Sinning in Vegas

by Sam Mariano

  Gio snickers, glancing at his wife. “Dozens, she says.”

  Lydia tries to fight a smirk, but I feel like the butt of the joke.

  Brief irritation flickers across Rafe’s face. I think it’s in response to them, but I suppose it could be me. I lean in close to his ear so I can talk more quietly. “I just don’t want to be one of many. I don’t want to be dismissed like the latest temporary exhibit in your museum of conquests. I want them to take me seriously, and they won’t if you treat me like all the others.”

  Instead of getting annoyed at this blatant show of insecurity, Rafe takes my hand and uses his thumb to caress it. “They’ll take you seriously when they see you’re the one who sticks around. Showing you affection doesn’t make you look cheap or common, it makes you look like someone I like.”

  “You like me?” I tease, wrinkling my nose up in mock-distaste.

  “Maybe a little bit,” he teases back. “I’ll like you even more later, when my cock is buried between these pretty thighs.”

  I flush, and of course that is the moment Sin appears in front of the table.

  9

  Laurel

  There’s no such thing as subtlety—or, you’d certainly think that as I shy away from Rafe and cross my legs, knocking his hand off my thigh. I can feel that he’s faintly irritated, but he nonetheless leans back in the booth like he hasn’t a care in the world.

  “Sin,” he says, nodding once in acknowledgement.

  It takes a concentrated effort to keep my gaze on the table and off the new arrival, but I’m afraid to look at him. I’m not sure if I’m more nervous to see his facial expression—and if so, what am I afraid to see? His indifference? He’s not going to be jealous; he’s the one who sent me back to Rafe in the first place—or more nervous about how it’s going to feel to see him. Maybe the scariest thing of all is the prospect of looking at him and seeing how he responds to my evident turmoil.

  I’ve been waiting for this moment, and now that it’s here, I am too afraid to face it. Sin takes a seat on the other end of the booth, directly across from me.

  I rely on my peripherals to get a peek at him. He looks sinfully sexy in black slacks and a black jacket with a crimson shirt, open at the throat. Sin isn’t a tie guy. The temptation to look at his face is too great, and I raise my gaze to his, hoping he won’t be looking at me.

  Thankfully, he isn’t.

  It also stings of disappointment. It shouldn’t. Why would he be looking at me? I’m nothing to him. I may still be haunted by him, but he is not similarly afflicted. I could have never sent him away to someone else, and he did it with apparent ease. Never kissed me, never fucked me. I lost all my control around him, and he was able to hold everything back.

  My heart doesn’t understand that, though. It’s painfully slow and I wish it would catch up. Instead, it urges my mind to capture his every movement and file them away for later. He greets Gio and Lydia, nods at Rafe, and completely ignores me.

  My gaze drops. My heart aches. My stomach hurts.

  He’s so fucking mean.

  One of my last memories of him is worshipping his dick, and the manipulative bastard can’t even be bothered to say hello to me.

  I’m feeling another mood swing coming on, and I doubt this one is the baby’s fault either. Discomfort amongst strangers was one thing, but this is so much worse. Sin isn’t a stranger like Gio or Lydia, he’s someone I have intimate memories with, and I can’t shake the feeling of rejection all over again. Now he’s rejecting my very presence at this table.

  I should keep my mouth shut, but I can’t. “Hi, Sin.”

  He keeps his head turned so long, it’s obviously deliberate. Finally, he looks across the table and meets my gaze. Ice spears me right through the heart, piercing my soul. I shouldn’t have asked for his attention. I’m not prepared for it.

  “Laurel,” he says simply. A toneless acknowledgement, betraying no importance whatsoever. His tone is civil, at least. Not that he has a reason to be anything less than civil to me, but he never has, and he was a jerk to me from the get-go.

  Since my stomach is so unsettled I think I may hurl, I don’t do anything to further draw his attention. Suddenly parched, I look around for the server again. I see a scantily clad girl in a black latex dress, strapless and impractical for work, but she has a tray full of drinks. Once she finishes putting them on the table she’s standing in front of, I catch her eye. She doesn’t smile or indicate she’s coming, but after chatting up that table for another minute, she slides her tray underneath her arm and approaches ours.

