“C’mon . . .” she said, wiggling the knife, working the far side of the tray and putting her weight into it, the knife now facing her own belly.
In the living room, Royall and his friends were getting louder. She was too preoccupied to hear it. To keep suspicion low, Royall only had her spy when his cards were good. This was one of those hands, though neither of them knew it at the time.
Gripping the knife with both hands, Nola wedged it toward herself, working it back and forth, the plastic tray sounding like it was about to crack. She pushed harder, her knuckles going red, until . . .
Thwip.
Just like that, the final cube popped out, sliding across the counter. Nola scooped it up, tossed it in a bowl, and grabbed it along with the pretzels and the ashtray.
“。 . . and I’ll repop you to three hundred,” Acne Steve said, tossing his chips into what had quickly become the biggest pot of the night.
“Call,” Royall said, betting the same and eyeing Nola as she reentered the living room. She knew that look. Time to go to work.
“I’ll raise to whatever Royall’s got left,” Hartley teased as Nola placed the pretzels on the side table. She was smart, taking her time before approaching the main table with the ice and ashtray. “To be honest, I wish you had some more, since I love robbing you blind.”
“How much more you wanna raise to, Norm?” Royall challenged, using the name his favorite TV private eye used when he wanted to give someone a verbal shove.
“More than you got in that piss pot,” Hartley shot back as Nola slowly rounded the table.
“I’m out,” Acne Steve said, tossing his cards, knowing the result when it got this personal.
“Me, too. Fold,” Digger said, the blue light blinking on his headset.
“Pick a number, pick whatever you want,” Royall said, reaching for his watch. “I’ll put my damn Piaget in if I have to.”
“You think we don’t know that watch is fake? C’mon, Norm,” Hartley shot back. “Steve tried to sell us the exact same piece of garbage. You wanna make shit interesting, why don’t you bet . . . I dunno . . .” Hartley’s eyes narrowed into thin slits as he flashed his own devil’s smile. “Her,” he said, eyeing Nola. “How ’bout betting her?”
“You’re a skeev,” Royall said.
“I’m not talking sexual. Just y’know, like you got here . . . housekeeper stuff. A night of housekeeper stuff. An afternoon. That’s it.”
Nola froze midstep, an ashtray in one hand, a glass of ice in the other.
“Leave her alone,” a voice called from the sofa.
They all turned toward Trey, the tenth grader, who had finally looked up from texting.
“What’d you say?” Trey’s dad challenged.
“Steve-O, tell your boy to watch his mouth,” Hartley warned.
“Get your ass in the car. Go!” Trey’s dad bellowed, using a tone Nola had never heard him use before. “Now!”
With venom in his eyes, Trey stormed toward the door, stealing a beer from the side table as he left. At the moment, though, there were bigger issues to deal with.
“I ain’t joking,” Hartley said, everyone turning back to the poker table. “I need a good housekeeper. Just for an afternoon.”
Nola stood there, the room so silent, she could hear the ice popping in the glass.
“C’mon, Royall—you’re always talking that she’s such a pain in the ass. Put your money where your fat mouth is. How good you feeling about those cards?”
87