<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/cQ5ZPB0.jpg)</div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span class="bbc_u">Blaire Simmons</span></span><br/><span class="bbc_u">Location</span>- Phil's Poker Porker Room<br/><span class="bbc_u">Date &amp; Time</span>- April 15th, 2006. 10 PM<br/><span class="bbc_u">Tag</span>- Clint<br/><hr/><hr/><br/>"Mosquitoes and no showering? Sweet," Blaire replied with a healthy dose of sarcasm. She'd probably suck at camping and give Clint several good laughs...although they would be alone in some remote area, so it still wouldn't be all bad. Not that it mattered, though, because she didn't believe she'd lose, especially not with him being out of practice due to his lack of wheels. "And<em>when</em>I win, we're gonna hit the tattoo parlor and pick you out something pretty. I'm thinking unicorns..."<br/><br/>After ironing out the details of their bet and paying their buy-ins, the pair headed over to Blaire's assigned table and continued the little roleplay that they'd started earlier. She was perfectly aware that they were just messing around, and she also understood exactly why Clint chose to do what he did, and why there in particular. So why was Blaire left feeling so shocked and uncomfortable as her 'accomplice' walked away? It was that stupid kiss, it wasn't like usual. That was why they weren't supposed to kiss outside of sex - it was an unspoken rule!<br/><br/>Now Blaire had a dangerous instinct bubbling back up to the surface of her mind - one which she'd been repressing for a very good reason. What they had now wasn't ideal, but it was still pretty damn good, and she knew that she'd make any attempt at a real relationship crash and burn just like she always did. That was rational...but sometimes it seemed like that stupid cowboy was intentionally trying to frazzle her brain, which was usually her trick.<br/><br/>How annoying.<br/><br/>*****<br/><br/>Luckily, though, the poker tournament provided an excellent distraction from all of that unwanted awkwardness, and the blonde hadn't lost her edge. Just under two hours had passed when she showed up at the final table where Cowboy and eight others were waiting. She must have made for an interesting sight, carrying her Sky Blue martini (her second one, both of which had been payed for by one of her generous opponents) all delicately like a real lady, but with the tattoos on her bare arms fully exposed, especially the pretty big and colorful sleeve on her right arm.<br/><br/>Walking with her was some random guy holding an overflowing tray of her chips; early thirties, pretty decent looking, semi-expensive suit and watch. Nothing that Clint would feel threatened by, though he would have been good for a one-nighter if Blaire didn't have any better prospects lined up (except she did, obviously). Anyways, she'd just been stringing the guy along for the fun of it after having relieved him of his chips in the tournament, plus she figured that it would be kind of cool and intimidating to arrive with her personal little manservant carrying her spoils of war. He left shortly after depositing the goods onto the table, satisfied that he'd gotten Blaire's phone number, which he had, only he didn't know that she had no intention of taking his calls.<br/><br/>"Oh wow, what a big stack you've got there, mister!" Blaire complimented the player on her right as she sat down, tweaking the pitch of her voice and cadence of her speech to pass herself off as a bit of a bimbo who'd just ridden a wave of luck into the finals. Of course, she also said it while glancing mischievously at Clint before lowering her eyes back down to the green felt and smiling. She took another sip from her bright blue cocktail while waiting for everyone to get settled and the game to resume. The Curaçao liqueur gave it a noticeable orangy taste which would have to tide her over until later.<br/>