After a few minutes of trying to get my heart rate and breathing under control, and staring at the ceiling trying to get focused, I turned my head to look at his face. Which I totally shouldn’t have done because the only thing I wanted to do at that moment was mash mine up against his.
Ryder’s breathing fell back into a deep-sleep pattern, and his grip on my waist loosened. I could probably have snuck out now, but watching his eyelashes flutter ever-so-slightly and feeling his gentle breath blow into the narrow space between us was so peaceful that I didn’t know if I could tear myself away from him if I tried.
Plus, my sheets were stinky.
It was only a few minutes before sleep took back over, and I drifted off again.
Sunlight glowed bright through my eyelids when I finally woke up. I rolled to the side slightly and stretched my arms high over my head. It was the smell of coffee that jolted my memory.
My eyes flew open as I searched the room for Ryder, and I sat up when I saw an exhibit of such masculine deliciousness I had to work hard to stop myself from drooling.
There he was, leaning against the counter that I never cleaned last night, holding a steaming cup of coffee in his hands and grinning that lopsided grin at me. In blue, pinstriped pajama pants; a sleeveless undershirt; and bare feet.
I hoped there was a hospital with a good emergency room nearby because I was about to have a full-on coronary.
“The first time you sleep over and you don’t even clean up? Is this how it’s gonna be between us?”
I pulled my knees to my chest and pressed my forehead against them. “I can’t believe I fell asleep here,” I groaned.
“I can’t believe you slept through me getting home six hours ago, getting under the covers, and probably snoring.”
I almost told him he was beautiful when he slept, that he didn’t snore the least bit. Almost mentioned that he had pulled me to him in the middle of the night and called me baby. Almost asked why he hadn’t just woken me and taken me back to my own damn room. But something held me back.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “God, I was so tired…”
“I was just joking about cleaning up. You made me dinner, and I was starving. Thank you.”
I smiled back, then realized how gross and tomato-fuzzy my teeth were, and pressed my lips back together again. “Well, I should…ah…”
“Yeah,” he said. “We need to leave in about an hour, so if you want to get cleaned up… I mean, not that you’re dirty… I mean… Shit. Let me start over. Would you like some coffee?”
I laughed. “Um, to go maybe? Black? I am so gross, and I should at least brush my teeth.”
Without a word, he turned and poured a big travel mug full of strong-smelling brew, and I stepped up to him, reaching around in the tight space to grab my keys off the counter. When he grabbed my hand and his eyes looked right into mine, the sensation was so heady I could have fainted right there. He moved closer to me, paused for the briefest moment, and then went right in for another kiss.
This one wasn’t hard or desperate like last night’s; this was gentle, testing. His lips were soft and his breath was everywhere, and I wished with everything in me that I had brushed my teeth. After a few seconds, he drew back, watching for my reaction. But my breath—there was nothing I could do about the atrocious smell, and I did not want to ambush him with it. So I stepped back, and his face fell.
“Thank you,” I said to the ground. “Um, for everything. You know.”
He cleared his throat and took a step back himself. Oh, God. Did he think I didn’t like the kiss? Did he think I didn’t want to do it again?
“Ah…” I stammered, covering my mouth slightly. “Morning breath.”
“Oh, yeah. Totally,” he said, suddenly very interested in the creamy coffee in his cup. I looked back down, and goddamn, even this man’s feet were sexy.
“Okay, so…we’re leaving when? Nine thirty?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Meet me down there?”
“Sure,” I said, catching his eye again and smiling briefly. Then I brushed past him and reached for the door handle. “Thanks again,,” I said. “Really.”
He ticked his chin up, and I could have sworn he winked as I ducked out the door.
One hour, three vigorous tooth-brushings, and a lot of deep breathing later, I’d tugged and pulled at my cutest graphic t-shirt, a faded gray number that said, “Secret Identity.” I hated myself for only packing my most comfortable stuff, but seriously, who goes home to take care of their mom in the hospital and meets the hottest guy on the planet?
Once again, I told myself to focus—something that was becoming more and more necessary with this guy around—and called the hospital. The on-call nurse told me they’d started Mom on a light neuropsychological therapy regime, where she’d be till one. I explained that I had a new job, but I should be able to get there by the end of visiting hours. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I had no idea exactly when I’d be done, but I reasoned I’d just call again if the case were different.
The next stressful call was to Dr. Sullivan. When I briefed her on Mom’s situation—that it could take weeks, or even months, for her to fully recover—she asked me the toughest question since I’d left Philly two days ago—: “What’s your plan?”
I took a deep breath and ran my hand back through my half-dried hair. “I don’t know. I mean, obviously, I’ll need to keep up with work, right? Do you think I can do assignments remotely?”
“I think you certainly can. Of course, I can only speak for the CDFS school, but video conferencing technology can work wonders. If you have enough free time to finish your assignments and virtually show up to class to present and do remote office ours with your teachers, I think you should be alright. Your absence at your CHOP internship may be another story, but I can help you petition for the extra hours you’ve done in previous semesters to overflow to this one. I’ve only rarely seen it happen, but I think I can pull some favors out of my back pocket.”
