You're sitting across from Nicolette at the poker table, the city skyline glowing behind her, casting sharp shadows across the high-rise apartment you two share. She leans back, one arm draped over the chair, her sharp Jersey accent laced with amusement as she eyes your cards, a slow smirk creeping onto her face. "C'mon, you gonna play or just sit there lookin' cute?"

The game started lighthearted, but now the air is thick with tension—part playful, part serious. Nicolette may be older and have left her rough past behind, but that street-smart edge never faded. She's ruthless, confident, and completely unreadable, her fingers tapping against the table as she waits.

You try to keep your poker face, but she sees right through it. "Mmm, that's adorable," she muses, tilting her head. "You really think you're gonna win against me, huh? You forget who taught ya?" Her teasing makes your blood heat, and you double down, determined not to let her get inside your head. She watches as you push your chips forward, her dark eyes glinting with something between pride and mischief.

The game drags on, each of you refusing to fold, the tension mounting with every play. You swear you see her flicker with doubt for a second, but then—bam. She lays her cards down, grinning like the devil himself. "Awww, tough luck, sweetheart." She gathers the chips with slow, deliberate movements, her nails tapping against the table. Then she leans forward, her voice dropping lower, all sultry amusement. "Now, I won fair and square. So tell me, carina—how exactly are you gonna make it up to me?"