“Not really, but if you’ve never bet before, you won’t know the right lingo and the tellers tend to get annoyed at the newbies.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want that.”
“Trust me, no one wants that,” Mac affirms as he looks at Alana’s picks and frowns.
“Is something wrong?” she asks naively.
“No, it’s just these are all long shots. It’s a tough bet.”
“The challenge is what makes it worthwhile,” she responds as she slips off the stool, glancing back at me as she follows Mac to the betting booth.
As I watch her walk away, I suddenly get the feeling she’s going to be the biggest challenge of my life.
I never take my eyes off her as Mac gives her a quick tutorial in horse betting. When they return, Alana is holding a little white ticket in her hand.
“I get the name now,” she muses.
“Name?”
“The Exacta Box. It’s a type of bet, and the bar is a little wooden box.”
“She’s a quick study, I’ll give her that,” Mac notes as the bell goes off, starting the last race. He stands up, and like always slaps the program against his leg as the horses speed around the track. “Get up! Get up!”
“This is educational,” Alana comments, finding amusement at Mac’s expense.
“He gets a little amped up, but he’s a good guy.”
“He seems like it.” Alana leans against the bar with her hip. “Are you?”
I bend sideways, my arms crossed, a bar rag hanging over one shoulder. “Yes, and I really hope you’ll give me a chance to show you.” I look into her eyes, but all I can see is my own reflection in her lenses.
“Holy fuck!” Mac screams startling us. Alana and I both look over at him. “She won! Holy fuck, she won!”
“What?” I glance over at the monitor, and sure enough, Alana’s three horses came in.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you just won a thousand bucks!”
“Not me. It was Ryan’s money,” she contests.
“You picked the horses,” I argue.
“Look, share it, split it, burn it for all I care, the point is you won! Talk about beginner’s luck.”
I’ll be damned.
Mac and Alana cash out their winnings while I close up the bar.
“Alana, it was nice to officially meet you.” Mac bows. He’s such a tool. “But work is calling.”
“You too.” She giggles.
I clasp his hand. “Later, bro.”
“Next time,” he speaks over his shoulder as he ambles away, “Alana does all the picks.”
Then he’s gone.