Blackout: A Romance Anthology

by Stephanie St. Klaire

  “So tell me, what’s going on tonight? Aren’t you glad you already had it set up to come visit me? I mean, that’s some cool odds, right?”

  “Why don’t you grab us some beers?” Jason says.

  Dylan laughs to himself, leaning down to the fridge that holds them before popping the tops for us.

  Jason holds out my chair, and as I sit down, he helps me get situated on the high-top barstool.

  “Tell me, Gemma. What brought you to Vegas tonight?” Dylan asks as he sets two beers in front of us.

  “I’m here with my sister and her friends. We’re celebrating her divorce.”

  “People celebrate those?” he asks, confused.

  Jason laughs. “I asked the same thing!”

  “In her situation, yes.”

  “What did he do? Try to steal money from some massive organization?” Dylan asks.

  Jason takes a drink, and when he places it back down on the bar, I can’t help but notice how hard it hit the wooden top.

  I sit back in my chair, not sure what that meant. “No. He was a piece of work though. I wish he had stolen instead of lying like that to Sam.”

  “Sam’s your sister?” Dylan asks.

  “She is.”

  “Where are they?”

  I sigh, playing with my bottle. “Who knows? I was back at the room by myself when the lights went out. I’m supposed to be at a concert right now, but … you know.”

  “How sad that your plans got hacked like that.”

  “Hey, you want to play dice? You still have those back there?” Jason asks abruptly.

  Dylan smirks before reaching behind the bar to grab a leather cup with dice inside it. “I’ll go check on the other customers. You two have fun.”

  Dylan walks away, and I grab the leather cup. “Um … how do you play?”

  As he teaches me the long-standing bar game of dice, I can’t help but pay more attention to him rather than his words. He’s not your typical guy. You can tell he’s not a cocky asshole, yet he’s not a nerdy guy who doesn’t get laid.

  Dare I say, he’s different …

  The guys I dated in the past were the stuck up douches who thought they were God’s gift to women. They couldn’t walk past a mirror without checking themselves out, and their smirk alone seemed sexy at first, but once I got to know them, I realized it was just as slimy as they were.

  I once dated a guy where, every time he touched me, he thought it made my lady bits drip with desire for him. Yep, if I was in the middle of doing my taxes and he placed his hand on my knee, he thought I’d instantly throw my paperwork at the wall and drop my coated silk panties right then and there. Um … nope. Not even close.

  Especially not when I was focused and frustrated to all high hell.

  Men can sometimes be so full of themselves; it’s ridiculous. Just because they can be horny at all times of the day doesn’t mean women are, too. And I’m sorry, but it takes a little more than your hand on me to turn me on.

  Don’t get me wrong. I want that kind of passion with a guy. I pray that happens one day and that it does truly exist, but when you treat me like shit and then expect me to beg for your cock, you’re wrong.

  I don’t get that vibe from Jason though. When we were in the truck, he never once checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. In fact, his hair has been just a little off, sticking up ever so slightly on the side, and he hasn’t even cared to fix it.

  I like it.

  I like a guy who is confident in who he is and who he projects without caring incessantly.

  His glasses, I must say, they turn me on. I’ve never dated a man in glasses, but his just do it for me. The way the thick frame sits perfectly on top of his chiseled nose totally works. And, when those dimples pop through, my heart flutters.

  When we first got here, he had on a thin zip-up black hoodie that he just removed, revealing a simple T-shirt underneath. As he picks up the leather cup to shake the dice, I can’t help but take in the veins running up his arm.

  Now, that’s some good arm porn right there.

  I try to hide my blush as I take another drink of my beer.

  “Does that make sense? Want to play for real?” Jason asks.

  I clear my throat as I realize I missed his entire instruction of the game because I was checking him out.

  “Sure, let’s just go slow, and I’ll catch on,” I say, hoping I can play it off.

