Holding Aces

by Nikki Groom

  I’m going to Vegas.

  After three hours on the road, I finally pull into Las Vegas. I’d lived fairly nearby in Boulder City for quite a few years and had come here occasionally, but it wasn’t a place I’d frequented. Aaron had been taken here by the boys for his Bachelor Party, although he had remained tight-lipped about what went down that weekend. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

  I take a deep breath and remind myself why I’m here.

  Move on.

  Move forward.

  I follow Lottie’s directions to the hotel. It’s a huge hotel with beautiful fountains outside and a gleaming glass frontage. There is sparkling gold lettering above the entry that reads ‘The Kingdom’ and I momentarily wonder if they send someone up there to polish it every day it’s that shiny. The valet takes my car and a bellhop greets me at the door, taking my case and walking me to the reception area. It’s stunning. The floors are highly polished marble as is the main reception desk, and there are huge arrangements of bright green foliage and pure white fresh flowers. Everywhere you look there are subtle accents of gold—the desk has a gold trim. The tall ornate pedestals either side have gold flourished indentations.

  I turn my attention to the friendly receptionist. I’m just about to speak when I hear a familiar squeal and I’m tackled from behind by a five foot redhead who has her arms wrapped around my neck and is squeezing me so hard I might pass out.

  She lets go and bounces in front of me. “I’m so freaking happy to ...” Her beaming smile freezes and drops as her brows knit into fierce hard lines and her tone changes to angry. “What the fuck happened to your face? Talk ...” she says, putting her hand on her hip.

  I smile at her softly. “Can I get out of these clothes first? Then we’ll go get a drink … please.” I don’t want to discuss this right here, and I do really want to freshen up.

  “Fine. Come on, I’ll see you up to your room.”

  My room is on the second floor and is beautiful. It has floor to ceiling windows, which are dressed in crisp white drapes with a gold trim. It’s simple, but elegant and not overdone. I leave my case in the bedroom where the colors of white and gold are carried through, and I freshen up in the marble bathroom before Lottie and I head back downstairs to find an outside table at one of the bistros. We are served immediately, ordering drinks and a light lunch.

  “Okay, spill it,” Lottie says, putting her elbows on the table and clasping her hands under her chin.

  “It’s not really that bad,” I say, waving my hand as if to prove my statement is true.

  “You always were a crap liar.”

  And just like that, the brave face I have managed to put on for several very long years starts to fall away. “It’s all such a mess.” My words come out on a whisper, not wanting to really acknowledge how much of a disaster everything is, but knowing I have to get it all out in the open. I couldn’t tell my mom without hurting her, but I know Lottie is strong enough to handle it.

  Her hand gently covers mine, and I feel my throat aching with all the things I want to say, but I don’t know where to begin.

  “Start from the beginning, babe. I have all day ...”

  So I tell her everything, from the day I fled Boulder City to this moment here and now. The elephant that has been sitting on my chest is lifted, and the hurt and pain I feel lessens.

  “So does he know where you are, this Aaron?” Lottie curls her lip as she says his name. She might be small, but she can be pretty fierce.

  “No.”

  “And he hasn’t tried to contact you since you left? I mean, you are his wife.”

  “I know, but seeing as he married a fictional person, I’m not even sure that’s correct.”

  “Are you going to let him know that you’re not going back? I mean, you’re not going back, are you?”

  “No! I don’t plan on going back, but I don’t plan on telling him anything either. How would I explain all of this shit? I disappeared once, and I can do it again.”

  “I don’t want you to disappear. I’ve missed you.”

  I nod gently, reciprocating her feelings. “I just don’t know where to go from here.”

  “We’ll figure something out. I know people, who … know people.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You need help?” I nod. “Well, I’ll help. You need info, I know just the guy. If it means keeping my best friend safe, then I’ll pull out all the stops.”

  “Thanks, Lottie. I’m sorry I didn’t come to you before. I just couldn’t drag you into it all like that.”

