by Mariah Dietz
“But you didn’t even talk to him.”
“I wanted to see how he played.”
“Because knowing he sucked at poker told you something?”
I chuckle. “Watching him buy back in four times did.”
“I’m not following.”
“He lost twenty grand tonight and drank his way through a bottle of gin. He’s either up to his eyeballs in debt or he’s embezzling money.”
17
Chloe
“Embezzling?” the word squeaks out of me.
“I can’t prove anything yet, but remember what I said about the numbers not adding up for the New Orleans hotel?” His gaze shifts to mine as he stops at a red light. “I thought maybe I was missing something, but then when we got to Austin, I assumed that the hotel was doing shitty because the GM is a clown. But then I learned that they’d paid to do a bunch of remodeling and nothing had been done or was even scheduled. When I asked Sid about it, he didn’t even know what I was talking about. So I contacted Vivian, our accountant at the San Francisco location because she’s worked for the hotels forever, and my dad’s always complained about her being paranoid and rigid—which means she’s good—and I talked to her about the examples and hired her to start looking over the other sites.
“Before we got here, she sent me a whole list of concerns. Half of them are likely erroneous and loose bookkeeping, but there are too many inconsistencies and not enough answers from Avery. He keeps telling Vivian that he’ll look into things and follow up, but he never does, or when he does, it’s some bullshit answer that doesn’t address the issue.”
“So, you wanted to see how aggressively he’d gamble?”
“It wasn’t guaranteed to tell me anything—it still doesn’t. He might live far below his means and piss all his money away gambling. However, if he’s doing this every week like the San Francisco GM claims, then something’s amiss.”
“What are you going to do?”
He glances at me. “Keep digging.”
All of this is so far over my head that I can’t quite wrap my mind around the implications of what this might mean as the lights of the city welcome us back to the Strip.
Tyler’s phone rings through the speakers, silencing the music as Cooper’s name is announced.
“Hey, Coop,” Ty says.
“Where are you guys? You aren’t still playing poker, are you?”
“We’re on our way back to the hotel now. Where are you guys?”
“Ready to go party. Vanessa’s words, not mine.”
Ty chuckles. “Where do you want to go?”
I consider Tyler telling me we’d spent more than the five thousand last night at the club, likely due to the VIP lounge we didn’t need.
“Vanessa says you guys can choose. She wants to do either a show or another club,” Cooper tells him.
Ty glances at me. “What do you want to do?”
I shake my head, unable to make a choice when each might be associated with a matching price tag.
“We’ll be there in ten, and we can figure it out,” Ty says.
“Sounds good.” Coop hangs up, and the music slowly grows louder again.
“You’re wrong,” Tyler says as we pull up to the hotel.
“About what?” I ask.
His blue eyes scan over my face, his features perfectly impassive. “About me not liking you. You’ve always treated me like I was a normal person, and I kept waiting, expecting you to do what everyone else does: treat me like I’m different, ask me for favors, laugh when I’m an arse—and you don’t. You’re probably the most real person I’ve ever met.”
My door opens, and I ignore it and the person who’s holding it open. I stare at Tyler, waiting for him to say something else, something more, because hope and reality have just gone to war in my head, and neither is willing to wave the white flag as they armor themselves with that warmth in my chest and his shiny words that wield sharp weapons.
He nods. “I know.” He leans back and slides out of the car.
He knows?
He doesn’t have a clue.
The war rages on, making my heart feel unsteady and my thoughts unstable as I accept the valet’s hand. “Good evening, Ms. Robinson,” the valet attendant says.
I smile out of obligation.
“Hey!” Nessie calls from inside the lobby, her smile radiating with energy and lust and the constant high that is palpable in this city. “How was it?”
“She was a shark,” Tyler says. “Wiped the floor with everyone there.”
“I didn’t lose money,” I clarify.
“She more than doubled it,” Tyler says.
“Whoop!” Nessie high fives me. “I told you she was good.” She looks back at Ty. “Did you decide what you want to do?”
“Let’s hit a club tonight, and tomorrow we’ll go see a show.”
“I’m so on board for that,” Nessie says.
“We don’t have to do anything,” I counter. “We could just walk through more casinos or hang out up in the room?”
Nessie shakes her head. “We’re in Vegas. We’re going out.”
Tyler smirks. “Indeed. Hey, we’ll meet you guys upstairs. I need to stop at the front desk and show Chloe something.”
Nessie grins before spinning around and looping her arm with Cooper’s, their steps too quick as they cross the lobby.
“I didn’t tell you that shit to make you feel guilty for going out. I get deals, and it gives the hotel benefits when we spend money. Don’t worry about it,” Tyler says.
“I don’t want you to think we’re only here because you can get us into all these clubs and shows.”
“If I did, I’d say so. Don’t mistake my compliment for a warning or to mean something it doesn’t.”
Reality cries out a victory as his eyes meet mine, another expression that reveals so little that hope relinquishes its weapons.
Nessie whistles as I step out of our shared bathroom wearing one of the few dresses I packed. It’s a gold cocktail dress that is simple in its design, but the way it glitters and hugs my curves has the more modest dress making me feel even sexier than last night’s revealing number. “You’re going to have to beat the guys away tonight.”
