by Ashley Jade
He told me if I didn't put on the dress I accidentally packed in my haste to make it to the airport on time, get dolled up, and meet him at the bar in the next hour for a drink—he would torture me by singing show tunes for the duration of our Vegas trip.
So, here I am. Wearing some black, tight, strapless dress that hugs every curve and flaw of mine—and pondering when the best time to ask my homosexual work friend to marry me for money would be as I step off the elevator and make my way to the bar.
The music is pumping so loud and the colorful lights are so blinding, I don't see Juan until he yanks my hand and pulls me over to him.
“Ah! You're here!” he screams over the music before turning to the handsome and visibly uncomfortable guy standing beside him. “Kit this is my new friend Ronald. And Ronald, this is my friend Kit I was telling you about.”
The man looks me up and down, appearing perplexed. “I thought you said she was a lesbian.”
“Oh my God, Ronald.” Juan laughs hysterically and the man flushes with embarrassment. “She is, honey. They don't all wear flannel and Timberlands.”
I cross my arms. “Some of us even bathe, put on deodorant, and pee sitting down.”
I leave out that I do enjoy wearing flannel sometimes. And why not? It's cozy and comfortable, unlike this spandex mini dress Juan insisted I squeeze myself into tonight.
“I'm sorry,” the man says. “I didn't expect you to be so pretty is all.”
I should probably be offended by his statement, but the sincere look on his face tells me he means no harm.
Juan leans into him. “Ronald does IT for Porn Rub and doesn't get out much. Being social isn't his strong suit.”
The man nods sheepishly. “It's true. I haven't been out in years. Sometimes I forget what it's like to have conversations with people face to face.”
“I totally get it; my dad was into computers and he preferred them over people too.” I smile. “Juan here is a social butterfly, but don't let that scare you off. He's a great catch—” I stop talking when Juan gives me a look.
I'm about to pull him aside and ask what his deal is, but he turns to Ronald and says, “Would you be a peach and get us a drink at the bar?”
When Ronald leaves, Juan leans down and whispers, “He's married.”
“Really?” I look up at him. “Wow, that sucks.”
He holds up a finger. “To a woman.”
I'm pretty sure my mouth hits the floor. Juan could give my best friend Breslin and her complicated relationship a run for her money right about now.
He pouts. “I'm almost positive he's gay, though.” He looks around. “Why else would a married man flirt with men?”
He has a point. Then again, I know my own gaydar has been off a time or two. Usually due to wishful thinking on my part after meeting a smoking hot girl. It sounds like Juan's caught a bad case of it himself.
“Maybe he’s really friendly. You know, for someone who’s antisocial.”
He raises a shoulder in a shrug. “Who knows. He said he brought his wife to Vegas, but he left their hotel room early this morning and hasn't spoken to her since. He's basically been wandering around by himself today. When I asked him why, he said he didn't want to talk about it.”
Something is definitely fishy there. “Maybe they got into a fight.” I reach for his arm. “Either way—not your circus, not your monkeys. Let's go find our co-workers.”
He looks straight ahead. “We don't have to go far.”
He's right because when I turn around, I see Marge dancing with people I've never met before. And Jimmy, the accountant, who never says a word to anyone is telling jokes to a few people at the far end of the bar. The rest of my co-workers are all mingling and enjoying themselves.
This is by far one of the most successful meet and greets I've ever been to.
Too bad I can't wait to leave.
“I really like him,” Juan whines. “I know this whole thing is strange, but there's something between us.”
It's all I can do not to roll my eyes. “Don't pursue it, dude. You only met him an hour ago and so far, the only things you know about him is one—he keeps to himself a lot. And two—he's potentially lying to his wife about his sexuality and cheating on her. Those are pretty much key traits of a serial killer.” I poke him in the ribs. “For all we know, he left their room after he chopped up his wife's body and—”
“I didn't,” Ronald says behind me. When we turn to face him, he shoves the two glasses he's holding at me. “Here are your drinks. Have a nice night.”
Juan's face falls as he walks away. “Thanks a lot, Kit.”
“I'm sorry, I—”
Juan doesn't hear my apology because he stalks off after Ronald.
Perfect. I've managed to not only piss off my one and only friend at work, but my future ex-husband.
I'm about to leave myself, but then it happens.
The smoke clears, birds start chirping, and I'm pretty sure the cylinder-shaped bar overlooking Las Vegas that I'm currently standing in tilts.
She’s the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen in my life.
And that's just on a regular Thursday at the office. But tonight?
Jess is out of this world hot. Something she has to be aware of because every single person in the bar is staring at her.
Or maybe not, because she's too busy staring at...
Well, shit. The hottest boss in the history of hottest bosses is staring right at me. Instantly, I guzzle one of the drinks in my hand. I've made it a point not to consume alcohol since the incident with the Brazilian model, but if I don't have some kind of liquid courage right now, I will blow my shot with her.
I'm about to down my second drink and walk over, but I freeze when it hits me.
I'm supposed to be getting married...to a guy.
