by Meghan Quinn
“All done,” she laughs nervously.
Leaning forward, I pull her closer, bringing her right up against the juncture between my thighs, her legs forced to drape over one of mine. I remove the empty drink from her hand and talk seductively into her ear.
“Are you trying to impress me with your sucking abilities, Penelope? Because if you are, it’s sure as shit working.”
Casually, not trying to draw attention, I move her fingers over the fabric of my green swim trunks, letting her lightly graze the hard on I’ve been sporting since the moment she bumped into my chair.
“Holy shit,” she mumbles to herself, unable face me.
With her hand still in mine, I press our palms together and entwine our fingers. For what reason? I have no fucking clue. All I know is that I want to feel more of her warmth, her skin against mine in any way I can have it.
“What are you doing, Gavin?” she practically whispers.
“Convincing you that you should go on a date with me?”
“A date?” she asks, a rise in her voice.
I’m about to answer her when a dark shadow falls over the both of us. I look up to see Ramos standing in front of us, a woman on both arms and a posse behind him.
Christ, one would think the d-bag is trying to emulate some mafia king. Too bad for him, I know better.
“Saint, you came out of your cave. I was starting to think you were becoming a hermit.”
He’s such a fucking tool bag.
Scott and Davies’ conversation ends and their attention is brought over to the jackass standing in front of me. Scott knows all about Ramos and his piss poor attempts to rile me up. He takes every chance he can get to try to dig his way under my skin.
“Ramos, pleasure as always,” I try to dismiss him with a nod but it doesn’t work. He stands firmly in front of us.
“Word on the street is Harley’s coming back and he’s out for blood. He’s already starting to call you out.”
Well fuck me. I don’t hold back my eye roll. Harley St. James. The second best poker player in the world. He lost to me in Monte Carlo, millions on the line and faltered with one wrong flip of his poker chip. I caught him and called him out on his bluff. Probably the most successful and memorable win to date. Anything after that has been incomparable. Harley was a good competitor, one I wouldn’t mind seeing at the table again.
“I welcome the challenge,” I state, rubbing Penelope’s hand with my thumb. She looks rather tense from Ramos’ sudden appearance, so I try to calm her down.
Looking around at us, Ramos lifts up his glasses once he notices Penelope sitting next to me, focusing on our connected hands. A sardonic smile stretches across his face. “What’s going on here?” he asks, pointing at our hands.
“None of your concern,” I answer as Penelope tries to pull away, but I don’t let her.
Studying us, Ramos rubs his jaw, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “You going to take a tumble like your old man?”
Just like that, he’s dug too deep, hitting me in a place he has no business aiming. Scott shifts in his lounge chair next to me, ready to pounce on my behalf but I hold him back. It’s exactly what Ramos wants, a reaction.
“I suggest you leave, Ramos, before I have Graham take you off the list indefinitely.”
Throwing his head back and laughing, Ramos starts to walk away, but not before calling over his shoulder, “Better watch out Papi. Like father, like son.”
Releasing Penelope’s hand, I grab my beer and take a sip, trying to calm the raging anger that’s boiling inside of me.
Like father, like son.
Fuck that. I’m nowhere even close to being my dad. Did I want to fuck Penelope? Yeah. Did I want to take her down to The Little White Chapel and proclaim my undying love for her in front of Elvis? Fuck no. I am nothing like my father. I’m not about to lose everything, including my life, over a woman.
“Are you okay?” Penelope asks, pressing her hand against my arm, concern on her face.
“Fine,” I answer gruffly.
Penelope doesn’t let up. “What was he talking about? Is your father okay?”
Standing up abruptly, I toss back the rest of my beer and throw the bottle on the lounger. “I have to bounce. Scotty, I’ll catch you later.” Needing some room to breathe, I take off, calling out a hasty “bye” to Davies and Penelope.
