By Jennifer Goodwin

You may think you're a good bluff, but how do you know someone else isn't pulling the same wool over your own eyes? From the pocket cards to the showdown, all's fair in love and poker.

I don’t know how to go about becoming the other woman. The mistress. The home wrecker. I honestly wouldn’t know where to start or where to even go once I had the start figured out. I’m just not that kind of girl.

So when I tell you that I’ve found myself in the position of the other woman on more than one occasion, don’t think I know anything about the process of getting there. Don’t for a second assume that I could even begin to explain what goes into the job. I couldn’t. The rules, the games, the flirtations, the code of conduct — I can’t, and don’t, understand the lot of it. What I do know is how to play poker.

It starts with a 52-card deck and enough chips to go around. The dealer deals, first one card to every one at the table, then a second, face down. These are your pocket cards. They are your own, and they’re the only advantage you’ve got, the only things separating you from the other players. Well, them and how good you are at keeping a straight face.

“Now we bet.” He said it to every one, but he was looking at me. He’d been looking at me pretty much all night, but I was doing my damndest not to think anything of it. James had been a little weird ever since I’d first met him, about a month before, and he was especially weird where I was concerned.

His stare continued. I let it slide, though I secretly reveled in the attention. I blushed all over the inside of my cheeks; God knows I’d had a crush on James since we’d first spoken, but I was not about to let anyone catch on to the fact.

My poker face should be legendary. A good poker face is key in this game.

“Betting always starts to the left of the dealer,” he continued. James turned his head and looked at his fiancée, Adrianne. Her face contorted in momentary thoughtfulness; then she put two blue chips into the center pot. I did the same. And then the fourth player, the reason all of us were there to begin with, Rachel, completed the round by tossing her own chips haphazardly at the middle of the coffee table we all circled. I’d officially begun my first game of Texas Hold ‘Em.

My foray into both poker and adultery started the summer after my twentieth birthday. I was staying with my family back in my hometown for those three months and was bored out of my mind. Luckily, there was Rachel. She was my best friend and a handful all by herself. We managed to keep each other entertained most days and nights with idle chatter, obsessive coffee drinking, and pissing contests in the form of drawn out billiards games at the local pool halls. That summer she’d moved into a new apartment with a soon-to-be-married couple. I didn’t know it at the time, but this would be the root of all my trouble.

Sometimes I look back on it and blame my boredom for the events that unfolded there. Sometimes I blame Rachel. Sometimes, James. Often, myself. But this is the game, and these are the cards you’re dealt. These are your pocket cards. They’re your own and they’re the only advantage you’ve got. Them and how good you are at keeping a straight face.