“I’m sorry. Thank you for the room.”
He looked up from wiping and nodded at me.
I went back to Irina. “Let’s stay,” I whispered. “We need a break.”
She nodded. She was shivering. I put my arm around her and led her to the line of doors in a long, low-down wooden building beyond the bar. I had to lean on the door of our room and push to get it open. I reached for the light. It wasn’t much: just a queen bed, a chest of drawers, and a night table with a plastic lamp. The walls were wood boards, and the brown carpet was pretty clean, and it smelled okay. A little musty, maybe.
Irina sat on the end of the bed and set her hands in her lap, turning them over. The dark blue cover was pulled tight across the pillows, and there was an extra blanket folded at the bottom. It looked like the old man took care of the place.
I shut the door behind us and ran some water in the cracked sink, filled a plastic cup, and brought it to Irina. She drank and wiped her hand across her mouth. I sat next to her.
She gave me a sideways look and a tiny grin showed up. “Did you see when I hit the big blond one?”
I nodded. “That was epic.”
“They were calling me a slut. The one who slapped me said I was hitting on her man. Can you believe I got her like that? She was way bigger than me.” Irina puffed up.
I started chuckling, remembering the other two backing away. Then Irina started laughing, and we laughed until we had to fall back on the bed because the whole thing was so freaking crazy, the only thing to do was laugh. I could tell it was going to go down in history and be one of those things that we brought up again and again, every time we got to reminiscing.
Our laughter finally quieted down until it was just small laughs, and then a giggle here and there. Irina rolled to her side, facing me. Her eyes were gleaming in the almost-dark. She touched my chest.
I kissed her and pulled her into me. She kissed me back, strong and hungry. We rolled back and forth, and she didn’t stop me when I lifted her shirt, took off her bra. She was so beautiful, I wanted to explode. She let me touch her everywhere, let me keep going … and she didn’t stop me when I slid off her jeans.
But she was moving kind of slow. Not totally herself.
She kissed me again—and I could taste the liquor on her breath, as strong as if she’d just taken a drink. I pulled back a little, tried to catch my breath. I felt her hands on my back, moving awkwardly. She was … She was drunk. Way more drunk than I was. She had said a lot of times that she was waiting until she was married. She’d meant that.
I rolled away and sat on the edge of the bed.
“What?” she said.
I answered, not looking at her, “You said you’re waiting until you’re married. I just don’t want to do this unless I know it’s what you really want.” But I was hurting, I wanted her so bad, and I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth.
“What I want?” she repeated, sounding mad.
I looked at her and then had to look away again, she was so beautiful naked. “You just did like four shots, Irina.”
“Oh, so I have bad breath!”
“It’s not that,” I said in a strangled voice. “I’m just trying to do right by you. Tell me you want this tomorrow morning, and we will. You’re not thinking straight right now. Anyway, people always want to fuck after a fight.”
She said in a slurry voice, “They always want to … Fine, that’s fine. Whatever.” I could hear her putting on her clothes.
I stood and walked to the window, leaned against the cold glass. Was I insane? Every one of my friends would tell me I was. I heard the water running in the sink and then the squeak of the bed. I let myself turn around. Irina was lying facedown on the bed, head on her arms.
I sat next to her. She reached for my hand and held it. I stroked her hair. She sighed, and I rubbed her neck, her head, and her shoulders. She started to breathe deeper; then she made a funny gasping sound, and I saw she was asleep.
There was no way to get to the blankets without moving her, so I spread my jacket over her and lay down with my chest to her back, and my chin on her hair. Her breathing was soft and even, and it filled the air with the smell of booze. I closed my eyes and listened to her. Finally my body quieted down, and I fell asleep.
When I woke up the next morning, light was slipping through the shades and falling in bars across Irina’s face. She was on her side, and her eyes were open. I squinted and said, “Hey.” My head was banging with a slow steady throb. My mouth felt thick and dry.
She kissed my cheek and went to get water. When I’d drunk a glass and propped myself on a pillow, she climbed back on the bed and lay next to me, resting her head on her hand. She looked very serious.
“What?” I said. “Why are you watching me like that?”