  “Look, I know why you did it, but you’re my friend, my best friend. Actually, you’re more like a sister to me, so no more going it alone, okay?” She makes me laugh by following her mushy shit as she’d call it with a stern voice and a telling off.

  “Okay, now enough of my drama. I want to hear about you. Your boyfriend owns this awesome place?”

  “Noooo, my boyfriend’s brother.”

  “Tell me more.” I lean forward, bumping her shoulder with mine.

  We continue to chat, eat and laugh. It’s great to do “normal” but before I know it the day has run away with us and Lottie has to go to work in one of the local bars. I leave her in the foyer with a tight hug and a promise to call tomorrow to formulate some kind of plan. I don’t know what she has in mind, and I have no idea where to begin, but it feels like it might all be okay. Loneliness is hard on the mind when you have so many obstacles in your way, but when you have a friend like Lottie who is willing to hold your hand the whole way through, it suddenly feels easier. It actually feels possible to make some kind of sense out of this jumble I call my life so far.

  I make my way to the elevator, and although my mind feels lighter, my legs feel heavy. The last twenty-four hours have exhausted me and my head is racing with all kinds of thoughts and possibilities. The ding sounds on the elevator, bringing me back to reality from my daydream and when the doors open, I instinctively step forward, my feet thinking before my brain, and walk straight into the person exiting. My hands fly up to correct myself, landing on a hard, wide, chest, and I look up to apologize.

  Time stops.

  I take in the features of the very cute guy in front of me. Wrong. Cute is not the word I’d use to describe him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this kind of handsome and I lived in freakin’ LA. This guy is not botoxed or surgically sculpted, but he is chiseled—all natural. There’s something … just something ...

  His hands grasp my shoulders to steady me, strong but gentle at the same time. He must be about six foot two as he stands a head above me, and is dressed in a slate gray suit, with a crisp white shirt which is unbuttoned twice, giving me just a peek of his flesh at my eye level. As my gaze slowly travels upwards, I notice his dark hair is damp and falls gently across his forehead.

  His lips curl into a sexy little grin, and that simple movement breaks the trance-like state I seem to have put myself in. I blink twice and shake my head.

  That. Was. Ridiculous.

  “My apologies, miss …?” he asks huskily. The vibration in his voice ripples through my body and down to the tips of my toes. Every follicle reacts by standing on end and my skin tingles.

  “Uh … Jamesson. Miss Jamesson,” I manage to stutter, earning a low chuckle from him. I give him a nervous smile before I side step to let him pass, but he doesn’t let me move away from him as easily as I would have liked. He makes it almost torturous instead by sliding his hands down my arms, and letting his thumbs trace the inside of my elbows, finally breaking contact when he gets to the very tips of my fingers.

  It’s only then that I can breathe, and my brain returns to some kind of normalcy. For a moment, I question my sanity; I've never had someone make me feel so mesmerized and so nervous at the same time. Clearly I’m tired, possibly hormonal, and definitely emotional. That’s the only explanation I can come up with.

  I force my feet to scuttle forward and stop just inside of the elevator, pre
ssing the button to my left repeatedly with my back still facing the door. Wanting so badly to turn around, but not actually being able to let myself, I continue to face the back of the elevator, head down, willing the doors to shut and get moving. He’s probably just one of those Vegas playboys who turn women on for fun and the kind of person I need to stay well away from. I rub at my bare forearm to calm the unusual reaction on my skin.

  What the hell just happened?

  SITTING BACK IN MY HOTEL room on my own, I’m restless. I only have a few of my belongings with me, nothing familiar to distract me, and no routine to adhere to. Having spent time with Lottie, I’m craving familiarity, and being on my own now makes me feel lonely and unsettled. Hell, who am I kidding?

  I am lonely.

  I am unsettled.

  The only difference now is that I’m hyper aware of it.

