The River

Driven - 167 words
Lindsey Thompson

Her legs were crossed beneath the table, short skirt clinging to her smooth thighs as she tapped her free foot to the invisible rhythm of the music circulating unyieldingly in her mind. Her soft fingertips caressed the red patterns on slick cards. She licked her lower lip slightly, and smiled. She knew all the men envied how she touched the cards, looking wantingly at them and at her.  

"Jamie," one of them called, "your bet."  

She glanced once more at the flop, flicking her cards as though drumming her fingers. Her smile never faltered. "200," she replied. She casually tossed the chips in, like she didn't need them or miss them once they left her hand. 

"You're bluffing." He repositioned his trucker hat, glaring at her innocent expression and pseudo-empty smile. "I'll call." The others followed suit. 

Her smile widened. She knew they would underestimate her prowess. Male pride. Their Y chromosomes and lustful pockets made them fools. They were always driven to conquer.

"Here comes the river."