Weaving through the crowd, I find my way to the lobby and head to the elevators. A shower, that’s what I need. A nice cold shower to clear my thoughts. This is exactly what Ramos wanted. And, goddamn it, I shouldn’t let him win.
“Gavin!”
I turn to see Penelope running up behind me, her cute little bikini body shifting with her every move. For some reason, the tension in me eases and I have the urge to wrap her in my arms and bury my face in her soft, sweet smelling hair.
“What’s up?”
Stepping up to me, she grabs my hand, and I love the feel of her skin against mine now, just as much as I had earlier. She rubs her thumb over my palm, mimicking the motions I had been making just minutes ago, sending a shiver up my spine.
“Please tell me I didn’t upset you back there. I didn’t mean to pry.”
With the unoccupied I hand, I bring it up to her face and grip her chin with my thumb and forefinger. Hotel guests, drunkards, and gamblers walk around us, but they all fade into the background as I stare down into Penelope’s almost golden eyes.
“If you did, how would you make it up to me?”
Twisting her lips, she says, “I wouldn’t.”
“Liar,” I reply, stepping closer and running my thumb along her jaw.
Her eyes search mine, scanning them for something, but I know she can’t read them. It’s impossible to read my nearly black irises, it’s a gift I was blessed with, as far as I’m concerned.
“What’s happening?” Her whispered voice rolls over me.
“Something you won’t be able to say no to for very much longer,” I answer back, bringing my lips down to hers, waiting for her to pull away, or better yet, knee me in the fucking balls, like always.
But she doesn’t.
She stands still, waiting for me to make the final move.
So I do. Because I need one more fucking taste.
Pulling her in lightly, my lips gently touch hers, barely connecting. With a soft press, I move my mouth over hers, loving the way her hand grows tighter on mine just from a simple kiss. It’s hardly a caress, more of a graze, a tease to leave her waiting and wanting more.
Disconnecting our lips, I back away with our hands still connected. Her eyes open, hazy and dazed. My job here is done.
“Thanks for your time, Miss Prescott. It was a pleasure as always.” With a wink, I turn away from her and press forward toward my private elevator, all the while thinking how my intentions were to leave her wanting more. So why the hell was I the one desperate for her to spend the rest of the day with me, her lips on mine and our limbs tangled?
Like father, like son.
The words ring heavily in my head.
Never going to happen, I try to convince myself.
Chapter Fourteen
**NELL**
God, I am so stupid. I ignorantly let down my walls for just a fraction of a second, giving Gavin the perfect opportunity to climb in, only to watch in bewilderment as he closed himself off, pasting that arrogant persona back into place.
That goddamned mask he wears like a protective shield pisses me the hell off. Or maybe it’s not a shield, maybe that’s just the real him, and I idiotically let myself believe, for just a second when I thought I saw something in his eyes, that there was more to him. And like a dumbass, I’ve spent the past two days thinking of nothing but our poolside encounter… mainly the kiss that followed. I wanted to punch myself in the face for being such an idiot.
“Nell!” Page shouts as she bursts into my bedroom like a bat out of hell.
“Uh, right here, psycho,” I tell her from my place on the bed. “No
need to yell the house down.”
“I need your help. And you aren’t going to like it, but I’m desperate and if you don’t help me the world will end. California will fall into the ocean—not that it’ll really be that much of a loss—volcanoes will erupt all over Earth, and nuclear missiles will explode in their silos.”
Ah, my sweet Page. When she isn’t being an incurable romantic, she’s a drama queen that could put every cross-dresser on the Strip to shame. “You know, you had me at California falling into the ocean, but you went too far with the missiles.”
“I’ll be sure to tone it down next time,” she replies drolly. “So are you going to help me or not?”
“Well I don’t know,” I answer sarcastically. “Seeing as you haven’t told me what the hell you need my help with yet. I’m inclined to say yes right off the bat, simply because I love you, but for all I know, you’re asking for the privilege of naming my first-born child. How can I trust you wouldn’t pick some God-awful name like Finius or Buckwheat? I just can’t allow that. You understand.”