  As he shakes the dice and slams the cup against the bar, removing it to reveal the dice underneath, I ask, “So, tell me more about yourself. What do you do for a living?”

  “I used to manage a computer software company here in Vegas, but things changed, so I moved to Los Angeles a few months ago, trying to get something off the ground there,” he says as he shakes the remaining dice he didn’t want to keep for his second roll. “What about you?” he asks.

  I don’t like to tell guys what I do right off the bat. I swear, a few guys dated me just for my job. But, like I said, he feels different. I take a leap of faith and ask, “Do you like basketball?”

  He eyes me, questioning, “Yeah, somewhat. You don’t play on one of those professional women’s leagues, do you?”

  I laugh, looking down at my five-foot-five body, which isn’t in the greatest shape. “Hardly. I know I’m wearing your baggy clothes right now, but this body is not in professional basketball player shape.”

  “Could have fooled me,” he says, winking as he takes a sip of his beer.

  I smile, trying to hide the heat crawling up my face, and move on with where I was going with my statement. “I played in high school. But, no, I don’t play professionally. I work for the LA Lakers, doing marketing and PR.”

  His expression proves he’s shocked and a little impressed. As long as he doesn’t ask me for tickets or to meet LeBron James, then we’re good.

  “Wow, that’s pretty cool. Did you go to school for marketing or just work your way in because you liked the sport?”

  His question surprises me. That’s the first time someone’s asked me a question like that—about me rather than the actual Lakers.

  “I’ve always loved the sport, so since I’m not made out to be a professional-level player, I went to school for marketing with an emphasis on sports teams. I worked my butt off to get in their good graces. Even started interning for them while I was still in high school. Once I proved I knew more than my boss, I was hired on full-time after I got my degree. Looking back now, I can see that they had been molding me from day one. A year after I was hired, my boss retired and left me to run the show.”

  He nods his head with a grin covering his face. “I’m impressed. Not many people go after what they want like that, especially at such a young age.”

  “My friends all thought I was crazy, considering how many hours I put in, working for free just to learn the ropes. But look at me now. I get to much make my own schedule and get to work for one of the most amazing basketball franchises and for the sport I love.”

  “Then you’re happy with your life then?”

  I pick up my drink, thinking about his question. I guess I am. My day-to-day is fulfilling—at least, I should look at it that way. I know that one piece of having someone else in my life to share things with is still missing, but I try not to dwell on that fact. Instead, I nod and say, “Yeah, I guess I am. How about you? Are you happy with your life?”

  He purses his lips, inhaling through his nose and thinking a bit. “I think things are on the mend. I can see the light at the end of a dark tunnel.”

  I can’t help but think back to the sticker on his dash again. I’m guessing it has to do with his brother, and I’m dying to ask what is going on, but if he didn’t take this opportunity to open up, then I won’t push.

  CHAPTER 8

  Anyone who had access to their car escaped Las Vegas, and since Henderson is the next town up, the place is packed with people trying to keep the party going.

  The dice game turned out to be a much needed d
istraction. Jason quit drinking after only two beers due to having to drive us back at some point, but I decided to keep going, and now that I’m two beers and two lemon drops deep, I’m feeling good, and life is going just fine.

  “Hey, Dylan, two waters, please.”

  Dylan nods and places two tall glasses in front of us.

  “Here, drink this before you move on to that lemon drop.”

  I know he’s making sure I don’t get sick, and the thought makes me all mushy on the inside. It’s nice to have someone watching out for me for a change.

  Or he just doesn’t want to have to deal with a drunk girl in his car.

  I laugh to myself, and Jason chuckles under his breath, knowing the alcohol has put me in a good place.

  “You having fun tonight?” he asks.

  “I am. This is not how I expected tonight to go, but sometimes, those are the best nights to have.”

  “Believe me, I didn’t think it would go this way either,” he says under his breath as he takes a drink of water.

