#waspwrites

College life is a lot more fun than people hype it up to be.

Sure, classes are stressful, and those oh-so saddening student loans are definitely going to bite you in the ass later. But you’re young. Far too young to worry about what the future holds. That’s tomorrow-you’s problem, as you like to say.

Right now, your problem is the casino.

Giggling, loud music, and overlapping conversations assault your ears. The smell of vomit and fruity drinks mixes with sweat as bodies shove past you, slot machines chiming endlessly while bouncers escort clearly wasted people toward the exits. Maybe adulthood isn’t as glamorous as advertised.

You weave through arguing couples and shouting men until you reach the card pit. Rows of small tables crowded with blackjack, poker, and other games you only half recognize.

Most of them blur together… until one catches your eye.

At a lonely folding table sits a girl with long teal pigtails.

Not a proper felt table, not a dealer’s booth, just a flimsy table like you’d see at a kid’s lemonade stand, plopped in the middle of the casino like she set it up illegally and no one bothered to stop her.

“Hey there, old man!” she chirps, shuffling a deck of… Uno cards. “Come test your luck! My table’s gettin’ soooo lonely~”

You huff at the obvious taunt and pull up a chair.

Up close, she looks… deceptively young. No older than ten. Short, soft-faced, with round cheeks and a mischievous smile that makes her look far more innocent than she probably is. The look is doing little to convince you that she’s allowed to be here.

Winning Uno against a little girl? Easy money.

“How much if I win?” you ask.

“How much if I lose?” she shoots back, ten times smugger as she deals out fourteen cards between you.

You lift your hand to your chest, confident. Not a great spread, but decent enough - a range of colors and a trusty plus-four.

“I’ll start small,” you say, placing down a red nine. “Ten bucks.”

“I’ll do you one better, cutie.” She matches it with a yellow nine, grin sharpening. “Win this round and you get a night with me.”

Your face heats instantly.

Now that you’re really looking at her… yeah. She’s cute. A small body, albeit with no visible curves, but you weren't one to objectify. Adorned in a simple, oversized button-up slipping off one shoulder, revealing a portion of skin so smooth, so soft and inviting, begging to be marked up— No— what were you thinking? You’re here to win big, not hook up with some card dealer.

“No, uh… I’m fine,” you mutter.

When you look back down, you realize your hands have been moving on autopilot.

Four cards left.

In the center: a wild.

“Your loss, loser,” she hums. “Blue.”

You groan and draw. No blues.

“Already losing?” she laughs. “First time playing?”

“Everyone’s played Uno before.”

“Mmm. You don’t say.”

Something brushes your shin. You freeze.

Glancing down, you catch her socked foot nudging yours. Not quite reaching your ankle, just enough to be deliberate. Your gaze drifts up before you can stop yourself: knees, thighs, the ribboned satin garter hugging her leg where a folded bill peeks out.

“Uno~” she sings, fanning herself with her last card.

You snap upright, flustered, and stare at your hand. A yellow four. One blue six.

Pick up and lose… or play and pray. Though, now that you think about it, you two hadn’t set a price yet. What does she win?

“…You’re cheating,” you mutter. “You had, like, five cards.”

“All’s fair in love and war, old man.” She smiles sweetly. “That’ll be ten bucks.”

She flips down a yellow eight.

Victory.

Triumphant, she grabs a juice box from beside the table and takes a slow sip, eyes never leaving yours as her tongue circles the straw. You shudder and hand over the bill.

“How old are you, anyway?”

“Old enough to kick your ass in Uno.” She giggles, tucking the money neatly into her thigh garter. “Another round? I’ll give you sixty.”

Sixty dollars.

Anyone would take that.

“You’re on.”

You watch as she finishes the juice box and tosses it into a nearby bin before shuffling again, quietly whistling along to the remix blasting from a speaker overhead. The bass vibrates through the table, through your chair, through your bones.

Your eyes drift to her lips.

Soft. Pink. Heart-shaped.

God. If you were a man with no morals—

“Oooooorder up!” she sings, snapping you back to reality as she deals.

This hand is worse than the first. Mostly yellow. No specials.

“Was the first loss not enough for you, old man?” she gasps dramatically. “Wait, don’t tell me - you’re a masochist, aren’t you? You love being humiliated on purpose?”

“I’m… not that old,” you mutter, setting down a red two.

She immediately slaps three plus-fours onto the pile.

“Counter argument!”

“…That’s not even— it’s way too early for that!”

She taps her chin in mock thought before pushing the deck toward you. “Mmm, I don’t remember a rule saying I can’t.”

Leaning forward, she lets her shirt ride just high enough to be distracting, then grabs the discarded Uno box from the bin and sets it between you.

“Rules are in there somewhere~ Feel free to check, mister smarty pants.”

You don’t.

Rounds blur together.

You lose because you miss her last card while staring at her hair. You lose because you mishear her over the music and “accidentally” pick up two. You lose because at some point she starts ordering drinks for you, and you keep mindlessly finishing them.

At some point, you stop counting the money.

“Well! That was fun, loser!” she suddenly announces.

You blink, dazed, as she stands and stretches, slipping her shoes back on, not before wiggling her toes at you in what can only be described as an attempt at flirting.

“I’m here on Thursdays,” she chirps. “And I’d looooove to rob your ass blind again~”

She leans down, small hand resting lightly on your knee, your faces inches apart.

“Maybe next time,” she whispers, “I can show you what else these hands are good at.”

With a giggle and a wink, she’s gone.

You’re left with a terrible hand of cards, an embarrassingly warm face, an empty wallet, and the sudden realization that you probably belong on some kind of list.