The felt of the table and the ivory of the dice kissed, a union blessed by Lady Luck Herself. Or cursed.

“C’mon,” he roared. “C’mon!”

Kisses everywhere. The rough smack of table and dice, the sweet tang of coin hitting dish, and the soft click of lover’s lips. Blessings and curses, each one.

“Shooter hits easy six! Six is point!”

He’d been struck by a series of bad kisses for some time now. The ones he had been given fell flat, and the ones he should’ve been given never came.

But Lady Luck wasn’t going to leave him with blue balls this time. He’d pin her down, take her by the throat, and make it work. He’d have his kisses, even if he had to take them from her.

“Shooter hits easy eight!”

You bitch. You took away my girl, my job, my future. You may be taking my soul right now, but you’re not going to take away what I have. “C’mon six! Let’s go!”

“Shooter rolls Yo!”

His last dime was on that roll. All She had to do was give him a little reprieve, let him roll the damned six.

“Shooter rolls seven.”