“Draw,” she said sweetly.
You had one card left: a nine of spades. If you played it, you’d win. But she had three cards hidden behind her thigh, and the look on her face said I know something you don’t .
You drew. And drew. Finally, you played a seven on a seven, but by then she’d slapped down her last card—a jack of spades.
The pile between you was a graveyard of mismatched suits. You drew a two of clubs. Played it. She played a five of clubs. You played a jack. She played an eight—spades.
You played the nine.
You sat in your boxers. She still had her tank top and panties. And that one stubborn earring.
“Deal,” you said.