“Fifty?” Danny stares at me. “You can barely get a bet on a table for that. You need three hundred, at least.”

“I’m not spending three hundred!” I say in horror. God, gambling’s expensive. I mean, you could get a really nice skirt for three hundred dollars.

“Well, I bought five hundred’s worth earlier,” says Danny, his eyes gleaming. “So I want to get going.”

“Five hundred?” I gape at him.

“I’ll make ten times that much, you wait and see. I’m feeling lucky tonight.” He blows on his hands. “Lucky fingers.” His glee is infectious, and as we turn to survey the room, chips in our hands, I can’t help feeling thrilled. And terrified. Both.

I’ve never been anywhere like this. Even the air is infected with gambling. You can practically sense it in people’s breath as you walk past the tables, a kind of heightened, tense feeling, like when you’re in the queue outside a sample sale. All around I can hear roars and exclamations from tables as customers win or lose, mixed with the clicking of chips and the clinking of cocktail glasses on trays held by skimpily dressed waitresses. And all the time, the continual background bleeping of the machines.

“What shall we play?” I demand. “Roulette?”

“Blackjack,” says Danny firmly, and ushers me toward a big table.

It all looks so grown-up and serious and real. As we slide into a pair of empty seats at the table, no one even looks up to say hello. It’s a bit like sitting at a bar, except the bar is covered in fabric, and instead of handing out drinks, the croupier is dealing out cards. There are two elderly men at the table and a girl in a tuxedo and a sparkly trilby, who looks very bad-tempered.

“I don’t know how to play!” I whisper in a panic to Danny.

At least…I sort of know how to play. It’s the same as twist, isn’t it? I play twist with Mum and Dad every year at Christmas. But are there special rules in Las Vegas?

“Easy,” Danny says. “Put down some chips. Twenty dollars.” He takes the chips from my hand and places them firmly in a circle on the table. The croupier is a Japanese-looking girl and she barely acknowledges my chips, just waits till everyone has bet, then deals out the cards.

I’ve got a six of hearts and a six of spades.

“Twist,” I say loudly, and everyone stares at me.

“You don’t say ‘Twist,’ ” says Danny, glancing at my cards. “You want to split.”

I don’t know what that is, but I’ll trust Danny.

“OK,” I say boldly. “Split.”

“Don’t say ‘Split,’ ” mutters Danny. “Put your extra chips here”—he points at the table—“and make a ‘V’ with your fingers.”

“OK.” I follow his guidance, feeling suddenly very cool and professional. The dealer separates my two cards and deals again.

“Oh, I see!” I exclaim as she gives me an eight of clubs and a ten of hearts. “I have two piles now! I’m bound to win!”

I look around the table, watching as everyone plays. This is actually quite fun.

“Becky, you’re up,” murmurs Danny. “Everyone’s waiting.”

“Oh, right.” I peer at my cards. One pile totals fourteen and the other totals sixteen. What should I do? Twist or stick? Er…My mind flips backward and forward, undecided.

“Becky?”

“Yes, give me a second….” God, this game is hard. I mean, it’s really hard. How do I decide? I close my eyes and try to channel the betting gods. But they’re clearly on a tea break.

“Becky?” prompts Danny again.

Everyone at the table is frowning at me. Honestly. Don’t they realize how difficult this is?

“Ummm.” I massage my brow. “I’m not sure. I just need to think….”

“Ma’am?” Now the croupier is looking impatient. “Ma’am, you need to play.”

Argh. Gambling is so stressy! It’s like trying to decide whether to buy a marked-down coat in the Selfridges sale, when there might be a better one at Liberty, but if you leave this one, it might get snapped up by someone else….

“What shall I do?” I appeal around the table. “How do you all stay so calm?”

“Ma’am, it’s gambling. You just make a choice.”

“OK, twist,” I say at last. “Hit. Whatever. On both of them. Ooh, shall I double down?” I turn to Danny. I don’t know what double down is, but I’ve heard it in films, so it must be a thing.

“No,” he says firmly.

The croupier deals a nine and a ten, finishes the round, and scoops my chips toward her.

“What?” I say in bewilderment. “What just happened?”

“You went bust,” says Danny.

“But…is that it? Doesn’t she even say anything?”

“No. She just takes your money. And mine too. Bummer.”

I stare at the silent croupier, feeling a bit affronted. There should be more ceremony to gambling, I decide. Like when you buy something expensive and they hand it to you in a nice bag and say, Good choice!