  “Hey, how are y’all doing tonight?” With a big, fake smile, she nods at a couple murmured responses she doesn’t care about, then asks, “Can I get y’all some drinks?”

  I open my mouth to beg for water, but Sin speaks first. “Bottled water, sealed.”

  “Me too,” I say, not caring that I am not next. “And a huge glass of ice, please.”

  The waitress gives me a smile that’s somehow sweet and condescending at the same time. “Well, bless your heart, someone sure is thirsty.” I lose her attention as she smiles at Rafe. “And what can I get for you tonight, handsome?”

  Grasping his heart theatrically, Rafe asks, “You don’t remember my drink? I’m hurt.”

  Biting down on her bottom lip and flushing, she says, “Of course I remember your usual, but sometimes you mix it up. Stop playin’ with me,” she says, her tone a little whiny—but cute whiny. Flirty whiny.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Rafe continues, shaking his head. “You don’t remember. I’m bleeding out over here.”

  “Rafe,” she wines. “You’re so mean to me.”

  My face heats with embarrassment. I’m not sure if I want to stab him so he actually bleeds out, tell this bitch to fetch my fucking water, or flee the table. I don’t know if he’s flirting with her in front of me because he’s annoyed that I pulled back when Sin came to the table, or because he’s just a dick. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I allow for it being the first, and I kind of understand that. Not a fan, still profoundly embarrassing, but I get it.

  I wonder if Rafe has fucked her. My gaze drifts to her in her tight latex dress, her long, tanned legs, the fake lashes she glued on before coming to work, her perfectly straightened dark hair. Probably. She’s gorgeous. Clearly into him. Or maybe they’ve only flirted. Maybe they haven’t fucked—yet. Maybe they will someday. Maybe he’ll humiliate me on a level I can’t even fathom, and this snotty little skank will be so smug bringing me my water, knowing she’s fucked my man, thinking it’s some kind of accomplishment.

  Lydia finally speaks up. “I’ll have a mojito.”

  “Sounds good, and what can I bring you?” she asks Gio, without the cutesy bullshit.

  He orders and the waitress disappears, but not without another coy smile at Rafe that turns my stomach.

  I’m not completely sure I even have a right to be, but I am steaming. He better not get touchy feely with me right now; I would rather punch him in the face than snuggle.

  In an attempt to abandon the table without physically fleeing, I fish my phone out of my purse to play around on it. My hands tremble slightly from the emotions coursing through me, so I prop it up on the table to steady it.

  Rafe leans in. “Are you telling on me to Mia?”

  “Nope. I’m asking her if she wants to make out with me in private, somewhere you’ll never be able to see it,” I answer.

  “Oh, come on.”

  “It’s going to be so hot,” I tell him. “I may not be able to control myself. I’ll be kissing and stroking every inch of her bare skin. She’ll palm my breast while we kiss; I’ll squeeze her ass. I bet I’ll be so turned on, I’ll have to fuck her myself.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  I smile wide and look at him. “But never for you. We’ll let Mateo watch if she wants him to, but not you.”

  “What made you this evil?” he demands.

  Lydia is slack-jawed and completely sc
andalized. Well, she’s probably never going to like me. Oh well. Fuck her. Fuck all of them.

  I flick a glance across the table and catch Sin smirking for a split second before he sees me looking and clears his expression. Was he smirking because I’m being mean to Rafe, or at the mental image of me making out with another girl? Men are so weird. Why is that even hot?

  “When I do leave you to go back to Chicago,” I tell Rafe, smiling sweetly, “have fun lying awake at night wondering what Mia and I are up to. When Mateo is busy, I bet she’ll come to my bedroom and play with me. Tell Mateo to keep you updated so you know what you’re missing out on.”

  “I’ve never met such a cruel woman,” he states, lifting my hand to his lips so he can kiss it.

  Since I know this is an unattainable fantasy of his now, I lean in to murmur in his ear, “Imagine how much sweeter that knuckle would taste if I had it deep in Mia’s pussy first.”

