Free Red Queen by Christopher Pike Page B

got twenty-two. As the player, you’re required to try to win your money back.”
    â€œI told you, I’m tired.”
    â€œAnd I told you, in red queen every bet counts.”
    â€œSo the money I’ve just lost—you’re going to keep that?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen why did you give it to me in the first place?”
    â€œI gave it to you so you could afford your college tuition. But as a dealer, playing red queen, I’m required to keep the money and give it to . . . I mean, I just have to keep it. Those are the rules.”
    I acted bored. “Fine. Deal.”
    â€œPlace your bet on the table first.”
    â€œAll right.” I slapped down two grand. “Deal, Mr. Dealer.”
    He dealt. I got seventeen. He was showing a queen of diamonds.
    â€œI’m screwed,” I muttered.
    â€œNot necessarily. Remember, taking a hit at seventeen in this game is like hitting sixteen in blackjack.” He paused. “The book says you should do it.”
    â€œBarely.” I paused, convinced he knew what card was coming next. “Are you telling me to hit?”
    â€œI can’t give you any advice.”
    â€œYou did before.”
    â€œNot in this game.”
    He was acting awfully weird, I thought.
    â€œHit me,” I said impatiently.
    He hit me with a five—twenty-two. He turned over his hole card. He had a king of jacks—twenty-one. He had lost and I had won. I got my two grand back plus an extra two thousand.
    â€œWho do you have to give it to?” I asked as we began to clean up. The ice cream was melting and the cakes had begun to look sad. I hated to send them back, though. Then I remembered he had a full-size fridge.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” he asked.
    â€œYou began to say you were required to give the money to someone. Then you stopped and said something else.”
    â€œI’m sorry, I don’t remember.”
    I touched his arm. “Russ.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou’ve been great tonight. The perfect gentleman. Please don’t ruin it now by lying to me.”
    He stared at me. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you who I would have given the money to. But it’s not an issue because you won back what you lost. So can we just leave it at that?”
    I smiled. “You don’t play fair. You know it’s impossible for a girl to get mad at a guy who just gave her a hundred grand.”
    He stood and came around the table and gently put his hands on my shoulders. I say gently because his approach was totally nonthreatening. He didn’t try to kiss me until I gave him the hint by tilting my head back. He turned his own head slightly to the side, so I didn’t have to strain my neck to match his height. Then his lips were on mine and they were not normal lips. They were perfect lips, and only Jimmy was supposed to have those.
    I felt myself falling as he kissed me harder, and I fought to keep from going off the ledge, but it was no use. By somestrange magic we were in the dining room one moment and in his bedroom the next. The lights were off but the window curtains were pulled back and the kaleidoscope of colors from the Strip played through the open glass and into my brain.
    It seemed as if his eyes turned purple, orange, and green, while his skin—I must have pulled off his shirt—remained a burning red. His strong hands were on my breasts, outside my dress, and then we both began to undo my buttons, so fast, so furiously, that I started to hyperventilate.
    I was light-years beyond turned on. We fell on the bed and I felt I would explode. All thoughts of safe sex were washed away. My body wanted his body so bad I honestly felt I would die if he didn’t make love to me.
    He took off my dress. I tore off his pants.
    He removed my underwear. I ripped off his.
    I pulled off his watch and threw it away. I wanted nothing in my way. But then something surreal happened. I