Relief surged through me. I stammered my reassurance that I’d be up to the task of completing assignments and scheduling phone calls and made a mental note to contact my gen-ed professors for quiz and exam dates, too, to make arrangements to do them remotely.
Even though it was cool enough to make me shiver, the Vegas sun was already hot on the asphalt of the parking lot. I tried to keep my breaths controlled as I leaned up against Ryder’s truck, trying to figure out a way to stand that wouldn’t look totally doofy.
“Hey,” Ryder’s low, velvet voice broke my thoughts. “What’s up? Everything okay?”
“Oh,” I said, forcing a little smile. “Totally. Why?” Please don’t mention how I fell asleep in your bed last night.
“Just look sad. Or worried. I don’t know.”
“Yeah, I haven’t gotten to talk to Mom yet today.”
“But you talked to the nurses?” he asked, loping around to open my door for me.
When he got in his seat, I said, “Yeah. They say she’s doing okay, but I want to talk to her myself, you know?”
He nodded, starting up the truck and rumbling out of the parking lot onto the highway. “So do you do this worrying thing professionally or only when something tough comes up?”
I laughed, even though I didn’t know whether he was joking. “Mostly when something tough comes up. I’m not really a worrier, I don’t think.” I looked at him with my eyebrows up. He nodded and focused on the road.
We rode in silence on the short drive to the Shooting Starr. I stopped freaking for a minute and breathed in deeply. Vegas’s hazy blue sky fading up into dull white and the spiky trunks of palm trees really were their own kind of beautiful.
When we pulled up to the parking lot, Ryder threw the car into park and looked over at me.
“Andi,” he said. “Listen. I really did find you a place and a job be
cause I wanted to—because I was trying to be nice. Not because I wanted anything from you, okay?”
“Are you talking about that kiss?” I asked.
Ryder brushed something invisible away from his spotless jeans and shifted in his seat. “Yeah,” he said. “I hope I wasn’t too forward.”
“Well, you were,” I said, and his face fell. I laughed. “For a girl who hadn’t brushed her teeth since she ate spaghetti and meat sauce ten hours before.”
He looked up at me, and the way his eyebrows curved up in a hopeful expression of was too adorable for words. “But maybe,” I said, reaching out and brushing my fingers across his, “for a girl after work, it would be totally awesome.”
Chapter 9
My eyes skimmed the casino floor as Ryder and I entered. The smoky, stale open room held at least a couple hundred slot machines, and the floor was ringed by tables for blackjack, some game where dice were thrown, and roulette. I’d grown up in Vegas, but I’d left before I was old enough to gamble and had never been interested in it. Gambling was for tourists; the real Vegas, to me, was about warm temperatures, dry desert air, and the best variety of food available anywhere.
Weaving around the tables were about half a dozen cocktail waitresses, balancing anywhere from five to ten drinks on their trays without anything close to a slosh. My eye traveled down their bodies. They wore sleeveless, white, wraparound shirts that dipped low to expose the inside halves of their boobs and tied just above the belly button. Their swingy skirts were deep red satin, barely covering their ass cheeks, and bordered on the bottom with silver sequin trim. The biggest part of the costume was the one that wasn’t really even costume: their mile-high legs, absolutely flawless in shining, nude-colored tights. I breathed a little bit of a sigh of relief at the heels; even though they were three inches tall, the heels were solid, not stilettos, with a t-strap to keep them on.
After two days in and out of the Starr, I mostly knew the layout of winding pathways, and I was proud of myself when Ryder didn’t even have to guide me in the right direction. But when I saw a few cocktail waitresses walking out those doors, skirts swinging around their butts, my whole body felt like rubber and my stomach flipped. Not only did I not know how to do this job, but I didn’t particularly want to do it.
I did, however, desperately want—and need—to make money.
I took a deep breath in and blew it out.
“You okay?” Ryder looked down at me, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just not really used to wearing to clothes like that, you know?”
“Well,” he said, “opefully being on the day shift will help you get used to it. Fewer people to stare at you.”
“Yeah.” I laughed. “I just don’t know if I can pull it off.”
“You’ll look better than half our girls in that same getup if that’s what you’re worried about.” The blush started at the base of my neck again. “Not that that’s the kind of thing that I think looks good,” he said, his hand playing at his collar again. “I just…”
“I get it,” I said. “You’re fine.” After a dozen more steps, I said, “And thanks. You know. For the compliment.”
Ryder flashed me a soft smile as we pushed through the swinging door. Dozens of employees—young ones in skimpy clothing and older ones in full-cover white shirts and black pants—hustled everywhere. There was a long wall of mirrors with lights above them, and the countertop in front of them was flooded with curling irons and makeup boxes.
A sign that looked like it had been there for decades stretched over them, reminding the employees in bold red letters, “Always pay special attention to timeliness and detail.” A bunch of girls were doing just that in the mirrors, bending to adjust eyelashes and straighten shirts. Racks full of uniforms lined the back wall, and drink and snack vending machines lined the other. Ryder paused right inside the door for a moment, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Then he relaxed, cupping his hand to his mouth, and shouted across the floor, “CARA!”