“You could have slept with me last night.”
I stared at the spiderweb of cracks in the ceiling. It felt weird to be talking about this in the daylight.
“But you didn’t, because you said I was drunk and you wanted to make sure it was what I really wanted. I remember.”
My face felt hot. “Yeah.”
She put her hand in mine. “Look at me.” Her gold-brown eyes were wide and serious. “Thank you.”
I gave an uncomfortable laugh. “It’s fine.”
“I didn’t realize you were the kind of guy who would do that.”
That seemed like a strange, almost mean thing to say. I frowned. “What kind of guy did you think I was?”
“I don’t know.” She rolled over, pulled a thread on the bedcover. She looked back at me and pulled the thread again. “I guess I didn’t totally trust you.”
Now, that was messed up. “Then why are you even here with me? You should trust somebody if you’re gonna run away to Vegas with them!”
She blushed and tried to backpedal. “That’s not how I meant it. It just seemed like you’d been with a lot of girls. I didn’t realize you were …” She trailed off. “I know who you are now. I respect you. That’s all I’m trying to say.”
I felt like I was still half-asleep. My head was killing me, and what the hell was she talking about? She didn’t respect me before? It was sinking in that she wasn’t going to finish what she started last night, either. I wondered why we were even talking about it. Finally I said, “Whatever. It’s not a big deal. I just didn’t want your first time to be like that.”
She blushed. “I never said I was a virgin. I just said I was waiting until I got married.”
“You—what are you talking about? You’ve had sex before?”
She nodded, looking at the ceiling.
I sat up in bed. I felt shaky. “So that was for nothing?”
She sat up, too. “Are you saying if I’m not a virgin, I don’t have the right to decide that I’m waiting? What would you have done if you’d known I wasn’t a virgin?”
I glared at her. “How many guys have you been with?”
“None of your business, Mr. Can’t-Count-His-Partners,” she shot back.
“That’s different!” I was furious—at her for being such a fake, and at myself for buying it.
She folded her arms across her chest. “How is it different? Did I throw your china statue off a pedestal? Are you allowed to be a slut and it doesn’t matter? But if I had sex, I’m dirty?”
“No, I’m saying how come them and not me?”
“How hard is it to understand?” she roared, getting off the bed. “It was a mistake! I decided to stop! Haven’t you ever made a mistake?”
“When was the last time?” I yelled back. If it was in the past year, I was going to hunt the guy down and kill him.
“That’s also none of your business.” She walked to the window, opened the slats with her fingers, and looked out. The crack let in a bar of light that showed the pills on the blanket and the dust on everything. I didn’t trust myself to say anything else. I watched her thin back and long blond hair and thought, I always get the raw end of ever
ything.
Irina said in a low voice, “I lost my virginity when I was fifteen with … a guy I was in love with. We broke up last year. That’s when I decided to wait until I was married.”
“That’s kind of extreme!”
Irina shrugged, still looking out the window. “I prayed a lot about it, and I felt like that’s what God was telling me.” She said in a softer voice, “And I believe that thing about sex joining two souls. It’s more than just physical. Everybody acts like it’s no big deal. But it is.”
“How do you know you won’t get drunk again and just screw some random guy who’s not going to push you off like I did?” I demanded.
“I don’t drink very often,” she said. “I just did it last night because it seemed like part of the adventure. But I guess I can’t drink around guys at all.”
I gave a short laugh. “Yeah, ’cause you’re too horny.”
She turned and looked at me, her lip curled. “You think waiting is easy? Of course I want to have sex!”
“I don’t understand you. How come you like everything to be so hard? If it sucks, you’ll pick it,” I said bitterly.
“Because doing hard things pays off.”
“Fine. Whatever. I’m sure you’re right.” I pressed my hand against my eyes. “I hope you have a perfect marriage and a perfect life.”
There was a long, heavy silence.
“Don’t be mad,” she said gently.
My anger was slowing down a little. I said, “Maybe this whole trip was you, I don’t know, getting back at your parents or something, but it was more than that to me. And I was even okay with not sleeping with you, but it sucks to hear you gave it up to another guy.”
