BLACKJACK CLUB - OCTOBER

The Blackjack Club on the MSS Fulfillment had been converted from a unused observation lounge on the sixth deck, and whoever designed it had committed to the bit. Felt tables, overhead pendant lights, a bar stocked with top-shelf liquor, and a stage at the far end where a jazz trio played something slow and smoky. The dress code was strictly enforced: formal wear for the first round, lingerie acceptable by round three, and by the final table, the house didn't care what you wore because you weren't going to be wearing much.

Maya adjusted the clasp on her black strapless bra and tugged at the matching thong that kept riding up. She was already down to underwear after two bad hands, and the tournament was only forty minutes old. "I hate this game," she said. "You love this game," Riley said from the chair beside her. Riley had lost her dress on the first hand and sat in a deep purple push-up bra and cheeky panties, her long brown legs crossed, her stripper heels hooked on the chair rung. She looked entirely too comfortable for someone who was one bad hand away from topless. "I love winning. I'm not winning."

Red leaned against the bar, still fully dressed in a fitted white shirt and black trousers, a glass of bourbon in her hand. She'd won every hand so far. Her stack of chips was the tallest at the table.
"You're not trying hard enough," Red called over. "I'm trying perfectly hard. The cards are conspiring against me." Topanga sat across the table in a emerald slip dress that she'd managed to keep on through three rounds, which was either luck or strategy or the fact that nobody wanted to be the one to make Topanga take her clothes off. She was sipping a martini and watching the room with the calm authority of a woman who had seen more strip games than anyone present and had stopped being embarrassed about any of it sometime during the Clinton administration.

The tournament had sixteen entrants tonight. Maya recognized a few faces from previous months, a tall woman named Petra who played aggressively and always ended up naked by round four, a quiet brunette called Suki who had an impossible poker face and a tendency to win just enough to keep her bra on until the final table. The rest were new, fresh-faced women who'd booked the cruise specifically for the Blackjack Club's reputation and were now learning that reputation was earned.

Derek, the club's regular dealer, shuffled the deck with the casual precision of a man who had seen more naked women than a gynecologist and treated it with the same clinical indifference. "Place your bets, ladies. Round four. Lose and you lose the bra." Maya looked down at her bra. It was a good bra. It did things for her small chest that gravity alone could not. She did not want to lose it.
"Two hundred," she said, pushing chips forward. "Three hundred," Riley said, grinning. "You don't have three hundred in chips." "I have two-fifty and a promise.""We don't take promises," Derek said.

"I'll vouch for her," Red said from the bar, walking over and setting her bourbon down. She took the seat beside Maya and pushed five hundred in chips to the center. "And I'll raise to five hundred."
The table went quiet. Five hundred was a lot. It was the kind of bet that said either you have an incredible hand or you're trying to bully everyone out of their clothes through sheer financial aggression. Topanga studied Red for a long moment, then pushed her own chips forward. "Call."
Maya called. Riley called. Petra called. Suki folded.

Derek dealt the cards. Maya peeked at hers. A king and a seven. Not terrible. Not great. She needed a four or less to stay under twenty-one, or she needed to trust that the dealer would bust.
Riley looked at her cards and made a face that could mean anything from "I have blackjack" to "I should have folded and kept my bra." "Hit me," Maya said. Derek flipped a three. Twenty. She held.

Riley hit. Got a ten. Busted at twenty-three. She unclasped her bra with one hand, pulled it off, and tossed it onto the growing pile of discarded clothes beside the table. Her breasts settled against her chest, her nipples tightening in the air-conditioned breeze. She didn't flinch. She'd been naked in front of these women more times than she'd been dressed. "Enjoy the show?" Riley asked the table. "Always," Petra said, her eyes lingering. Red turned over her cards. Twenty. Push with Maya. No one lost, no one won, and the pot carried to the next hand. "Convenient," Maya said to Red. "I'm a strategic player." "You're a cheat." "I'm a strategist. Cheating implies I'm doing something wrong."