I can't flirt with my boss who's making bedroom eyes and giving me a come-hither stare. No matter how much I want to hither. There's no way she's going to pursue anything with a girl who's married.
I suppose I could tell her about the inheritance in hopes she'll understand—but I'm not sure if I'm ready to disclose that yet.
The last thing I need is to fall for another gold-digger who will use me.
Not that Jess is one, she isn't. I'm ninety-nine percent certain of it. But that one percent? It's burned me before.
I have the scars to prove it, and the welts on my heart that serve as my constant reminder so I never forget.
Which is why I need to make sure that the next time I fall...someone is waiting to catch me.
Someone who won't let me crash.
Someone who can give me something real.
Someone who's madly, deeply in love with every single part of me...not just the parts that benefit them.
My heart won't survive another parasite like Becca again. It barely did the first time.
Jess could very well be the love of my life, but unfortunately, I'll never know—because my Nanna's managed to ruin any chance I had of finding out.
There's a heavy ache in my chest as I head for the exit, and it only grows when I feel a soft tap on my shoulder.
“Hey, stranger.” Jess frowns when I look up at her. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing, I think I'm a little jet-lagged is all.” I nod to the dance floor. “This is great, though. Everyone's having a lot of fun.”
“Yeah, except you.”
I open my mouth to protest because I don't want to be a party pooper and ruin her evening, but words fail me when she leans in suggestively and says, “How can we change that?”
Without waiting for an answer, she leads me to a booth in some dark corner of the bar.
“Here.” She picks up a glass of what appears to be champagne. “It's the good stuff, I promise.”
I should decline, I know this. I should save us both the trouble and walk back up to my room.
I should...but I don't.
Because if I'm going to be locked up like a bird in a cage for the
next year of my life? I want one last night of freedom.
And I want it with the irresistible, sexy girl standing in front of me. The girl looking at me like she wants me every bit as much as I want her.
My nerves kick up a notch and I take the glass with shaky fingers. Jess reminds me of expensive jewelry. Gorgeous and stylish, but I can't help but feel like a kid about to play dress up whenever I look at her. She's only two years older than I am, but she's light years ahead of me in all the ways that count.
She's cooler, smarter, better looking, and so much more badass than I'll ever be. She knows exactly who she is and she wears her self-assurance like a crown.
But me? I'm awkward, weird, sensitive, and emotional. My mood changes with the color of my socks and my idea of the perfect date is scarfing down a burrito at a tattoo parlor instead of fancy restaurants or clubs. And even though I'm twenty-four and officially an adult—most days I feel like I'm only half my age.
Just like that, my mind slams into overdrive—because what if everything I am turns out to be the very qualities she hates? What if I’m too strange for her? What if I screw this up like I do everything else? What if she finds out about the inheritance and uses me like every other girl before her has? What if Juan's right about me being clingy?
What if I never find out any of those things because I lost my one and only shot with her? All because I wasn’t honest about the predicament I’m in.
“Kit?” Her velvety voice pulls me from my thoughts. “What's going on?”
“Look, I'm not sure where this is going,” I say without stopping for air. “But before things get serious between us, I think I owe it to you to tell—”
She places her finger over my lips. “You are so adorable, but you’re way too worked up right now.”
She's right. Forget clingy—that ship has already sailed. I'm on the express boat to neurotic land.
Jess gave me a glass of champagne, not an invitation to move in with her. I look at Marge who's pretending to reel in Jimmy on the dance floor and sigh.
Damn you, Marge. No more lunches and flowers.
“What?”
My cheeks heat when I realize I said that aloud. “Sorry, I was zoning out.” I take a sip of my drink. “You're right, this is good.”
She starts to smile, but a group of ridiculously attractive people walking by snags her attention. “Hey, guys.” She waves the beautiful people over. “Kit, these are some of your new co-workers.” She rattles off a list of names, but none of them stick. I'm too focused on their appearances, which is horrible, I know—but they all look like they walked off an Abercrombie & Fitch ad. Only they're wearing way less clothing...which is impressive.
And that's when I realize. She means those new co-workers. The talent.
Jess invites them into the booth with us, and before I know what's happening, our quiet corner is being infiltrated by porn stars.
I finish off my glass of champagne and try not to sulk. Talent indeed. They're completely cock and titty blocking my date with my boss. How the hell am I supposed to compete with implants and—fuck me, because the girl snorting a line of coke off some dude's six-pack is wearing pasties that barely cover her nipples.
The guy pretending to be a human table waggles his eyebrows at me. “Hey, hot stuff. You party?”
Not like this, I don't. “I'm good, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.”
I look over and see Jess typing away on her cell phone while some girl leans in a little too close for comfort and giggles at whatever Jess is typing. A moment later, the guy next to her orders a round of shots before he rolls up a dollar bill and snorts a line off the human table.
God, I'm far from a prude, but this isn't my scene. Not anymore.
When table boy and pastie girl start making out, I take the opportunity to slide out of the booth.
I'm searching for Juan so I can apologize for earlier when Jess runs over to me. I start thinking of an excuse to give her, but every single one evaporates when she drags me off to another dark corner.
