Walking Disaster

entire room was frozen, and the world
silent.
    My girlfriend, who also happened to be my best friend, was the daughter of a poker legend—someone my brothers, father, and even my grandfather idolized.
    Abby’s voice brought me back to the present. “I told you guys I shouldn’t play.”
    “If you would have mentioned you were Mick Abernathy’s daughter, I think we would have taken you more seriously,” Thomas said.
    Abby peeked over at me from under her lashes, waiting for a reaction.
    “You’re Lucky Thirteen?” I asked, dumbfounded.
    Trenton stood and pointed. “Lucky Thirteen is in our house! No way! I don’t fucking believe it!”
    “That was the nickname the papers gave me. And the story wasn’t exactly accurate,” Abby said, fidgeting.
    Even amid the booming commotion from my brothers, the only thing I could think about was how fucking hot it was that the girl I’m in love with was practically a celebrity. Even better, she
was famous for something outrageously badass.
    “I need to get Abby home, guys,” I said.
    Dad peered at Abby over his glasses. “Why wasn’t it accurate?”
    “I didn’t take my dad’s luck. I mean, how ridiculous.” She chuckled, twisting her hair nervously around her finger.
    Thomas shook his head. “No, Mick gave that interview. He said at midnight on your thirteenth birthday his luck ran dry.”
    “And yours picked up,” I added.
    “You were raised by mobsters!” Trent said, smiling with excitement.
    “Uh . . . no.” She laughed once. “They didn’t raise me. They were just . . . around a lot.”
    “That was a damn shame, Mick running your name through the mud like that in all the papers. You were just a kid,” Dad said, shaking his head.
    “If anything it was beginner’s luck,” Abby said.
    I could tell by the look on her face she was bordering on feeling mortification from all of the attention.
    “You were taught by Mick Abernathy,” Dad said, shaking his head in awe. “You were playing pros, and winning, at thirteen years old for Christ’s sakes.” He looked at
me and smiled. “Don’t bet against her, son. She doesn’t lose.”
    My mind instantly returned to the fight when Abby bet against me, knowing she would lose, and have to live with me for a month if she did. All that time I thought she didn’t care about me,
and just then I realized it couldn’t have been true.
    “Uh . . . we gotta go, Dad. Bye, guys.”
    I raced through the streets, weaving in and out of traffic. The faster the needle inched up on the speedometer, the tighter Abby’s thighs clamped, making me even more eager to reach the
apartment.
    Abby didn’t say a word when I parked the Harley and led her upstairs, and still wasn’t speaking when I helped her with her jacket.
    She let her hair down, and I stood, watching her in awe. It was almost like she was a different person, and I couldn’t wait to get my hands on her.
    “I know you’re mad,” she said, her eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but it’s not something I talk about.”
    Her words stunned me. “Mad at you? I am so turned on I can’t see straight. You just robbed my asshole brothers of their money without batting an eyelash, you have achieved legend
status with my father, and I know for a fact that you purposely lost that bet we made before my fight.”
    “I wouldn’t say that . . .”
    “Did you think you were going to win?”
    “Well . . . no, not exactly,” she said, pulling off her heels.
    I could barely contain the smile that inched across my face. “So you
wanted
to be here with me. I think I just fell in love with you all over again.”
    Abby kicked her heels into the closet. “How are you not mad right now?”
    I sighed. Maybe I should’ve been mad. But I just . . . wasn’t. “That’s pretty big, Pidge. You should have told me. But I understand why you didn’t. You came here to
get away from all of that. It’s like the sky opened up. Everything makes sense, no w.”
    “Well, that’s a relief.”
    “Lucky Thirteen,” I said, grabbing the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head.
    “Don’t call me that, Travis. It’s not a good thing.”
    “You’re fucking famous, Pigeon!” I unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down around her ankles, helping her to step out of them.
    “My father
hated
me after that. He still blames me for all his problems.”
    I yanked off my shirt and hugged her to me, impatient to feel her skin against mine. “I still