Apparently that was more than Simmons' opponent could stand; he stammered a pathetic excuse and fled, leaving Erik to step into the space he'd vacated, picking up the pool cue with a little smirk.

"What sort of wager did you have in mind?"

He wouldn't normally have engaged her, but Jordan had poured enough gin into him that his judgment could be considered hazy at best— and the look of shock on Simmons' face when she realized he was addressing her was more than enough to make up for the lapse.