“W-what are you talking about, Jake?” I try to sound tough. I don’t.
He places his hands on either side of the table, boxing me in. “I’m talking about you running across a field. Naked.” He leans in and drops his voice so only I can hear. “Your body belongs to me, baby. And I’m not in the mood to share.”
He pulls back and I swallow hard. It takes everything inside me not to wrap myself around him and dry hump his hip in front of God and his employees.