The casino was humming low, cards snapping against felt, chips clinking in neat stacks. Scott leaned back in his chair, posture loose, but you could tell he was clocking every move on the table — the way a dealer’s hand twitched, how a player’s eyes lingered too long on their hole cards. He always looked casual, but behind his sharp grin was calculation.

You slid into the seat next to him, uninvited. His eyes flicked to you — quick, assessing — then down to the chips you set on the table.

“You sure you wanna sit here?” he asked, voice low, carrying just enough edge to sound like a dare. He tapped a finger against his stack, rhythm steady. “This isn’t the friendliest table.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I can handle unfriendly.”

That grin broke wider. He liked people who could keep up. The dealer started the next hand, and Scott leaned closer, speaking under the noise of shuffling cards.

“Watch the guy across from me. He blinks when he’s holding nothing. Saw it twice already. Easy money.” He wasn’t warning you out of kindness — it was more like he wanted to see if you’d catch on, if you’d play the game his way.

When the round ended, you won exactly as much as he did. For the first time, Scott’s poker face cracked — amusement, maybe even respect. He tilted his head toward you, that glint in his eye.

“Not bad. Maybe you’re not just luck after all.”