Bad Bet
Joanne Faries
“You look so debonair,” she slurred her words. I saw her earlier out of the corner of my eye. She wore a tight fitting Prince t-shirt, black jeans, and high heels - a look that subtly enflamed every guy in the room.
 
I took a sip of my martini, weighing my words. After all, she dated Gino Martelli. Yeah, it was 1999, but for that family, things ran old school. You didn’t mess with their dames. “Thanks, darling. I’m trying to class up the joint.” We viewed a sea of bodies swilling beer in logo t-shirts, baggy jeans, and sneakers.
 
Caroline Belton. She was pissing off Daddy by consorting with Martelli, while she earned her Ivy degree. There was danger in every curve, including the smile she flashed at me. “Do you have real gin in your room? Not this rot gut, Trey.” She knew my name. I nodded assent and led the way.
 
I stayed silent, suave moves with a drink shaker. She loosened my tie. I took off my jacket, slowly folded it over a chair. “What’s your game?” I asked.
 
“New Friday night friend,” she teased.
 
I turned on some jazz, excused myself, and then came out to find her on my desktop clicking away.
 
“Oh Trey. You thought you could steal Gino’s sports book with your fancy college programming?”
 
I’d been played. This rich kewpie doll had brains, knew bytes. She kissed my cheek farewell. I slumped in front of a blank screen.

First published: August 2015
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