Only this time—she kisses me.
I want to pinch myself to make sure this is truly happening, but I'm too afraid if I do it will end.
Our kiss is equal parts playful and manic and I'm out of breath when she pulls back. “You're cute when you're jealous.”
It takes me a second to grasp that she thinks it’s the reason I walked away. I'm not quite sure how to respond because everything's becoming hazy due to both the alcohol and the kiss.
She ruffles my hair. “But she’s not who I want to hang out with right now.”
I swallow a gulp of air, my head spinning like a cyclone. “I um—before things go any further, I need to tell—”
Her lips find mine again, effectively silencing me.
“I know that mind of yours is going a mile a minute,” she says between kisses. “But you need to relax and have some fun tonight. We can be serious tomorrow, okay?”
My body goes slack against the wall when her lips nuzzle my neck. Maybe having fun isn't such a bad idea after all. Tension coils low in my belly when her tongue flicks my ear, and I'm reminded that it's been well over a year since I last had sex. If it weren't for a few of my favorite Pretty Kitty sex toys helping me out, I probably would have caved and taken home anything in a skirt a long time ago.
But I didn't. No matter how lonely I got—I stayed strong, stayed single, and stayed focused on getting my life back together.
I gasp when she slides a finger up my thigh. And this is my reward.
“You want to have fun with me tonight?” she purrs coyly.
I close my eyes and nod. I don't want to do something stupid like babble and ruin the moment.
She kisses me again, and something chalky lands on my tongue. It tastes horrible and I go to spit it out, but she hands me her glass of champagne.
“Here, this should help it go down easier.”
“I don't do drugs.”
“Don't worry, it's nothing bad. Just a little something to help you loosen up and enjoy yourself.”
When I give her a look, she pulls a small tin out of her cleavage and pops a tab in her mouth. “See? Perfectly safe.”
I want to tell her that I'd be enjoying myself plenty without any substances, but she tilts my chin up and says, “I'd never hurt you.”
I should know better than to listen to her because I've heard those very same words from people who have done nothing but hurt me.
But Jess isn't like the others. That’s why I like her so much. She's never once given me a reason not to trust her. Not even so much as a warning sign.
I take a sip and the pill goes down with ease. “What is it?”
I ignore the little voice in my head chiding me for not asking before I swallowed it.
“Ecstasy. It's super mild though so you probably won't even feel it.”
Considering I've never done E before, I doubt that. I look around nervously. I trust Jess, but the idea of being high on something I've never taken before in a bar full of people I don’t know isn't sitting too well with me. I wonder if it's too late to run to the restroom and throw up.
“Want to get out of here and go up to my room?”
“Yes,” I breathe, feeling relieved she’s perceptive enough to understand my concerns without me having to tell her.
She finishes her glass of bubbly, waves goodbye to the porn stars, and we hightail it out of the bar.
The second we’re inside the elevator, Jess pulls me into another kiss. People are staring at us, but neither of us care. I’m so drunk on her, I feel like I’m soaring, and I never want to come back down again.
I don’t even realize the elevator doors have opened and we’ve reached our destination until some woman clears her throat.
We stumble out, all giggles and smiles, and it strikes me that I’ve fantasized, wished, and waited for this moment with Jess for over eight long months.
I stop walking and look at her. Really look at her.
I kiss her again, because she’s here. Because this is real. I know it is.
Jess isn’t a fling. For once, I’m not jumping into things with someone I don’t know because of some spark of attraction. Of course, she’s gorgeous. But she’s so many other things, too. Like hard-working, determined, independent. And the way she’s looking at me right now tells me this thing between us won’t be another painful mistake I’ll regret when the sun comes up.
I press my lips to her neck before I begin my decline of kisses down her body.
“Please don’t hurt me.”
My voice comes out small, like a plea. Because it is. I need her to be gentle with the beaten and bruised heart I’m about to hand her.
A heart that's easy to break, but so hard to put back together.
A heart that wants so desperately to be loved—it’s managed to stagger to the edge once more. Prepared to plummet, but scared to death of crashing.
The stove is hot—my mind warns me.
And then I close my eyes and fall.
Because some of us chase the burn.
Even after we’ve already crawled our way out of the fire.
Chapter 5
All eyes are on me waiting for me to make my move.
It’s an easy decision—fold on the flop.
One of the men seated at the table mutters something in Russian under his breath, no doubt annoyed with my decision.
Tough shit. I can’t afford to take chances, there’s too much at stake.
Like the million I’m going to have to win and then give to Salvatore Campanelli so he doesn’t hack off my kneecaps and throw me in Lake Mead.
This game isn’t for fun, it’s strictly business. Get in, get the money, and get the fuck out.
I never thought the day would come where I wouldn’t enjoy playing poker, but like they say—it’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt.
Or in my case—they end up working for the mob…whether they like it or not.
Playing poker because I want to is one thing. Playing because you have a proverbial gun held to your head is another.
As it turns out, there’s way more money to be made in an illegal underground gambling operation than a Vegas casino.