Fifty Shades of Poker

I scowl with frustration at myself as I sit at the table. Damn my cards – they just won’t behave, and damn my opponents for hitting the river and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be knocking them out, making the final table, yet here I am trying to catch up with the average chip count. I must not fall any farther behind. I must not lose another pot.

Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring my game under control.

I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the pale, brown-haired girl with blue eyes too big for her face staring back at me from across the table and give up. She has the nuts every hand. My only option is to bluff my pocket threes and hope that the move seems semi-presentable.

Her name is Anastasia Spades, and I first met her when we both registered for the Grey Poker Tournament Main Event. I pushed open the door to Tournament Registration and stumbled through, tripping over my own feet, and fell head first into the office.

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