  The alcohol fuels my fire, so I’m not afraid when I ask, “Why don’t you have a girl hanging off your shoulder with these sexy arms?” I rub my fingers over his veins bulging off his forearm, and I swear, I feel my lady bits tingle.

  He looks at me like I’ve definitely had too much to drink. “How can arms be sexy?” he asks in disbelief.

  “Um, hello? Haven’t you ever heard of arm porn?”

  He barks out a laugh. “Did you really just say arm porn?”

  I nod, proud of my statement. “Yes, I did.” I sigh breathlessly. “It’s this vein that moves down from your elbow”—I run my finger down his arm—“wrapping around and splitting here on top of a hand that I know can do so much.”

  Okay, maybe I have had too much to drink. I can’t believe I just said that while touching him that way! But, goddamn, it felt good. Maybe I should learn something from Sam and Carrie and finally go for what I want.

  He moves his other arm up, keeping the one I have my hand on there. He flips it around and shows it off for me more.

  I reach over his body, holding up my finger to run it down his vein when the guy next to me bumps my hip, sending me right into Jason’s body.

  He catches me in those sexy arms, and I have to steady myself from the alcohol, his scent, and his warmth.

  His arms hold me tighter. “You okay there?”

  I tilt my eyes up to meet his. “Yeah, sorry. Someone bumped into me.”

  I hear the guy next to us mumbling his apologies, but neither Jason nor I could care less.

  He reaches his hand around to move my hair out of my face, getting a better look at me. “Don’t ever be sorry for leaning against me.”

  My swoon meter goes through the roof, and I’m speechless. I don’t even want to blink because I’m afraid the moment will be lost. We’re so close. His eyes are soft, daring me to keep his gaze, as he keeps me pressed against him.

  But he makes no movement.

  I place my hand above his chest, feeling for myself what’s going on there. He’s just as affected as I am. I can feel the way his heart is beating out of his chest. He wants to kiss me. I know he does. But something is stopping him.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” he says barely above a whisper.

  I finally blink, thankful for the second it gives me to take in his words.

  “This isn’t right.” He pauses once more. “I need to stop.”

  I know he’s saying these things, but with every breath, he inches closer. Our noses barely touching.

  “Please ask me to stop,” he says, and I’m completely frozen in anticipation.

  The emotions and passion running through me right now are way more than alcohol-fueled. We’re in a room full of crowded partygoers, yet I feel like the only two people in the world.

  I’ve never felt so brave when I say, “Kiss me.”

  He sighs, sticking out his tongue to wet his lips and moving that extra inch, interlocking himself against me.

  Sparks ignite down my spine as I wrap my arms around his neck, opening my lips, welcoming more of him into me. When he accepts, sweeping his tongue against mine, a moan escapes my mouth so loud that you’d think he just inserted the largest cock inside me deliciously slow.

  That’s how affected I feel.

  His fingers sprawl out against my back, and I feel just how large they are, holding me in place, taking control.

  A glass shatters next to us as chaos ensues. We yank apart from each other when we hear shouting not too far away. People are pushing one another either to get away from the fight or to get closer.

  We both glance at Dylan, who is trying to get control of the situation. Before I can stop him, Jason is jumping over the bar in order to get through the crowd faster to assist his friend.

  I tense up, frightened when I see three guys throwing punches at one guy while Dylan and Jason reach around, trying to pry the bigger one off of him.

  A female yells for them to stop, and I can’t move or even seemingly function. I just stand in shock.

  In shock from that kiss.

  In shock from the situation changing so rapidly.

  And in shock from the way Jason didn’t think twice about jumping in to help his friend.

  More employees have come over, and even a few of the patrons are now helping out. A waitress stands behind the bar, talking on the phone to, I assume, the police.

  The room is full of people either cheering on the fight or trying to get away from the drama and go about their night.

  I tightly wrap my arms around the large sweatshirt I’m wearing, not sure of what to do.