“It’s already past eleven,” I tell her.
She shrugs. “In a month, we’ll be at study groups at this time. Let’s live it up.”
I hold on to this reminder as we head out to the living room. Her sentiment feels like a truth I desperately needed to hear. This entire trip is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. We’ve spent most of our lives in Florida, so seeing these states and cities for the first time and experiencing as much as we can is something I pledged to do back when it was our plan with Meredith.
Tyler and Cooper are at the small bar in our suite, watching football clips on one of their phones. Tyler’s blue gaze lifts to me as he’s mid-sentence, his words trailing off as his eyes climb my legs to my chest and finally meet my stare. He blinks and then looks over me twice more before sliding his phone into his pocket.
Nessie nudges me with her elbow. “Told you.”
“You guys look amazing,” Cooper says.
My cheeks heat as I turn my attention to the safety of Nessie. She links her arm with mine like she knows I need her strength.
Cooper snaps his fingers, dancing in place to his created beat, breaking the tension that seems to swallow me as Tyler continues to stare at me.
Coop drapes an arm over my shoulders and Nessie’s. “Let’s go!” he says.
Regardless of it being a Sunday, the club is packed as we follow our hostess, yellow bands around our wrists, marking our VIP status. She leads us up a set of stairs where the suite looks out across the darkened club, a white couch stretching from one wall to the next, several tables spaced out along the stretch as smaller square tables line the railing, looking out onto the club with hardback chairs. Waiting on one of the tables are four shot glasses.
After my day with Tyler, I’m so
desperate to silence my thoughts that I barely hear the welcome the hostess offers as I eye the drinks and the club, making quick plans for the easiest way to get out of my head and off this battlefield: drink, find a hot guy, dance. And when the thoughts start to creep back in, take another drink, and by then, the others will likely be ready to go back to the hotel where I can climb into bed and gain a safe distance from these lingering stares and the lack of sarcasm that has kept Tyler and I separated and all the lines between us safely defined.
The hostess leaves, and the others converge around the drinks. I quickly follow suit, grabbing one of the shot glasses and not caring what it is as we lift our glasses with a silent toast and swallow the heat of the alcohol. It burns the back of my throat and my belly, promising to help the music speak louder and quiet my thoughts. Nessie flashes me a smile, her fingers tangling with mine. “Let’s go. This place is amazing. The DJ is ridiculous.”
“Have fun!” Cooper yells after us.
I glance back at him and catch as he gives me a subtle nod. It’s his way of giving me time with Nessie after spending the afternoon with her. I smile, appreciating the time before I turn and follow her back down into the club.
The alcohol chases my inhibitions and straggling hopes that returned to the battlefield after Tyler’s reaction. Nessie might be right. Maybe he’s attracted to me, but that means little to nothing, and tonight I need it to mean less. Those thoughts take a backseat as we find a space on the dance floor, dancing and laughing as the world disappears into a familiar territory of Nessie and I having fun together.
Cooper finds us several songs later, and Nessie’s face lights up. I wait to see Tyler behind him, but the crowd closes around Cooper, and when a guy in a deep blue shirt and New York accent asks me to dance, I don’t look back.
“I need something to drink,” New York yells after several more songs have played. “You want to get something?”
I glance toward Nessie and Cooper making out and back to New York. He’s a good dancer, and his broad chest and quick smile have made it easy for me to forget what I was running from when we arrived. I nod. “Yeah.”
He flashes another quick smile. “I’m Reggie,” he says.
“Chloe,” I respond.
He repeats my name. “It’s nice to meet you, Chloe.”
I smile, trying to remember how to flirt as his hand floats down my back, resting right above my ass. We weave through the crowd, heading to the bar, which is still overflowing with people.
“What would you like?” Reggie asks, his gaze skipping from me to the bartender as he tries to get his attention.
I shake my head because the only drink I can think about is Sazerac and slippery nipples.
Then Tyler appears, his blue eyes accusatory as he looks at Reggie’s hand on my back and then me.
“I’ve got her,” Tyler says, beckoning the same bartender Reggie’s been working to catch for the past several minutes.
Reggie raises his eyebrows, his hand slipping from my back. I glance from him to Tyler, feeling irrationally angry by him interfering when I needed this—needed the attention of someone else who wanted to buy me a drink and spend time with me and chase the rest of these ghosts from my thoughts.
I sigh, moving past Tyler in the direction of the restrooms.
When I reach the hallway, a hand at my waist stops me. I turn, catching Tyler’s eyes shining intensely back at me. “Are you trying to make me jealous?”
I laugh in spite of myself, fully aware he’s about to lay open a new wound with the lashing of words, assuring me he doesn’t get jealous, much less by me. The idea of making him jealous hadn’t even crossed my mind because I knew it was impossible. My intention was purely selfish—an attempt to seek sanity, to forget him. I shake my head, not wanting to hear the verbal blows that will remind me I’m his favorite new head game.