The next hand dealt fast. Maya got eighteen and stood. Red got twenty and won the pot. Topanga busted at twenty-two and stood up, reaching behind her back to unzip the emerald dress. It slid off her shoulders and pooled at her feet, leaving her in a nude-colored thong and her heels. Her body was lean and toned, her breasts full and heavy, and she stepped out of the dress without ceremony, picking it up and draping it over her chair. "That dress cost four hundred dollars," Topanga said.
"And it looks great on the floor," Maya said. "You're next, short stack." "I'm aware."

Three hands later, Maya lost her bra. She unhooked it and dropped it on the pile, her small breasts bare, her nipples already hard. The air in the club was cool, and the combination of cold air and losing made her skin prickle. She covered herself for half a second out of habit, then dropped her arms. She'd been naked in front of every woman in this room. Modesty was a luxury she had abandoned months ago.

Red won the next two hands. Her chip stack was now absurd. She was playing like she had a personal vendetta against clothing. "I need air," Riley said, standing up. She grabbed her clutch from under the table and pulled out a cigarette. "I'm going to find the smoking lounge." "There's no smoking lounge on six," Derek said. "Then I'll find a balcony." "Starboard corridor, take the service exit, there's a crew deck with rail access," Petra offered, gesturing vaguely. Riley nodded and walked away from the table, topless, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Maya watched her go, her eyes tracing the line of Riley's back, the curve of her ass in the purple panties.

"She's going to get lost," Maya said. "She's a grown woman," Red said. "She can find her way back."
"She got lost in a Target once." "That was one time," Riley called from the doorway, not turning around. "And that Target had a confusing layout." Riley pushed through the service door and into the narrow corridor beyond. The noise of the Blackjack Club faded behind her, replaced by the hum of the ship's ventilation and the distant thrum of engines. The corridor was plain, industrial, lit by fluorescent tubes that made her skin look washed out. She walked past storage rooms and laundry chutes, following the signs toward the crew deck.

The service exit opened onto a narrow metal platform overlooking the stern. The night air hit her bare skin like a slap, cold and sharp and salty. She shivered, lit her cigarette, and leaned against the rail, looking out at the black water churning below. She was halfway through the cigarette when she heard music. Not the jazz from the club. Something different. Electronic, bass-heavy, muffled by walls but persistent. She looked to her left. A door she hadn't noticed, painted the same gray as the bulkhead, was propped open with a fire extinguisher. Light spilled from inside, warm and amber, nothing like the fluorescent glare of the corridors.

Riley dropped her cigarette, ground it out under her heel, and walked toward the door. The room beyond was nothing like the Blackjack Club. It was smaller, lower ceiling, with walls draped in dark velvet. A single round table sat in the center, surrounded by six chairs, five of which were occupied. The dealer sat behind the table, shuffling a deck of cards with practiced hands, and Riley stopped dead in the doorway because the dealer was Aubrey. Aubrey. Same dark hair, same sharp jaw, same green eyes that always looked like she was calculating three moves ahead. She was wearing a black dealer's vest over nothing else, her breasts bare, a thin gold chain around her neck.

She looked up when Riley walked in, and her mouth curved into a slow, surprised smile. "Riley Matthews-Hunter." "Aubrey." "You're not wearing a shirt." "I'm in a tournament upstairs. I needed air." "Well, you found something better than air." Aubrey gestured at the table. "Private game. High stakes. No cash buy-in." "What's the buy-in?" "Your remaining clothes. Winner takes everything. Including the pot." Riley looked at the pot. It was stacked with chips, yes, but also with jewelry, a room keycard, what appeared to be a small velvet box, and a pair of lacy underwear that someone had folded neatly and placed on top.

"What's in the box?" "That's the mystery prize. Nobody knows until someone wins." Riley looked at the other players. Five women she didn't recognize, all in various states of undress, all watching her with the particular intensity of people who had been gambling for an hour and needed some fresh competition. "Sit," Aubrey said. "Or go back to your tournament. But I deal a better game than Derek." Riley sat. Aubrey dealt the first hand. Riley got nineteen. She stood. The woman to her left busted. The woman across from her got twenty and won the hand. Riley lost her panties, stepping out of them and placing them on the table beside the pot. She sat back down naked except her heels, her skin prickling against the velvet chair. "Comfortable?" Aubrey asked. "I've been naked in worse places." "Name one." "Your apartment." Aubrey laughed, a genuine sound that cracked her controlled dealer's composure. "That's fair."