  They finally get the crowd under control, and I see a big guy forcefully escorting the man who seemed to be the aggressor outside.

  Jason comes back behind the bar, picking up his glasses from where he threw them off.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, reaching out my hand to him.

  He takes a deep breath, looking up through the glasses to see if they’re clean. He nods, putting them back on, when Dylan comes up, slapping Jason on the back.

  “Hey, thanks, man. I hate when Vegas partiers make their way here. They need to keep to that side of the freeway.”

  “No worries. I wouldn’t leave you hanging like that.”

  The female waitress approaches Dylan. “Cops are on their way. Should be a minute. Everyone is either busy with similar shit or down in Vegas, helping out there.”

  Dylan thanks the woman and then turns to Jason. “You’d better—”

  “We have to take off. It was really good to see you again. I’m heading back to LA tomorrow, but we’ll catch up again soon.”

  They slap hands, and Dylan nods. “Give Tyler my love.”

  Jason’s lips purse. “I will.”

  Who’s Tyler? Maybe his brother?

  Jason hops over the bar, intertwining his fingers with mine, and without another word, he leads us outside and to his truck.

  As we enter, I check my phone and see it’s 2:03 in the morning. “Do you think the power is on back in Vegas yet?”

  “Nope.” He pauses as he sticks the key in the ignition. “I mean, I wouldn’t think so. Try calling your sister. See if cell service is back on.”

  I do, but I get nowhere. “Straight to voice mail.” I drop my head against the rest, the severity of the entire situation coming back in full force. “I hope they’re okay. What if something’s happened?”

  “It hasn’t. Everything is fine there. Just because the electricity is out doesn’t mean something bad will happen. Besides, if something bad did happen, we’d know about it by now. That bar was full of people who drove out of Vegas. Word would have spread.” He reaches over, placing his hand on mine. “Don’t worry. The night’s almost over. You’ll be able to get back in your hotel and find your friends before you know it.”

  No matter how freaked out I was with how this night had started, now, I don’t want it to end.

  CHAPTER 9

  He pulls on
to the street, driving toward the freeway. At a stoplight, he pauses, turning my direction. “I know the perfect place we can go, but it’s about forty-five minutes away. Is that okay with you? I promise you’ll be back in the morning.”

  I chuckle to myself. If this were any other situation, my oh shit meter would be pegged, but all of that has already been thrown out the window, so what’s one more thing?

  “It’s not like I have somewhere I need to be,” I say.

  After entering the freeway, he leans back in his seat, holding the steering wheel with only two fingers and drives like he’s totally at peace. As our night started, I could see this edge on him, this underlying worry, but now, it’s totally gone.

  He mouths the words to Zombie by Bad Wolves that plays over the speakers. His eyes turn to me, and he smiles a shit-eating grin. “Are you staring at me?”

  Busted. “You look different now. More relaxed.”

  He drops his head back, laughing. “So, you’re saying I looked like an asshole earlier?”

  “You had these worry lines on your forehead that are gone now.”

  He reaches over, interlacing his fingers with mine, keeping his eyes on the road. “The night certainly didn’t go as I had planned. When the lights went out, I had a lot of difficult things on my mind, but you made tonight”—he looks at me, giving me an expression of total contentment—“easy. I haven’t had easy in a long time. I haven’t relied on someone else to just be with me, and it’s been nice, having you here with me. I guess I didn’t realize how much I needed it, someone else by my side.”

  I blush, heat radiating all over my body. “I know what you mean.”

  We drive for a while, holding each other’s hands, listening to his phone’s playlist and discussing the songs that come on.

  I never would have taken him for a Migos fan, but he laughed out loud when I turned it up to sing, “Walk it like I talk it,” just like they do in the song.

  In my line of work, it’s hard not to like every kind of music. Everything from AC/DC to Drake plays over the loudspeakers, and you get used to anything that has a good beat and makes you move.