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She glances up at me. Those sparkle-lidded eyes. A little pink smile like we’re sharing a joke.

She’s so pretty. So smart. And I’m so⁠—

“Yeah,” I say again, my heart absolutely plunging in my chest. “No problem.”

CHAPTER 16

TINK

Have fun on your date.

Of all the things to preoccupy me here, of all the memories and moments that could surface, it’s Wendy’s words that are sharpest in my mind.

Still.

I just don’t think you should go.

I can’t stop you from being dumbasses.

Focus, Tink, I order myself. I scan the tables as we stroll into the roulette section, looking for our best option: not empty, not crowded, somewhere in between.

She’s at that age, I remind myself. Or will be soon. That’s all.

“Careful!” Fox flings out an arm, stopping me just in time to avoid being mowed down by two wavering, drunk guys in backwards hats and button-downs cutting across our path. “Sorry,” he says, quickly withdrawing once they’ve passed. “Didn’t mean to…you okay?”

She won’t get hurt or anything.

Or maybe Wendy’s just afraid of losing someone. Again.

That’s why I’m there.

“I’m fine,” I say out loud. “Let’s just⁠—”

“Yeah,” Fox agrees. “How about that one?” He nods at the nearest table a few feet away. It’s half-full, maybe, two older couples, one middle-aged woman in a Disney sweatshirt. No one who seems to be there to hog the spotlight or play hard.

Suddenly, I’m raring to go.

“Sure. Let’s.” I square my shoulders and march right for it, only remembering after Fox jogs to keep up with me that we’re supposed to be…together, sort of. Friends, at least. I slow my steps, a little wave of guilt washing over me as he catches up.

We are friends, after all. Not to mention that Fox is doing me a huge favor by even being here, let alone fronting all the cash for the bets.

The table’s seen better days: the long oval of green felt has faded patches, and the wheel sunk into one end has some chips and dents in the sides. Across the surface are the two columns of numbers—red and black—the stripe of green at the top for the zeros, and boxes of words around the edges (EVEN, ODD, 1ST 12) with the payouts printed small underneath. Easy enough. I scan around: brass stand by the dealer’s elbow says LIMITS and lists out all of those, and a lit board above the wheel shows the last twenty spins in glowing digits in case you believe in patterns.

And there are cameras. Dome camera smack overhead on the drop ceiling. Another on the far pillar. And just in case, a supervisor in a vest stands at the edge of the pit with his hands folded, watching all of the tables and none of them at once.

“This good?” Fox asks me.

“Good as any,” I murmur back. “C’mon.”

I find us a place next to one of the couples, both of whom are tan and neither of whom is over five-foot-five. The guy’s got his shirt one button too low—one of those guys who wants everyone to know he has chest hair, I guess—and the woman’s hair hangs in bleached, peeled-banana blonde curls over her spangled blue blouse.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Fox says as we settle in—quietly, but not very. If he thinks he’s whispering, he’s not. The blonde woman next to us glances at him briefly, and for a second I think about stepping on his foot or something to hint that he should keep it down. Seem a little less, I don’t know, clueless.

But then our neighbor smiles and leans in to pat his hand with her tanned, wrinkled one. “Oh, honey, no one does.”

Then again, maybe clueless is what we want. I press my lips together.

The woman leans into Fox a little more, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “My advice? Just listen to whatever your girl there says.” She nods at me. “Isn’t that right, Jim?” she adds, raising her voice so her…husband? boyfriend? on her other side can hear.