The second hand dealt. Riley won. She took a necklace from the pot, a delicate gold chain with a small pearl drop, and clasped it around her neck. It was the only thing she was wearing but her heels. The third hand, she won again. She took the velvet box. She didn't open it. She slipped it under her chair. "You're not going to look?" the woman across from her asked. "I'll look when I'm done winning."

Aubrey dealt faster now, her hands moving with a rhythm that Riley remembered from their Blackjack Club days back at the sorority house. Aubrey had always been the best dealer in the group, the one who could count cards without looking like she was counting cards, who could read a table in three seconds and know who was bluffing and who was genuinely clueless. Riley won the fourth hand. And the fifth. The other players were losing clothes and jewelry and dignity, and Riley was accumulating. She wasn't playing smart. She was playing reckless, standing on sixteen, hitting on fifteen and getting exactly the card she needed, like the deck had decided she was the protagonist tonight.

"You're cheating," the woman across from her said. "She's not cheating," Aubrey said. "She's lucky. There's a difference." "I don't believe in luck." "Then you don't belong at this table." The final hand. Three players left. The other two had folded, out of chips and clothes and the will to continue. Aubrey dealt. Riley got a king and a queen. Twenty. She stood. The first opponent busted at twenty-five. Naked, frustrated, she pushed back from the table and walked out. The second opponent got eighteen and stood. Aubrey turned over her hole card. Twenty. Push with Riley.

"Sudden death," Aubrey said. "One card each. Highest wins." Aubrey dealt one card to the remaining opponent. A ten. Twenty-eight. Bust. Aubrey dealt one card to Riley. An ace. Twenty-one. The room went quiet. Riley looked at the ace. Looked at Aubrey. Looked at the pot. "I believe that's mine," Riley said. Aubrey leaned back in her chair, her bare chest rising and falling, her green eyes fixed on Riley with an expression that was equal parts admiration and something hotter. "It's yours. All of it."

Riley stood, naked, her skin golden under the amber light, the gold necklace catching the glow. She gathered the pot, chips, jewelry, the keycard and picked up the velvet box from under her chair. She opened it. Inside, nestled in black satin, was a silver card. Engraved on the card: one private night, anywhere on the ship, any request honored. Riley looked at Aubrey. "Any request?" Aubrey stood and walked around the table to stand in front of Riley. She was close enough that Riley could feel the heat off her skin. "Any request." Riley slid the card back into the box and closed it. "I'll think about it." "You do that." Aubrey's hand came up and rested on Riley's hip, her thumb tracing the bone.

"For what it's worth, it's good to see you." "It's good to see you too. I didn't know you were on this ship." "I didn't know you were either. Until you walked into my game half naked and stole my pot."
"I was fully naked by the end." "Which is why you won. Clothes weigh you down. It's science." Riley laughed. Aubrey's hand was still on her hip, and Riley could feel the warmth spreading from that point of contact across her stomach, down her thighs. It had been months since she'd seen Aubrey, but some things didn't need rehearsal.

"I need to get back," Riley said. "Maya will send a search party." "Maya's here?" "Playing in the tournament upstairs. Losing, last I checked." Aubrey smiled. "Some things never change. Go. Find your way back. Come find me when you're ready to cash in that card." Riley turned and walked toward the door. She paused at the threshold. "Where do I find you?" "Ask for the Velvet Den. Anyone on crew will know." Riley nodded and stepped back into the corridor, the cold air hitting her bare skin again. She walked quickly, following the signs back to the service exit, the velvet box clutched in one hand, her heels in the other. She pushed through the door and back into the Blackjack Club.