  “Sweet lord,” he mutters, fisting a hand in my hair and pulling me closer. “Will you marry me?”

  “No,” I tell him.

  “Now I really am bleeding out.”

  “Good,” I say, pulling away from him and going back to my phone.

  “Would you even hold pressure on my wound?” he half-jokes.

  “Only if you haven’t willed everything to me yet.”

  A little laugh slips out of him. “Jesus, you are ruthless. Maybe I will let you run Vegas.”

  I nod my head. “You should. I’d do a good job.”

  Rafe shakes his head, smoothing down my hair where he just mussed it and kissing the crown of my head. “I can’t wait to train you, kitten.”

  “Just remember what I do to ducks that piss me off,” I advise him, not taking my eyes off the screen. “Dicks that piss me off might get the same treatment.”

  My threat only serves to amuse him. “Severed and served up with roasted veggies, huh?”

  “And then a celebratory all-female orgy after the fact. If you don’t have a dick anymore, I’ll let you watch. That sounds a lot meaner.”

  “I wonder if I would get a phantom erection?” he ponders.

  I can’t resist offering knowledge, even though I’m mad at him. “Technically, men who have had their penises amputated do tend to report phantom limb syndrome. Sometimes they feel so strongly that they still have a penis, they have to open their pants and check. I also read somewhere once that a man who had lost that particular appendage could still feel arousal, and if he rubbed the stump…” I pause, catching Gio and Lydia’s twin masks of horror. Clearing my throat, I tell Rafe, “Enough with the pillow talk. I wish that skanky waitress would hurry up; I’m parched.”

  Gio and Lydia are still gaping at me when Rafe turns his attention back to them. Gio looks at him, as if for an explanation for me. Rafe merely shrugs. “She reads a lot.”

  I wouldn’t say the night is going down in the record books as my favorite night out, but we’re all surviving. Rafe has a couple of drinks, he and Gio chat, and Sin just sits there looming over me. The biggest nerd award goes to me, because I keep pace with Sin, that way when he orders another water, he sees mine is empty and orders me one, too.

  I didn’t know he would, of course, but he does, and that I care is lame, but it also proves he is paying attention to me.

  Rafe’s hard gaze flickers across the table when Sin orders for me, even if it’s just a bottle of water. Sin looks away, not appearing to give a fuck.

  “How come you’re not drinking tonight, Sin?” Rafe asks, stretching his arm around my shoulder and regarding Sin congenially.

  Sin’s gaze doesn’t leave Rafe’s face, doesn’t even slip in my direction. “Didn’t feel like it.”

  Giving me a little squeeze to inexplicably pull me into this conversation, Rafe says, “He gets more sociable when he drinks. Doesn’t just sit here like a fucking wet blanket.”

  Sin has maintained a straight face, but now there’s a hint of annoyance brushed across the handsome tapestry of his face.

  The weird thing is the instinct that kicks up within me, wanting to defend Sin. Rafe’s words annoy me more than they seem to annoy him. “I have seen Sin drunk,” I state, nodding my head. “He was certainly more… sociable.”

  Rafe’s fingers tighten on my shoulder. I should feel bad for intentionally annoying him, but I don’t. He shouldn’t be mean to Sin. I should be mean to Sin, but Rafe doesn’t have a reason to be.

  The waitress brings our waters and walks away. I lean forward to uncap mine just as she comes back and stops at the head of our table.

  “You.”

  That’s not our waitress. I turn my head to investigate the accusing tone and pointed finger of the new woman in a black dress, standing here pointing at Rafe. This one is beautiful, wearing a snug, one-shoulder dress with a pair of tassel earrings swinging out from under her auburn locks. She’s not looking at me, though. She’s looking—and pointing—at Rafe.

  His arm drops from its spot behind me and he leans forward. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to see you,” she states, glaring at him. “You sent this dress and these earrings to my work. What is wrong with you?”

  I sink back in my seat, flummoxed.

  “I think the words you’re looking for might be thank you,” he suggests, clearly baffled by her anger.