  For the first time in as long as I can remember, I know what I want. I know how I want life to be, and sitting here, staring out of the window at the bright lights of Vegas, it frustrates me that I can’t make it happen right now. I want to start my new life. I want to start living days full of fun, independence and a hopeful future, but I can’t do that if I’m sitting here waiting for it to happen.

  I jump up, rummage through the few clothes I did pack and throw on an evening top and skinny jeans. I smooth some extra foundation over my bruised cheek, then touch it up with a sweep of blush. Grabbing my clutch, I head for the door. Time to explore.

  As I walk through the foyer, the bars and clubs have come to life. I can hear music playing and I find myself smiling. I love music; it’s the one thing guaranteed to get a response from me. Tonight, the choice of either staying in a lonely hotel room, dwelling on the last twenty-four hours or having a few drinks and letting loose is easy. I have no one to please, no one tapping their watch because I’m later that I said I’d be, and if I want to lie in late tomorrow … well, I can do just that.

  There are a choice of bars, each fitting to a different mood, and tonight I’m drawn to the bar called Heaven and Hell. I’m pretty sure I’ve visited the latter several times, so maybe I can find a little piece of the other for the evening.

  The bar is decorated in rich reds, golds and clean white accents, giving it a fresh, but luxurious feel. It has large, cozy booths with leather seats placed around the perimeter, and the dance floor is down a few steps from the booths with two small stages for dancing.

  The music is loud and energetic when I enter. The bass is pumping through the room and I can feel it move across the floor and up through my body. As I make my way to the bar area, I notice some of the servers are dressed as devils in ruby-red, skin tight body suits with sparkly horns and tails while the others are dressed as angels in white, tight, body suits with glowing halos above their heads.

  Heaven and Hell—I like it.

  I order a very colorful cocktail and find a tall stool at the bar which also gives me a great view over most of the club. As it starts to get busy, the people crowd the bar and the dance floor fills up. The stages have been occupied by angels and devils dancing, so I watch for a while, fascinated at their ability to look so at ease with being on display.

  The first drink goes down easily and I remind myself not to let that fool me. I’m not really a big drinker, so I have little tolerance. I gesture to a male devil, and he checks his horns are on straight as he heads my way. He doesn’t wear a tight-fitted suit like the female servers but red fitted trousers and a red sequined shirt that has a deep V to his navel. The horns are a nice touch.

  “What can I get ya?” he says with a dazzling showbiz smile.

  I take a second to scan through the cocktail list, baffled by the extensive concoctions. “Surprise me.”

  I watch, entertained by his performance as he pours and twists, spins and shakes, and I can’t help but smile at his show. He then splits the cocktail shaker and pours my exotic looking drink into a sugar dipped glass complete with a white and gold umbrella.

  “Please put it on room 144—”

  “Let me get that for you.”

  I turn to find a middle aged guy, about five foot eight, not unattractive but not sexy either. He wears a multi-colored shirt and the buttons are undone to the middle of his chest, sprouting a carpet of dark chest hair. It is not a good look, and his quirky smile makes me a little uneasy. He pays for my drink without waiting for my answer and the bartender moves off to serve another person.

  I feel cornered.

  “Thank you but you really didn’t have to do that.” I smile politely in the hope that this guy gets the message.

  “Come on, can’t a guy buy a beautiful lady a drink?”

  “Here, let me pay you back.” My tone is shorter this time as I turn my body away from him to find some money in my purse.

  “That’s not necessary. Room 144 was it?”

  Oh god, he heard my room number. I can feel the panic rising in my chest. Maybe I’m not ready to confront the big wide world after all.

  “No, you must have been mistaken. Now if you’ll excuse me ...” I place my drink on the bar and stand to leave, but he grasps the top of my arm with enough pressure to make me stay where I am.

  “I definitely heard you say 144,” he says, moving in close. “That’s the same floor as me, so what do you say we make some sweet music of our own eh?” He nods his head toward the door and I’m paralyzed; my head is unable to transfer the words in my head to my mouth and the rest of my body refuses to work.

