Certified Male by Kristin Hardy

pitying look got Gwen’s back up. “Another guy competed in last year’s World Series. He pushed us all into studying up so we’d be better to practice against.”
    â€œHow’d he do?”
    â€œNot great. Fifty-fourth.”
    Roxy whistled. “Fifty-fourth out of twenty-seven hundred some-odd players is pretty damned good. You ever beat him?”
    â€œTook a couple of pots from him in our last game,” Gwen said with enjoyment. “One of them was a bluff on a pair of treys.”
    â€œNice,” Roxy said admiringly. “You might just have the chops for it. Maybe I’ll see you around. After all, we chicks got to stick together.”
    â€œDon’t we just,” Gwen murmured.
    Â 
    D EL STOOD , MIND BUZZING . H E knew what she’d be doing inside—filling out paperwork, handing over the ten-thousand-dollar stake money, getting her number. What he couldn’t figure out was why. Nina didn’t strike him as the tournament type. Then again, he didn’t know quite how to categorize her. One minute she was giving him an awkward apology, all but scraping her toe on the pavement. The next she was practically vibrating with excitement at the sight of the little hustler. Not like a woman who was intrigued or turned on, though. She’d had more of the quivering intensity of a hunting dog pointing at its quarry.
    Maybe she was right. Maybe he was so hung up on investigating stories that he was imagining things. Maybe it was all in his head.
    Then again, maybe it wasn’t.
    He waited for her to come out and fell in alongside heras she walked, her hands full of rule sheets and tournament information.
    â€œSo, I guess you made it in.” He gestured at her paperwork.
    â€œI don’t have time to talk with you right now.”
    â€œDo you know anything about how the tournament works? You don’t have a lot of time to find out.” She stopped impatiently and turned to face him, mouth open to say something. Del held up his hands. “I’m not trying to bug you,” he promised. “Have lunch with me, I can help you out.”
    She gave him an indecisive glance.
    â€œI’ll keep it to poker, I swear.”
    â€œAll right,” she said reluctantly.
    He steered her into a café and held up two fingers to the hostess. “You’re in the second half?”
    Gwen nodded. “It starts Sunday night.”
    â€œSaving the best for last.”
    The hostess led them to a table and seated them. Del opened his menu. “So, you know what you’re doing?”
    â€œWhy does everybody keep asking me?” she snapped. “I’m going to do just fine in this tournament. I might just surprise you.”
    â€œShe said with steely determination in her eyes.”
    Gwen glowered at him. “Don’t mock me.”
    â€œSorry. Bad habit. I’ve seen you play blackjack. Granted, it’s not Texas Hold ’em, but you look like you can handle yourself okay.”
    The waitress stopped for their drink order.
    â€œThanks for the vote of confidence,” Gwen said when they were done. “I’m just glad I got in.”
    â€œI’m impressed. You make a decision and you go for it. Gotta love a woman who walks around with a spare ten grand in her purse for emergencies.”
    â€œThat’s what cash advances are for,” Gwen said breezily, though the reminder of the stake money required for tournament play made her stomach clench. She dearly hoped all those years of playing poker with her grandfather were going to pay off, because otherwise she’d just tossed away a huge chunk of her future. “Sign and smile.”
    â€œAnd think about the bills later?”
    â€œI’m too busy worrying about how I’m going to spend the other nine hundred and ninety thousand of the prize money.”
    â€œAn optimist, I see.”
    â€œRemind me to gloat at you when I accept my check.”
    A