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When Mike was seven, he wanted to be a Pirate. He practiced his pirate talk daily- one could never be too ready and conquered the living room daily after school.
When Mike was eight, he wanted to be a firefighter. He imagined riding around in one of those big red fire trucks, sirens blazing.
When Mike was ten he wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer. He decided that late one night when he heard his mom crying and his dad talking about money. He figured with his brain he could hurry up and become one right away so he could help.
When Mike was eleven, he became an accessory to a crime. His father became adept in using Mike’s incredible gift to “outsmart” unsuspecting people out of their money. After a short learning curve, as his dad had called it, Mike got really good at sleight of hand, the bump, and lift plus a variety of other methods of pick-pocketing.
By the time Mike was sixteen, he was living with his grandmother. His mom had lost her battle with cancer and his dad, well he got nicked on a hustle that went wrong. After that, Mike was going to live his life on the straight and narrow. He even promised his mom that before she died. And for a while he did.
For the next several years, Mike followed all the rules, worked odd jobs to help his grandmother, and was on track for law school and an honest career. But sometimes you can’t walk away from fate, and fate called Mike back into the life like a Siren’s song. When he got kicked out of law school, Mike found himself back into the “family business”. But he quickly discovered needed to up his game if he wanted to make ends meet and stay out of jail. With laser-like focus, well when he wasn’t high that is, Mike honed his skills. He moved beyond simple pick-pocketing, into the world of hustling people in pool and cards. His grandmother was not pleased.
“One day you’re going to get caught Michael, just like your father,” she’d say when he came back, after being gone for days on end.
“I won’t get caught Grammy. This is temporary; only until I find something better,” he promised, trying to ease her worry.
“That’s what your father used to say,” she’d sighed.
“I know, but I mean it. I don’t want to live this way forever. It’s just until I get enough to go back to school.”
She walked away, unbelieving. But Mike meant it. He didn’t want to end up like his father.
Mike stepped into the Atlantic City hotel, ready to try out his newly acquired skills. He had practiced his “poker face”, became comfortable with the routine of dealer switches, regulars and the like. Dressed in jeans and an NYU tee, he was the picture of a young college kid, who had no idea what he was doing. Mike sat at a blackjack table, played casually, lost more than he won (on purpose), and sipped on a beer. All the while, he eyed the room. When the next dealer came to take over, Mike got up and moved to another table. New dealer, meant new deck. There, he stepped up his game. He still lost some, but when he won, he won big. He played for a while, still eyeing his ultimate prize- the high stakes table. When the dealers switched again, Mike wandered to the bar and settled in to look for potential “marks”.
Casinos attract typically four types of people. The partiers- those looking for a fun night or weekend. The retirees- spending their pensions one coin at a time. The die-hard regulars who cash their paychecks at the cage. Then there were the power players- wheeling and dealing with cash that had more zeros at the end than anyone in his family had ever seen. Mike was just getting ready to order another beer when a man caught his eye. The stranger reeked of importance, wealth and walked in like he owned the place. He also happened to be drop-dead gorgeous. Brown hair, dark eyes, he wore a well-tailored suit that was snug in all the right places. Mike’s dick twitched, but he ignored it and continued to look for an unsuspecting target.
Thirty minutes passed and Mike still hadn’t moved. His eyes kept drifting to the beautiful man who was schmoozing at the high stakes poker tables. Mike couldn’t help himself; he was distracted. And when a seat opened next to him, he walked over to it and occupied the vacancy. That earned him a few pointed looks, but he didn’t care.
“Sure you’re up to this Junior? This is a man’s game,” a sultry voice slithered deep and low next to him.
Mike turned. The object of his apparent (if his quickly hardening dick was any indication), affection, stared at him with molten chocolate eyes. It took a moment for Mike to realize he was supposed to answer.
“I think I can hold my own,” he finally breathed out.
Those same eyes crinkled at the corners, and a small smile upturned the mystery man’s lips.
And so, they played.
Counting cards wasn’t difficult; counting cards while trying to ignore the heat coming from the man next to him, proved to be a bit more challenging. Mike was surprised to find himself not winning as much as he thought he would. It seemed every time he believed he had the right combination someone- who was he kidding, the gorgeous man next to him, would make a play that would make no sense. Not only did the moves cost Mike, but the man as well. An hour later, Mike was almost down to what he came in with- which was not much. Two hands later, (two losses later), he rose from the table with a grunt and decided to call it a night.
