Page 4 of Not that Sea-Rious

Beau

B eau was out of sorts. What numbers was he supposed to play? It’d been months since he’d sat at a roulette wheel. Last time, he used Megan’s birthday, their anniversary date, his mother and father’s birthdays, and of course, his favorite number, thirty.

Some of those wouldn’t change, but anything to do with Megan… no. That would just bring bad juju. So, he experimented with his own birthday.

And lost. Figures.

The year he graduated from college. Nothing.

Switching it up, he tested his luck playing the corners and splitting numbers. More bang for his buck doing that.

Half a win. Okay, that was something. At least he could hang out a little longer on their dime.

The zeros, though. They had just as much chance of coming up as any other number on that wheel. They were only separated on the board. That was the trick. People forgot about them because they weren’t red or black and were all by their lonesome up at the top in Greenland.

A direct hit! Nice. Fitting too. That would be his bank balance when he got home from this trip after the amount of chocolate martinis he intended to consume.

He might have gotten the unlimited drink package, but it had its constraints.

Considering he planned on not spending another moment sober this weekend, he’d exceed them, but he only lived once, and he was throwing caution to the wind.

That might be the ’tinis talking.

Accepting his third for the night, he spotted a group of boisterous women headed his way. He’d seen them before. Ironic, considering this ship was filled with thousands of strangers, but these women stood out. They wore bright colors and wide smiles, and glee radiated off them.

Wait. Was that a novelty veil on top of one of their heads?

The dealer called out a number, dragging his attention back to the table.

The large glass marker landed on red thirty.

With his eyes wide, Beau attempted math in his head.

Thirty-five to one for a direct hit. Got that.

Sweet. Add seventeen to one because he split it with thirty-three, and another eleven to one because he played the three numbers on that street.

What was that for his fifteen-dollar bet?

Carry the two.

Shit! He just made over a grand.

As the dealer pushed the stack of bright-blue chips in his direction, Beau leaped to his feet, pumped his fist in the air, let out a celebratory holler, and nearly spilled his drink.

“Now this is the kind of energy we need to be around,” the woman wearing the veil announced as she approached the table with a bit of a wobble.

“That is an impressive stack,” her friend said as she joined the table.

The friend, who had short, spiked, bleached hair, tossed her card on the table.

“Can we each get fifty in chips, please? I’ll take green.”

It was then he realized the table got a bit more crowded when two more joined them. Beside him sat a woman with long dark hair loose over her shoulders and enchanting brown eyes.

“How much did you win?” one woman slurred as she dropped onto the lone empty stool. “Oh! Can I have pink?”

“No!” the lady beside him announced as she lunged toward him. “Kenny says ‘you never count your money when you’re sittin’ at the table.’”

“Kenny?” the bride asked through a hiccup. “Yellow, please.”

The brunette’s gaze bounced from person to person. Beau hadn’t a clue what she meant either, so he sat waiting for an answer like the rest of them and sipped his martini.

“Rogers. Kenny Rogers,” the brunette said as though it were the most obvious thing on the planet. “You know, the gambler?”

When she was met with a chorus of blank stares, she sighed and sat on the stool beside Beau while shaking her head.

“Never mind.” Her gaze found the dealer. “What’s left? Red? I guess that’s me.”

What just happened? He’d been enjoying an empty table, all to himself, and wham, now he was surrounded by a group of women talking about classic country music. He had to get out of here.

After he took a drink, and while the dealer was doling out chips, he considered what he’d say to exit without offending the ladies.

They seemed like a nice enough group. It wasn’t their fault he was in a shit-tastic mood.

Considering at least two of them were three sheets to the wind, there was no doubt these women probably wouldn’t think much of his departure and would go on having a good time without him.

This wasn’t the energy he should be around. He’d definitely ruin their evening considering the mood he was in.

“You want mine?” Beau offered, having picked up on the fact that the gal beside him wasn’t a fan of red. “I should cash out, anyway.”

“No, you can’t do that,” the woman with the green chips declared. “You never leave a hot table.”

“Oh yeah.” The woman wearing the veil nodded and leaned over her friends to place a boiling and clammy hand on his arm. “You have to stay. I insist .”

“She’s the bride-to-be,” the pink chip lady announced. “You have to listen to her. That’s the rule.”

“Oh my God.” The pretty woman with the red chips placed a hand on her forehead. “I’m so sorry. You’ll have to excuse my friends. We’re here for Carolyn’s bachelorette party. She and Joyce have had a bit much to drink. I totally understand if you want to leave.”

She lifted her gaze to meet Beau’s, and all of a sudden, his ass was made of cement. He couldn’t get up from that stool no matter how much he wanted to. She mesmerized him.

“Save yourself. Get out while you still can. It’s hopeless for me. I’m in the bridal party.” She winked.

Somehow, he smiled and the cloud that hung over his head dissipated. Running a hand through his hair, he leaned in closer to the beauty beside him. “But what about the rules?”

A slight hint of pink colored her cheeks when she grinned and licked her bottom lip. The sparkle in her eyes had him staring.

She pursed her lips and leaned against him. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”