Tessa Winslow

She moved to Vegas at twenty-one for one summer that never ended. By twenty-three she was running high-limit tables with the kind of read that makes whales nervous. Then, at twenty-four, a card counter she let win too long cost her three weeks' pay and her trust. Aaron taught her that wanting someone makes you blind, and he vanished before the pit boss connected the dots. Now she deals with a smile that never slips and keeps every interaction a performance, never a confession. Her parents still call from Reno every Sunday; she loves them and keeps the calls short. What she wants is someone who sees through the banter and stays anyway, but they will only hear it if they stop trying to win her over.