  “I don’t think so,” a deep voice says, startling me. “I definitely heard the lady say NO.”

  My eyes fly up to the source of my rescue—the guy from the elevator. His large hand is holding the guy by his shoulder, and I can see by the uncomfortable way the man is holding himself that he’s applying some pressure.

  “I can assure you, the lady is not staying in room 144, and as of now, you will not be staying in this hotel.” His tone is professional but clipped and very assertive.

  “B-B-But I was just asking to ...” the guy stutters and visibly shrinks.

  “You have thirty minutes to pack and leave. I will not have my guests harassed in ANY way.”

  He releases the man’s shoulder, draws his shoulders back slightly which instantly makes him look taller and more menacing, then gives him a sinister smile which confirms he means business. His fists are balled at his sides and his eyes are hard; he hasn’t broken his stare at the sleazy guy or even looked in my direction. Thankfully, the guy seems resigned to his fate and leaves, muttering expletives under his breath but not putting up any more of a protest.

  My rescuer follows the sleaze ball with his fixed gaze until he is satisfied that he has exited the club. He turns to me and his eyes soften when he presses a hand to my upper arm.

  “Miss Jamesson.” He dips his head as he speaks.

  “Yes.” My voice comes out quiet and childlike.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nod my answer.

  “I’m sincerely very sorry. It’s not something that happens frequently here I can assure you.”

  “It’s fine. I … uh … I have to go.” I turn my shoulder as if to move past him, and he extends his arm to block my path.

  “Please, Miss Jamesson, I would like to offer you a different room for your peace of mind. You’re booked in for a week with us, is that correct?”

  “Yes.” All I want to do is leave and stay somewhere else, but what will that achieve? Besides, I actually do feel safe at this very minute.

  “Then please allow me to change your room in way of an apology.” His eyes are honest, and it’s impossible to turn down.

  He holds out his upturned hand, a simple gesture and one that feels so intimate. Maybe it’s the alcohol running through my veins, or maybe it’s the fact that the sleazy guy made me feel really vulnerable. I don’t know, but I place my small hand in his. He curls his fingers around mine, squeezing reassuringly as he leads me through the sea of people and out of the club.

 
; When we enter the hotel foyer, he gently releases my hand and places his big palm in the small of my back. Everywhere he touches leaves a trail of goosebumps. A tingle starts at the base of my spine where his hand rests and travels its way upwards, settling in the nape of my neck and involuntarily making me shiver. He stops in the middle of the foyer and shrugs off his suit jacket, I turn toward him, confused as to why he’s stopped.

  “You’re cold.” It’s a statement, not a question and he’s frowning, as if he really is concerned that I might be cold. “Here ...” He places the jacket around my shoulders and comes to stand in front of me, buttoning it twice like a parent doing so for their child. He’s caring for me. I steal a glance at him as he fastens the buttons; he has flawless, olive skin and full lips. When my eyes meet his, my breath hitches. His eyes are deep chocolate-brown but have gold flecks that glint in the light. He is the epitome of handsome.

  His gaze lingers then travels to the broken and bruised skin on my cheek and his brows crease even further. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it quickly again and shakes his head ever so slightly.

  “Come.”

  He gestures with his head toward the front desk and once again holds out his hand for me to take. A giggle escapes me and I wiggle my hands out from underneath the jacket and wave them at him. Of course, I can’t take his hand as he’s fastened me securely into his clothing. I see a genuine smile appear from him and a deep chuckle follows.

  He places his hand gently between my shoulder blades and walks across the beautiful marble floor, stopping at the main desk.

  “Wait here, okay? I’ll just be a minute.”

  I nod as he moves around the side of the large desk and lets himself into the office behind. I look around and observe the people coming and going. I must look ridiculous standing here in an oversized suit jacket buttoned up so I can’t move my arms.

  It dawns on me that I know nothing about this man. He obviously works here … a manager maybe? I don’t know his name, he’s a total stranger, but I let him hold my hand? My judgment is really shot to pieces.