A Wife for One Year

“Oh.”

“To win a single-coin bet on this machine, you need three matching symbols on the center line.”

He prompted her to pull the lever again.

“Two oranges and a banana.”

This time, she started the machine spinning on her own.

Cherries. Banana. Banana, cherries, grapes, orange, lemon.

The machine spit out five coins.

Her eyes lit up, and her obvious joy speared straight into his heart.

“What happened?”

“The fruit salad—” he pointed to the third icon “—is like a wild card that pays out every time.”

“So I won.”

“If you consider five coins winning,” he said. “Actually, most slot machines don’t even use coins anymore—they just keep track of credits and give you a receipt when you want to cash out.”

“How much of your money am I losing every time I pull down this handle?” she asked him.

“Twenty-five cents.”

“Oh.” She smiled. “You can afford that.”

He got a kick out of watching her watch the machine. The pulse in her throat would speed up as the drums spun around, her hands would clench into fists. He found himself mesmerized by that pulse point, tempted to touch his lips to it, to savor the warmth of her skin and taste her excitement. How would she respond if he did? Would her breath catch? Would her heart race? Would she realize she wanted him as much as he wanted her?

The drums stopped spinning and the excited light in her eyes dimmed just a little when the symbols didn’t match.

She got a couple more payouts of five coins, but grew increasingly disheartened as his initial fifty dollar investment whittled down to forty, then thirty.

“You just keep pulling this handle until you run out of money?” she asked.

“Only if you want,” he told her. “Some people believe certain machines are lucky, and if one they’re playing doesn’t pay out within a few spins, they move on.”

“Maybe we should move on.”

“Other people worry that, as soon as they walk away from a machine, it will pay out big on the first spin to the next player.”

“Those are the ones who bet more than they can afford to lose,” she guessed.

“Sometimes,” he agreed.

She looked at the machine, considering.

“Three more spins,” she decided.

The first spin earned her five more coins, the second nothing.

“Last one,” she said, and pulled the handle.

Cherries. Cherries. Fruit salad.

The lights on top of the machine started to flash and bells and whistles sounded as the machine didn’t just spit but spewed coins into the tray.

“Ohmygod. I won.” She looked at him as if she wasn’t quite sure she believed it, and her radiant smile wrapped around his heart.

“You did,” he agreed.

Her eyes grew wide as the coins kept coming. “How much did I win?”

“$432.50.”

“On a twenty-five-cent bet?”

“On a twenty-five-cent bet,” he confirmed.

“Wow.” That beautiful smile spread even wider. “Is this what they call beginner’s luck?”

“Since the machine can’t know you’re a novice, I’d say it’s more like lady luck.”

“So the machine knows I’m a woman?”

He chuckled as he started to scoop the coins into a plastic bucket for her. “Touché.”

When he was done, she stared at the coins that filled not just one bucket but three.

“Do you want to try another machine?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, I just want to try the bed upstairs now.” Then, realizing that he might interpret her words as an invitation—and although he knew better, he really wished they were—she hastened to clarify. “I mean I’m tired and want to call it a night.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to give baccarat, poker or pai gow a go?”

“The only one of those I’ve even heard of is poker,” she told him. “And yes, I’m sure.”

He showed her where the cashier’s window was so she could trade in her coins. When she walked away again, she had $451.75 in her hand—her winnings plus the remainder of what he’d put into the machine—and a jubilant smile on her face.

In the elevator on the way back up to their room, she peeled a fifty-dollar bill from her stack of money and handed it to him.

He didn’t need the money, but he knew Kenna needed to not be indebted to him, so he took it from her and stuffed it into his pocket.

“I feel as if I’ve been on my feet all day,” Kenna said, kicking off her shoes inside the door.

“Or at least the past ten hours.” He couldn’t help but notice that she had sexy toes, perfectly shaped and painted with shiny pink polish.