Chapter 4: Jenny's Turn
The snap of the cards hitting the worn coffee table was impossibly loud. Five cards skidded to a stop in front of each of them. No one moved to pick them up.
Catriona placed the deck neatly in the center, beside the sad pile of lace and cotton and that damning handwritten note. She leaned back, draping her arms across the back of the couch, her pale freckled skin glowing in the lamplight. A queen surveying her kingdom.
“New stake,” she said, her voice casual, as if suggesting they order pizza. “Simple. Whoever wins this hand gets Aidan for the night.” She let the words hang. “No limits.”
Freya’s breath hitched, a soft, eager sound. She didn’t look at Aidan. Her eyes were on the cards, her fingers twitching once before she carefully, deliberately, lifted her hand from her lap and fanned the five cards out. A muscle in her jaw ticked.
Jenny made a sound like a stifled cough. Her hand, which had been resting on her own thigh, clenched into a fist. The paralegal mind was visibly warring with everything else. “Cat, that’s… we can’t just bid a person.”
“Why not?” Catriona’s grin was all teeth. “He’s right here. He can object if he wants.” She turned her fiery gaze on him. “You objecting, A?”
Aidan was still leaning against the doorframe, his body humming with spent adrenaline and a fresh, dizzying rush of anticipation. Three sets of eyes locked onto him. He saw the competitive fire in Catriona’s, the hungry calculation in Freya’s, the naked, conflicted want in Jenny’s. The old rules, the careful friendship, were ashes in the stagnant air. He shook his head slowly. “No objection.”
“See?” Catriona said, as if it were settled. “Now look at your damn cards.”
Jenny snatched her cards up, holding them close to her chest. Her dark eyes scanned them, back and forth, her mind clearly working through probabilities and tells. But her tells were all wrong. Her lower lip trembled.
Freya arranged her cards neatly on her bare thigh. She had a good poker face, but her stillness was too perfect. A statue of anticipation.
Catriona glanced at her own hand, shrugged, and tossed two cards face down toward the deck. “Two,” she said, her voice bored. The dealer replaced them. She didn’t look at the new cards, just stared at Jenny.
Freya discarded one. “I’m good.”
Jenny was breathing shallowly. She looked from her cards, to the pot in the center containing the evidence of their descent, to Aidan. A flush crept up her neck. She swallowed. “I… I need one.” Her voice was thin. She pushed a single card away, received a new one. She looked. Her eyes went wide for a fraction of a second before she schooled her features into blankness. Too late.
“Betting,” Catriona announced. She pushed the entire pile of underwear and IOUs to the center with a sweep of her arm. “All in.”
Freya didn’t hesitate. “Call.” She added nothing, because she had nothing left to add. Her body was already in the pot.
All eyes fell on Jenny. She was frozen. The logic was clear: fold, retain a shred of dignity, walk away. Her career-honed mind had to be screaming it. But her body was leaning forward, the pulse in her throat fluttering like a trapped bird. She looked at Aidan again, a long, searching look that bypassed all pretense.
Her secret crush wasn’t a secret anymore. It was a live wire in the room.
With a trembling hand, she reached for the legal pad and pen that had started it all. She scrawled something quickly, tore the sheet off, and tossed it onto the mountain of fabric. It fluttered down like a leaf.
‘One night of total submission.’ Her handwriting was usually precise. This was a jagged, desperate scrawl.
“Call,” she whispered.
The air left the room.
“Alright,” Catriona breathed, a hunter’s smile playing on her lips. “Let’s see it. Freya?”
Freya laid her cards down with a soft slap. “Full house. Queens over tens.” It was a formidable hand. A winner, most nights. She allowed herself a small, tight smile, her eyes drifting to Aidan with possessive certainty.
Catriona tsked. “Not bad, yogi.” She flipped her cards. “Straight flush. Jack high.” She gestured grandly at the pot. “Sorry, ladies. Looks like I—”
“Wait.”
Jenny’s voice wasn’t loud, but it cut like glass. Every ounce of the shy, cautious roommate was gone. In its place was the woman who organized case files and hunted for weaknesses in arguments. Her fear had burned away, leaving something cool and sharp.
She placed her cards down one by one.
Ace of hearts.
King of hearts.
Queen of hearts.
Jack of hearts.
Ten of hearts.
A royal flush.
The silence was absolute, broken only by the distant rumble of a garbage truck on the street below.
Freya’s mouth dropped open. Catriona’s triumphant grin melted into slack-jawed astonishment. She stared at the cards as if they’d personally betrayed her.
Jenny didn’t smile. She slowly uncrossed her arms, letting them fall to her sides. She looked exhausted, exhilarated, and utterly terrified. Her eyes found Aidan’s and didn’t let go.
“The pot,” she said, her voice regaining a thread of its usual steadiness, “is mine.”
Catriona let out a low, incredulous laugh. “You little shark. You were shaking like a leaf.”
“I was nervous,” Jenny corrected quietly. “Not unsure.” She stood up, her movements deliberate. She walked around the coffee table, stopping in front of Aidan. The smell of her—jasmine soap and nervous sweat—filled his senses. Up close, he could see the rapid beat of her pulse in her throat, the dark depth of her pupils.
She reached out, her fingers brushing the back of his hand where it hung at his side. The touch was electric.
“You’re coming with me,” she said. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a command from the IOU. It was a simple, undeniable statement of fact.
Behind her, Catriona slumped back on the couch, laughing softly to herself. Freya just watched, a strange, wistful respect in her blue eyes.
Jenny turned, still holding Aidan’s gaze, and led him by the hand out of the living room, down the dim hallway, toward her bedroom. The door clicked shut behind them, a soft, final sound that echoed through the apartment louder than any shout.