A blackjack dealer in Vegas took my last $400 in eleven minutes. Felt so guilt… · @A9Beacon · TwKit

@A9Beacon

A blackjack dealer in Vegas took my last $400 in eleven minutes. Felt so guilty she bought me a drink after her shift. Her name's Marisol, 29, deals at the Golden Nugget, hands faster than the cards. "You play like a man with nothing to lose." "Because I have nothing to lose." "That's the sexiest thing a broke man can say. It's also a lie. Everyone's got one thing left." Her apartment, 4 a.m., still in her dealer vest, nothing under it. She dealt me two cards face down on the bed. "Hit or stay decides who undresses who." I lost on purpose. She knew. She let me lose. She's on top, counting under her breath like she's working the table — "Soft seventeen… eighteen… nineteen…" — hips rolling slow, eyes locked on mine, reading me like a tell. "Dealer always wins," she whispered, right before she came so hard her counting fell apart. I stayed the night. I stayed the weekend. Monday morning she pressed my $400 back into my shirt pocket. "House money," she said. "Come back and lose it again Friday."

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