  Her eyes widen at his apparent gall. “Thank you? You got me fired! You sent a present to my place of employment and signed your name to it. I didn’t even know who you were that night, but you damn sure knew that your psycho ex-girlfriend’s father owns the club I worked at.”

  “Oh, wow, this is fun,” I mutter. “This is a lot of fun.” Turning to Rafe, I demand, “Is this what your life is like? Is this my life with you? You buy me some books, buy her some clothes, everyone goes home happy. Did you buy our southern belle waitress a present, too? Or do I get to find out about that tomorrow night?”

  Holding up a hand to halt my anger, he says, “It’s not like that.”

  Ignoring him, I turn to the redhead and gesture to the dress. “When did he send you this present?”

  “Today,” she tells me.

  I laugh. Then I laugh a little more, because why the fuck not? “Okay.” Grabbing my purse, I slip my phone inside and scoot to the edge of the upholstered seat.

  “Laurel, stop,” Rafe says, grabbing my wrist. “This is not what it sounds like.”

  “It sounds like after we landed together in Las Vegas this morning, the errand you had to run was buying and delivering a present for another woman. Did I get any of that wrong?”

  He pauses. “Not technically.”

  I shake my head and scoot out of the booth. “This is not for me. I am not interested in this. Do not want. Unsubscribe. Hell no.”

  Rafe should let me go—he should really let me go, because I want to leave. I want to book myself another Uber and go back to the airport. Since I already played that card, he follows me, grabbing my bicep and turning me back around. “Laurel, it is not what it looks like. I didn’t have sex with her. She was just… she was nice to me the other night, and I thought I’d return the favor. Obviously I didn’t think you’d find out about it.”

  I turn back to face him, wide-eyed. “That is your defense? Because if I didn’t find out about it, then it would have been fine? Is that the rule? Does that rule go both ways? I assume if you get to do whatever the fuck you want to do as long as you’re discreet, I do, too.”

  That last line irritates him. Eyes trained on my face, he leans back a little. “Yeah, I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  Ripping my arm out of his grip, I fling back, “Maybe I would.”

  I’m executing a great storm-off when he grabs me, pushes my back against the wall nearest us, and imprisons me with his body. All of a sudden the anger gets pushed down. I look at his massive shoulders, at the muscular wall of man hovering inches from my body—rather intimidating, to be honest. It’s easy to forget Rafe is dangerous because he’s pretty e
asygoing by default, but I think I’m about to get a peek at what he’s like when he’s pissed.

  “I’ve had about enough of this damned mouth tonight, Laurel,” he tells me, grasping my jaw in his large hand.

  “Remember when you had no complaints about my mouth?” I murmur.

  He nods, watching me with his intense amber eyes. “I do. Remember when it hadn’t been wrapped around my enforcer’s cock?”

  Lowering my eyes, I swallow down the jab I want to throw at him. This is not the time. I can smell alcohol on his breath, and he’s clearly reaching the end of his good humor for the evening. I don’t think Rafe would physically hurt me, but I don’t know him all that well, either.

  When I don’t respond, he goes on, the tone of his voice low and rough. “I see the little fucking looks you keep stealing at him, Laurel. You wanna make me look like an asshole? Is that what you want?”

  “I think what makes you look like an asshole is the parade of other skanks you can’t seem to shake.” I tell him, despite my better judgment. “I don’t enjoy going out with you when I don’t know how many scantily clad women are going to salivate over you at the table, Rafe. That’s not fun.”

  “At least I’m not salivating over someone else,” he says, his voice low with anger.

  I ignore his jab and look him straight in the eye. “You flirted with our waitress right in front of me.”

  “You jumped to Sin’s defense in front of my fucking second-in-command.”

  I did do that. I don’t have a good defense for that, so I drop my gaze again. “There’s no reason for you to be mean to him. He hasn’t done anything to you.”

  His tone is nearly as sharp as his words. “He made you come, didn’t he?”

  I flinch less at the crudeness of the question, and more at the memory it triggers of Sin’s hands on my body.

  Rafe releases my jaw so he can trace the curve of my shoulder. “How many times did you let him play with your pussy, Laurel? How many times did he fuck you? How many times did you let him put his cock in your mouth? I need numbers.”