In fact, I reckon shops beat casinos full stop. You spend the same amount of money, but in shops you get stuff. I mean, look, I’ve sat on a stool for about five seconds and I’ve spent forty dollars, and I’ve got nothing.

“I’ll have a pause,” I say, sliding down off my stool. “Let’s get a drink.” I check my phone and see a new text. Luke’s on his way.

“Sure,” agrees Danny. “So, are you addicted to gambling yet, Becky?”

“I don’t think so,” I say, prodding my feelings. “Maybe I’m not a natural gambler after all.”

“You lost,” says Danny wisely. “Wait till you start to win. That’s when you can’t stop. Oh, hey, Luke.”

I look up to see Luke striding toward us through the casino, his dark hair glossy under the lights and a confident set to his chin.

“Danny!” He claps Danny on the back. “Have you thawed out yet?”

“Don’t joke.” Danny shudders. “It’s still too raw to talk about.”

Luke meets my eye, and I shoot him a tiny grin. The thing about Danny is he takes himself very seriously. But he’s so sweet, you just kind of go with it.

“So, Becky, have you made our fortune yet?” asks Luke.

“No, I’ve lost,” I say. “I think gambling’s rubbish.”

“You haven’t gotten started yet!” says Danny. “Let’s hit another table.”

“Maybe,” I say, but don’t move. I’m still not convinced by this whole gambling lark. If you lose, then that’s crap, obviously. And if you win, then that’s great, but you might get addicted.

“Don’t you want to, Becky?” Luke looks at me curiously.

“Kind of. Except…what if I do start winning and get hooked?”

“You’ll be fine,” says Luke reassuringly. “Just decide on a strategy before you begin and stick to it.”

“What kind of strategy?”

“Like: I’ll gamble for this long, then stop. I’ll spend this much, then walk away. Or simply ‘quit while you’re ahead.’ What you should never do is throw good money after bad. If you lose, you lose. Don’t try to bet yourself back into winning.”

I’m silent for a moment, processing all this. “Right. OK.” I look up at last. “I have a strategy.”

“Great! So what do you want to play?”

“Not blackjack,” I say firmly. “It’s a stupid game. Let’s play roulette.”

We head to an empty roulette table and sit down on the high chairs. The croupier, a bald guy in his thirties, at once says, “Good evening, and welcome to my table!” with a twinkly smile, and I already like him better than that last croupier. She was a total misery. No wonder I lost.

“Hi!” I smile back and put a single chip on red, while Luke and Danny opt for black. I watch, mesmerized, as the roulette wheel spins round. Come on, red…come on, red….

The ball clatters into a pocket, and I blink at it in astonishment. I won! I actually won!

“That’s my first ever win in Las Vegas!” I tell the croupier, who laughs.

“Maybe you’re on a lucky streak.”

“Maybe!” I put my chips on red again and focus on the table. It’s quite a sight, the spinning wheel. It’s almost hypnotic. We’re all staring at it, unable to draw our eyes away, until it finally slows and the ball falls into a pocket….

Yes! I won again!

—

OK. Roulette is the most excellent game in the world. I don’t know why we ever wasted our time on that stupid blackjack. It’s half an hour later and I’ve won so many times, I feel like the gambling goddess. Luke and Danny have both kept just about even, but I’ve accumulated a massive great pile of chips, and I’m still going strong.

“I’m brilliant at this game!” I can’t help gloating as I win yet another stack of chips. I take a swig of margarita and survey the table, pondering my next move.

“You’re lucky,” Luke corrects me.

“Luck…talent…same thing…”

I take all my chips, concentrate for a moment, then put them on black. Luke slides some chips onto odd and we all watch, rapt, as the wheel spins round.

“Black!” I whoop as the ball clatters onto ten. “I won again!”

Next I put my chips on black and then red, then red again. And somehow I keep on winning! A group of guys on a stag night come over, and the croupier tells them I’m on a winning streak, and they all start chanting, “Beck-ee! Beck-ee!” every time I win. I can’t believe I’m doing so well. I’m charmed!

And you know what? Danny was right. Gambling is totally different when you’re winning. I’m in the zone. The rest of life has disappeared. All I can see is the roulette wheel, blurring as it spins around and then settling down…and I’ve won again.

One of the stag guys, called Mike, taps me on the shoulder. “What’s your method?”

“I don’t know,” I say modestly. “I just concentrate, you know. I kind of channel the color.”

“You a regular?” asks someone else.