His palms fall flush against the wall on either side of me, his mouth so close I smell that he was drinking a Sazerac. “What are you doing to me?” His gaze drops to my mouth, and the column of his throat moves slowly as he swallows. He leisurely lifts his gaze to meet mine, and there’s a crease between his brows with the weight of a thought he doesn’t like. “Why do you look at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m redeemable.”
I pull my chin back, surprise hitting me like a cold drink to the face as the hope in my chest slowly rises to its feet again. Of all the things I thought—expected—for him to say, this was not even within the same galaxy of possibilities.
“Dammit, Chloe.” He leans closer to me, his forearm connecting with the wall. I trace the lines of his face with my eyes, catching a subtle scar across his jaw, the roundness of his lips, the way his stare cuts through me in a way that leaves me feeling exposed, which is both terrifying and liberating. He raises his left hand, brushing the back of his fingers from my temple to my jaw. “Tell me you want me. Tell me you’re drowning in thoughts of me because I constantly feel like I’m one breath from drowning. Tell me you feel this.”
Never have I questioned my cardiologist’s assurances about my heart being fine, but right now, my doubts feel like a fact as my heart beats like the dryer when we put too many clothes inside—off balance and clunky. His stare pleads with mine, searching for what I fear most to expose: how much I want him. I tear my gaze from his, but he’s everywhere, his lips, his scent, his warmth.
I pull in a fraction of a breath. “I don’t want to be a mistake that you avoid for the next ten days.”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “You want to know the first time I wanted to kiss you?” His eyes dip to my mouth again, and he licks his lips. “We were outside, and you were telling me how the moon was nearly the same distance across as Australia.”
“I kissed you that night,” I admit the moment I avidly work to forget and pretend never happened.
His eyebrows hitch. “I know, and then you started avoiding me.”
“Because that guy said I was your third hookup of the night.”
He pulls his chin back. “What?”
I nod. “That guy who was smoking weed,” I tell him, recalling the memory like it happened last night. “He started laughing and said Tyler Banks is already on his third hookup of the night. God, he must think Americans are so easy. And your reaction was to smile.”
He shakes his head. “I remember the guys, but…” He shakes his head again. “I most certainly didn’t hear him because otherwise, I would have knocked out his fucking teeth. Chloe, you were the first girl at Brighton I kissed.”
My heart feels dizzy as hope breaks past sense and claims an early victory.
“You’re the only girl at Brighton—the only girl, period—who I want to kiss.”
He ruins me with his admission.
He also raises me.
My feelings are in a constant state of contradiction and imbalance that has me fully addicted and entranced to everything about him.
His bright blue eyes dance between my mouth and my eyes, then he starts to shake his head, but leans closer with another giant contradiction. “This will change things. If you ask me to kiss you, nothing will be the same. Not this time.”
“What changes?”
His eyes slowly shift between mine. “Everything. Everything will change because I want you in ways I can’t even describe. I want to own you, possess you, and claim you—I want to fucking free you, Chloe.”
He buries his fingers into my hair, his palm resting hot against my jaw. “People will come at you—want to be your friend, want to ask you for favors, talk about you behind your back, start rumors—it won’t be easy.”
I’m so entangled in his words about wanting to claim me that I can’t ask logic to take a seat and join in the conversation because desire cleared that space and is lighting the candles and turning on some sexy music. “I don’t care,” I tell him.
Regret flashes in his eyes. “Chloe…” His gaze starts to slip, and I can feel the dis
tance as he works to pull himself away, though he hasn’t moved a single inch.
“Truth or dare?” I ask him.
He blinks, his blue gaze making a roundtrip pass over my lips again, making it increasingly difficult for me to breathe or think straight. A week ago, talking to him was difficult, now I challenge him to hold my stare and finally admit this is more than a game—more than we both want to admit.
“Dare.”
It’s the same choice he’s made throughout the entirety of our brief game, ensuring me he’d choose it again. “Kiss me.”
The air feels heavier as my dare echoes in my ears, my stomach pitched with nerves and fear of rejection.
His eyes sweep back to mine, and that desire and hunger I feel in the pit of my stomach is reflected in his blue eyes. My heart throbs, and my knees feel weak as I reach for him to balance me—anchor me—and bring him closer because I need to feel him everywhere.
He leans closer, and my breath catches.
Everything changes…
Claim you…
Only one…
I lean into him. His chest heaves against mine as his breaths drag against my cheek, the scent of whiskey hypnotizing me along with the beat of his heart against my chest. Then his hands close around my waist, and his lips come down on mine, and it feels like I’m floating as he takes my bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, his fingers grinding into my waist, pulling me closer. Or maybe I’m tugging him closer as my nails scrape against his black dress shirt, desperate to feel him and taste him.
He slants his lips over mine, his tongue sweeping across my lips, daring me to take more—to give more. I part my lips for him, and his tongue tangles with mine, and I taste the whiskey and absinthe and the sweetness from the sugar.
I groan, or maybe it’s him. I can’t tell anymore because as we collide in this moment, I think about cold welding: the effect in which two metals of the same type touching in space become permanently joined because of the absence of air. That is how I feel. Bonded to Tyler in a way I know will forever change who I am.