For all the laughter and drinks shared that night, this was the moment I had been waiting for.
The cards were dealt, the bets placed, and as the first rays of dawn began to creep through the grimy windows, I knew I had already won.
"Fold," Jones was the first to back out.
"Fold," Mark followed next.
Only Lyle, the unofficial leader of the trio, remained by the time the second last card was dealt on the table.
In my hand were two cards. An ace of spades and two of diamonds.
On the table were four cards.
A seven of hearts.
A king of clubs.
An eight of clubs.
And an ace of hearts.
Lyle's smirk was back, curling at the edges of his lips.
His fingers tapped lightly on the table, drumming out a rhythm only he could hear.
And his confidence had a weight to it.