“Maybe it just wasn’t your night, kid.” The words were uttered flippantly.
Mike looked down at the man who was trying to hide a sly smile.
He stole a quick glance at the man’s dwindling chips. “Doesn’t look like it’s yours either,” he retorted.
“Maybe. Maybe not. But I’m not the one leaving the table.”
“Whatever dude.”
"Don't call me..."
“Ante up,” the dealer interrupted, as he attempted to move the game along.
Mike shook his head and started walking away. As he rounded the corner towards the exit, that smooth voice once again reverberated near his ear.
“You should be thanking me, you know.”
Mike turned around to see that damn smile taunting him. Mike wasn't sure if he wanted to smack him, or kiss him. He decided to stick with being angry.
“Seriously? For what?” he balked.
“For making sure you didn’t caught.”
A frisson of panic ran across Mike’s nerve endings. “Caught doing what?” he countered defensively.
“Let me buy you a beer.” The non-sequitur threw Mike briefly. Nowhere in there was an answer to his question.
“What?”
“I said, let me buy you a beer. Unless you want to continue having this conversation while security is watching us.”
“Why are they watching us?” He asked, nerves making his voice a little higher than normal.
“Well technically they are watching you, but…”
Mike’s eyes went wide, and he looked around panicked.
“Easy, now,” the man soothed.
Mike felt a hand at his elbow. They walked to the back of the bar where there was a row of booths. When the beers arrived, Mike took a careful sip, and eyes the stranger warily. Older, maybe early thirties, definitely a professional, not a cop. Mike relaxed.
“So, you going to tell me what you meant earlier?” Mike challenged remembering he was supposed to be mad.
Mike was met with a quirked eyebrow. “Trust me, I can tell when someone is trying to cheat.”
“Are you accusing me of…”
The man leaned in and whispered, “Counting cards?” And damn if that devilish smile didn’t make a reappearance. The one that had Mike staring at those plush lips with thoughts of nipping and or… Then his brain caught up.
Mike schooled his features. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh huh. I hate to tell you this, but I’m really good at calling bullshit.”
“What are you, a lawyer or something?”
“Let’s just say, I know a hustler when I see one.”
“And is that what you think I am?” Mike feigned, innocently.
“I don’t know, are you?” His tone was light, almost flirtatious and Mike felt heat creep down his spine and pool into his gut.
“Maybe,” Mike flirted back. Or maybe you’ve got me pegged all wrong.”
“I’m rarely wrong.” And the way those words came out, strong, sure, forceful. Mike couldn’t stop himself from goading him further.
“So says the man who lost money on purpose, because he thought someone was cheating.”
“I didn’t think, I knew.”
“Can you prove it?” It came out as a dare.
The man laughed. It was warm and throaty. “Are you sure you want to go up against me, one on one?”
Well, that was a loaded statement. Mike watched as he took a long pull from his beer; his eyes trapped in the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed. Hmmm…
“I’ll take that bet.”
One year later
Mike was frustrated. It shouldn’t be this damn hard, he thought. Harvey was sitting there, looking all relaxed, while Mike was still trying to figure out how to tie a simple bow tie that Harvey insisted he wear.
“How does it look?” he asked, defeated.
“Like a three-year-old tied it. Come here.”
Mike turned and tried not to squirm while Harvey deftly tied a perfect knot. When finished, he leaned in and brushed his lips softly against Mike’s. Mike moaned and deepened the kiss. But before they could go to much further, the limo stopped.
“Later,” Harvey whispered, before pecking his lips one more time. “We’re here.”
“And where’s here?”
Harvey hadn’t told him. Just laid out a tux and said to get ready. Harvey exited the limo and waited for Mike to get out. Mike looked up at the bright neon lights and groaned.
“I can’t believe you brought me here,” Mike grumbled.
“Why not? It’s where we first met.”
“You know I’m banned for like, eternity,” Mike whined.
“Not tonight. Tonight, they are willing to make an exception- as long as you don’t go near any card tables.”
Mike smiled and grasped Harve's hand, squeezing lightly. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
Harvey squeezed back. “Yes, and I love you more,” “Happy Anniversary, baby.”