The scene had escalated in her absence. Maya was naked, bent over the blackjack table, her small breasts pressed against the felt. Red was behind her, one hand on Maya's lower back, the other between Maya's legs, her fingers moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm that made Maya's breath come in short, ragged gasps. Topanga sat in a chair nearby, naked except for her thong, one hand inside it, her eyes fixed on Maya and Red. Petra was naked on the stage, her legs wrapped around Suki's head, Suki's mouth between her thighs, the jazz trio playing on as if nothing unusual was happening.

Riley stood in the doorway for a long moment, taking it in. Maya saw her first. "Where the fuck have you been?" she managed, her voice strained. "Found a secret gambling den in the crew quarters." "Of course you did." Maya's hips jerked against Red's hand, and she gripped the edge of the table. "Did you—oh fuck—did you win?" "I won everything." "Of course she did," Red said, her fingers curling inside Maya, making Maya's whole body tense. "She always wins."

Riley walked to the table and set the velvet box down in front of Maya's face. Maya opened one eye, looked at the box, looked at Riley. "What's in it?" "A silver card. One private night, any request, anywhere on the ship." Maya's hips stuttered. Red pressed harder, and Maya came with a sharp, bitten-off cry, her forehead dropping against the felt, her body shaking. Red held her fingers still inside Maya, letting the orgasm roll through, her other hand stroking Maya's back in long, soothing passes.

When Maya could breathe again, she lifted her head. Her eyes were glassy, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted. "Any request?" Maya repeated. "Any request," Riley confirmed. Maya looked at Red. Looked at Topanga. Looked back at Riley. "I think we need to have a very long conversation about what to ask for." "Tomorrow," Red said, withdrawing her fingers from Maya and bringing them to her lips. She tasted Maya on her skin and smiled. "Tonight, I still have chips to win." "You've won every hand tonight." "Then I'll win the afterparty too."

Topanga stood up, peeled off her thong, and dropped it on the pile of clothes. "I'm calling it. Girls' night out, officially a success." "We haven't finished the tournament," Derek said from behind the table, his voice flat. "Derek, there are two women having sex on your stage and Maya just came on your felt. The tournament is over." Derek considered this. "Fair point." Riley picked up the velvet box and tucked it under her arm. She took Maya's hand and pulled her upright, steadying her when her knees wobbled. Maya leaned against Riley, her naked body warm and loose, her breath still uneven.

"Tell me about this gambling den," Maya murmured against Riley's neck. "Tomorrow." "Tell me now." "It has Aubrey." Maya pulled back. Her blue eyes went wide. "Aubrey's on this ship?" "Dealing cards in a secret room behind the crew deck." "Of course she is." Maya's mouth curved into a grin that Riley recognized immediately. It was the grin that preceded bad decisions and excellent stories. "We're going back down there." "Tomorrow." "Riley." "Maya." They stared at each other. Red wrapped an arm around both of them, her tall frame enveloping them. "Whatever you're arguing about, save it for when we're sober." "We're not drunk."

"You're naked in a casino, Maya. You're at least situationally drunk." Topanga collected her emerald dress from the chair and held it up, considering the wrinkles. "I'm going back to my cabin. I have a spa appointment at nine." "It's two in the morning, Mom." "I'm ambitious." Red kissed Maya's shoulder, then Riley's. "Same time next month?" "Same time next month," Maya said. "Bring Aubrey next time," Topanga called from the door, her dress draped over her arm like a toga, her heels in her hand, her bare feet padding across the floor.

Riley looked at the velvet box under her arm. She thought about Aubrey's hand on her hip, the warmth of her skin, the green eyes and the slow smile. She thought about the silver card and the words any request. She looked at Maya, who was already pulling her toward the door, naked and grinning and completely unconcerned about the walk of shame through the ship's corridors. "I won a secret gambling den," Riley said. "You won a secret gambling den." "I also won a mystery box and a free night with Aubrey."

Maya stopped walking. "You won a free night with Aubrey?" "I won a free night with anyone. Aubrey just happens to be the dealer." Maya's eyes narrowed. "We're sharing that card, right?"
"Obviously." "Obviously," Riley agreed. They walked back to the suite naked, the velvet box between them, the ship rocking gently under their feet, and somewhere behind the crew deck, Aubrey shuffled a fresh deck and waited.