Sarcasm is my go-to reaction whenever Page goes all dramatic, it’s a sure-fire way to calm her hyper ass down.
“Ha. You know I totally plan on naming your kid Brussel Sprout. But that’s not what I need. I was called in to cater a private dinner party. It was last minute and one of the waiters I usually bring in to help with these things has the flu. Can you help me?” She clasps her hands in front of her and begins hopping from foot to foot. “Pretty pleeeeeeeeeease.”
“What do I have to do?”
“I just need you to act as my runner for the evening, bringing out the food and all that stuff. I have another girl that will handle the actual waitressing. You won’t have to do anything other than set the plates down and keep me company in the kitchen. Kim will handle everything else.”
I give her an easy shrug. “Sure, sounds simple enough. Where’s the dinner party?”
It’s with that question that her face takes on a sheepish expression. “Hotel Paragon.”
The hairs on my arms stand on end as I ask, “And who’s hosting this party?”
She cringes, actually cringes, as she says, “Gavin Saint.”
“Oh come on!” I shoot to my feet and slam my hands on my hips. “You’ve got to be kidding. It’s like this guy’s invading every aspect of my freaking life! I can’t get him out! He’s like… he’s like…” it takes me a second to come up with a good enough analogy, then I hit money, “…toenail fungus!”
“Really?” Page gives me a blank stare. “That’s the comparison you’re going with? The dude you’ve traded spit with, more than once”—I never should have told her about the damned pool— “that has you throwing vibrators hard enough to dent drywall is like toenail fungus?”
“Yes,” I snap.
“All right,” she sighs, beginning to turn toward the door. “I was going to pay you, but if you’re dead set on staying as far away from him as possible, I guess I’ll have to find someone else to help me out.”
“Whoa,” I grab the hem of her shirt to halt her steps. “Let’s not be hasty here. I mean, I didn’t exactly say no…”
Spinning around, Page grins widely. “Does that mean you’re saying yes?”
“How much money we talking?”
“My rate for last minute private events is pretty steep. How about three hundred for the night? It’s easy money and only four hours tops. You can’t beat that.”
She’s right, I definitely can’t. And it will help having that extra money to send to my folks back home, that’s for sure.
“Okay, I’m in.”
With a squeal loud enough to pierce my eardrums, she pulls me in for a hug. Tomorrow night I’m going to be serving drinks and food to Gavin and a bunch of his rich, entitled friends.
For some reason, my gut’s telling me this might not be the best idea. We’ve been dancing around each other for way too long now, something I’ve been refusing to acknowledge building more with each passing day.
One of these days, it’s bound to explode. And I have a feeling that day is coming soon. And I’m definitely not prepared for the aftermath.
***
My chest is tight as I make my way through the parking lot, the sun beating off the concrete causing hot beads of perspiration to dot across my forehead in a matter of seconds. My body is sore, but it’s the pain in my chest that hurts the worst. It’s like my soul’s been battered so badly I can physically feel it. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. How many more auditions I can go on, how many more times I can hear that I’m just not good enough, before it finally becomes too much.
All my life, all I’ve ever been good at was gymnastics. It was my passion, the one and only thing that carried me through the hard times. And growing up poor, there were a lot of hard times. I knew I wanted to use my skills to do something with my life, but I never wanted to compete. I didn’t care about gold medals, or proving I was better than anyone else. That was the one aspect I’d disliked the most. I just wanted to perform. And when I saw the glossy pictures of La Magie du Cirque’s performers in a magazine while standing in the checkout line of the supermarket my sophomore year of high school, I just knew. That was what I was meant to do with my life, with my passion.
And since moving away from the only home I’ve ever known, it’s been three steady years of one rejection after another. I’ve all but given up on believing it will ever happen to me. I click the unlock button on my key fob and climb into my car, turning it on and cranking the AC as high as it will go as I just sit there, staring at nothing, trying to figure out what I could have done better during that audition. I lose track of how much time has passed when the sharp trilling ring of my cell phone pulls me out of my head and back into reality.