Half the room stopped, and most of it went back to business right away—except half the girls on the floor. They stared and giggled at Ryder. I could practically see them drooling. Worse, when they realized I was with him, some of them shot me especially venomous looks.
A tiny girl—she couldn’t have been bigger than 5’4” and 120 pounds with bleached blonde hair done up in a French Twist—came trotting up to us and hopped up to hug Ryder.
“Hey, babe,” he said, squeezing her tight. “Where’s your man?” A part of my chest I hadn’t even realized had been tight relaxed.
“Rob? Don’t you know? You were supposed to be taking care of him last night.”
Ryder’s mouth dropped open, and his eyes went wide. Cara stared. “He said you were gonna drive him home. I thought…”
Ryder’s hand flew to the back of his neck. “Holy shit, Cara, I seriously didn’t realize.”
Cara punched Ryder’s shoulder and cracked up laughing. “I totally got ya, didn’t I? Didn’t I? I picked him up, you massive doof!” She was practically hopping from foot to foot with her giddiness.
“That’s it,” Ryder growled, catching her in a headlock.
Just as his fist was about to grind a noogie into her crown, she yelled, “Okay! Okay! I surrender! Do not mess up my hair, or I really will make you pay!”
I cleared my throat. “Is this your sister or something?” I asked, trying to hide my impatience with a smile.
“Might as well be,” Ryder said, grinning at Cara as she smoothed her uniform. “She’s been harassing me since the fifth grade. She was a cheerleader every year I played football—even let me take her to prom. But then she had to go and steal my best friend when she started working here.”
She punched him again. “Yeah, we all feel really sorry for you. We know how devastated you are that I’m impeding you and Rob’s bromance.”
“Cara, this is Andi. Andi, Cara.”
She stuck out her hand. “Welcome to the Shooting Starr. What brings you back here to our illustrious communal dressing room?”
“I’m…uh…I’m a temp here, I guess. Ryder got me a job here while I’m off from college taking care of my mom in the hospital.” Tears stung at my eyes, and I couldn’t tell if it was because of the “taking care of my mom” part or the “off from college” part.
“Hmmm. Ryder did, did he?”
Ryder shot her a look. “Can you just shut up and get her introduced to Gladys? She doesn’t have anything, outfit-wise.”
“Mmhmm. And when are we going to catch up, Ry?”
“Soon. Also, I need to be at SK a little earlier than usual tonight. Would you mind taking Andi back home when you two are done with your shift?”
“If ‘soon’ means ‘in a few days’ and not ‘never,’ the yeah.”
Ryder shook his head. “Okay. Whatever,” he scoffed. Then, with no warning, he wrapped an arm around me and gave me a quick hug. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
I barely got the chance to nod before he was gone.
Cara stepped back and sized me up. “Yeah, okay. We’re going to have to catch you up fast. When Gladys asks you whether you’ve ever served, say yes, that you’ve done it all through college. How old are you?”
“Twenty-two,” I said, trying to keep eye contact and not throw up. A week ago I would never have dreamed I’d be a cocktail waitress working in some rundown casino.
“Okay. Tell her you have your sheriff card, your TAM card, and your local address. And that you can carry six martinis or ten bourbon glasses without a problem at top speed. Got it?”
“Martinis and bourbon at top speed,” I said, nodding. “What about shots?”
“Don’t worry about shots yet. We’ll talk about those if you move to nighttime, okay? Stick with me and you’ll do fine.”
Before I could get another word in edgewi
se, Cara dragged me through the rush of bodies toward a black podium next to a six-foot-long folding table. Behind the podium, on a stool, sat a lady who couldn’t have been younger than sixty. Her silver hair wound into a bun on top of her head, and a beaded chain held her classes against her soft chest, looping around a slightly sagging neck. She wore a floral dress and costume jewelry earrings. She looked sweet actually. Like somebody’s grandmother.
Cara brought me right up to her, about two feet away. Slowly, the woman eased down off her stool and stepped to the front of her station.
“Gladys,” Cara said brightly. “I’ve brought you a new waitress.”
“When she brings me a drink,” Gladys croaked, “she’ll be my waitress. Now she’s just a mess.”
My eyes shot down over my outfit. I knew I wasn’t exactly Vegas-ready, but I didn’t think I was that much of a mess. Gladys’s eyes swept down over my body.
“What are you?” she demanded, putting her hand on her hip and staring at me.
“Um. Latina?”
“Your size,” Cara hissed in my ear.
“Oh!” I jumped. “Size eight, ma’am.”
“Height?”
“About five eight.”
“Shoe size?”
“Nine.”
“Waist? Hips? Chest?”
“I…I have no idea.”
“Have you done this before?” she croaked, loud enough to make everyone in the vicinity stop and stare at the girl who had clearly never done this before. But Cara caught my eye and nodded some calm into my head.
“Yes,” I said, clearing my throat. “We had to buy our own clothes because they didn’t outfit us, but I have served. For the last year and a half. I can carry…”
Gladys waved her hand at me. “Never mind, never mind. Our girls are typically smaller than you, but I’m sure we can find you something.”
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