Digging my phone from my purse, I swipe my finger across the screen and hold it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hey, peanut,” my Dad’s deep, soothing voice resonates through the line and I can’t help but smile, despite the additional pang I feel in my chest at the sound of it. God, I really miss my parents.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“How’d the audition go? You blow ‘em away?” Of course he’d remember I had another audition. He and my mom were my biggest supporters. If they could, they’d probably be at every audition, cheering and holding up signs among the empty seats in the audience.
“Didn’t get it,” I tell him quietly, disappointment filling the empty space behind my ribs.
“Aw, honey, I’m sorry. You’ll knock ‘em dead next time. I just know it. You’re the best I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
A small laugh works its way up my throat. “You have to say that. You’re my dad.”
“Doesn’t matter if I’m your dad when it’s a fact.” I want to tell him that it’s not a fact, that if it were, I’d have gotten a spot with La Magie du Cirque years ago, but I can’t bring myself to burst my parents’ bubble. Honestly, I think one of the only reasons I haven’t called it quits, packed my shit, and crawled back home with my tail between my legs yet is because of their belief in me. They sacrificed so much my entire life so I’d be able to do what I love, I can’t stand the thought of disappointing them.
“How are things there?” I ask, changing the subject. “How are you and Mom?”
“Well…” At the sound of his voice trailing off, my stomach plummets to my feet, the air conditioning hitting my face suddenly feels like needles pricking my skin.
“What’s going on?” I push.
“Your mom was in an accident—”
“What?” I shout, nearly crushing the phone in my grip as panic courses through me.
“Now, hold on there just a minute, peanut. She’s fine. She’s gonna be just fine.”
“What happened? Tell me everything,” I demand to know.
“She was in a car accident,” he begins to explain, and the sweat on my brow returns with a vengeance. “The tires on the car were a little worn and we haven’t really had the money to r
eplace ‘em. She hit a pothole on the way to work and had a blowout. The car swerved and hit a tree. Your mom broke her arm, but other than that, she’s just fine. More angry about the damned car being totaled than anything else,” he laughs lightly, and I know he’s trying to infuse humor into the situation to keep me from losing my mind completely.
“Daddy…” I whisper brokenly into the phone as I lean forward and rest my head against the steering wheel, my eyes clenched shut tightly against the onslaught of tears threatening to fall.
“Oh, baby girl,” he says quietly, knowing I’m struggling at this very moment. “It’s all goin’ to be okay. I promise.”
“I’m coming home,” I croak past the emotion clogging my throat. “You guys need me there. I’m not helping being so far away. I need to be with you.”
“You are not,” he says adamantly. “You’re stayin’ right where you are and livin’ your dream. Mom and I will be just fine. There’s no need in you gettin’ yourself all worked up over this.”
“How can you say that?” I cry, shooting up straight. “You guys couldn’t afford to replace worn tires. Now the car is totaled, Mom’s hurt, and there’s no telling how long she’ll be out of work because of this! I’m no use to you guys here. You need me there!”
“I can say that because I’m the parent,” he says in an almost reprimanding tone. “And because it’s our place to take care of you. Not the other way around. You already do too much for us as it is. We aren’t lettin’ you give that up, you hear me? We’re so damned proud of you, peanut. We wake up proud every single day for the simple fact we gave birth to such a lovin’, devoted, strong-willed daughter, and I’m not gonna hear of you givin’ up your life to come back here. That’s not the person we raised you to be.”
“You raised me to take care of my family,” I argue. “To help in any way I can. I’m not doing that from all the way in Vegas.”
“Oh, but baby girl, you are,” he whispers. “Just knowin’ you’re strivin’ for what you want makes our hearts strong. If that’s not takin’ care of us, I don’t know what is.”