“That was before we met, and you don’t even know how many girls you’ve slept with. That’s a double standard.”
I smashed the pillow, not looking at her. “I know you didn’t do anything wrong. I just don’t like to think of you with anyone else. You’re mine.”
Irina walked to the bed and sat down. She picked up my hand. “I like you a lot. But I can’t really be yours unless we get married someday, and that’s way too far away to talk about.”
I looked at her serious brown eyes, her mind ticking away behind them, obviously overthinking everything to the point where she would drive herself crazy, if she hadn’t already. I decided this heavy stuff had gone on long enough. We were out here to have fun, and there wasn’t much time left.
“I knew you wanted to marry me,” I said.
She looked at me in shock. “Shut up.”
“You want me to be your love slave.”
She giggled. “You’d probably be good at it.”
The last of my madness slipped away. I pulled her toward me and kissed the top of her head, her cheeks, and her mouth. “I forgive you for sleeping with that bastard. You just hadn’t met me yet. And you are mine for right now.”
She gave a shriek of laughter. “Well, I forgive you for being such a slut! You just hadn’t met me yet!” We kissed again, fierce makeup kissing. After a while, she pulled back, smoothed her messy hair, and whispered, “See? It’s been two months.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We’re finally getting to know each other.”
We hit the road soon after that. It was a little past one, and the bartender was sitting on a plastic lawn chair on his deck, staring at the highway and sipping a Coke from a glass bottle. We had to walk by him to get down the steps to the car. He lifted his hat and squinted at us. He looked washed-out in the sunlight, and very old.
“I left the keys to the room on the bar,” I told him. I’d left another hundred, too.
“You want this?” He picked up a paper bag that had been resting in the shade of his chair. The violin handle was sticking out the top.
Irina gave an awkward laugh and said, “Oh no. That’s okay. You can throw it out.”
He frowned at her. Then he tucked the bag carefully under his chair, leaned back, and pulled his hat down over his eyes.
As I followed Irina down the steps, I said, “What was with the rock-star act, anyway? I can’t believe you smashed your violin.” I smiled. “It’s supposed to be a guitar, you know.”
“Well …” Irina reached the bottom step and turned around to face me. She shaded her eyes, squinting in the sun. “I think I needed to do it. It was cathartic.”
“Yeah, because you practice too much, and you’re starting to hate the thing.”
She shrugged. “That’s true. Sometimes I do hate it.”
“But you won’t quit?”
She looked horrified. “Just because you hate something doesn’t mean you quit.”
“Okay, I don’t get that.” I grabbed her around the waist and carried her, kicking a little, to the car. “But I’m glad you smashed the thing, you badass.” I set her down and pretended to swing the violin. “Take that, Philharmonic! Take that, art farts!”
She cracked up. “I think it was more like, take that, Mom and Dad!”
“Yeah, I guess we all do that sometimes.” I opened her door for her, and then I slid into the sweet bucket seat on the driver’s side—I hoped I never got used to it—and gunned onto the long, empty highway.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Vegas. Vegas. Vegas.
Even the name is beautiful. To hell with the snobs who think they’re above it; Vegas is beautiful. It’s like a lady dressed up in sequins with tons of makeup on; she doesn’t have to be pretty underneath. I loved it the second we drove down the freeway ramp onto Flamingo Road, with giant palm trees lined up on both sides. It was late afternoon, and the sun was lighting up the glass walls of the casinos, and the neon lights were screaming. I loved these crazy muthas who had the balls to build a fake Eiffel Tower and a fake Statue of Liberty and a fake pyramid and a fake Venice and a fake King Arthur’s castle. It was like the whole city said, We’re going over the edge.
“I can’t believe we’re here,” I said to Irina, turning right onto Las Vegas Boulevard.
Her forehead was against the glass. “Wow,” she said softly.
I couldn’t stop smiling. We drove past Caesars Palace, Harrah’s, the Mirage, the Venetian, these big flexing buildings decked out like rock stars. Tourists were everywhere, clutching neon drinks and buckets, like kids going to the playground to dig up treasure. There were skeezy people, and fine women, and way more old people than I would have expected, and packs of guys on the prowl. It was Friday night, and the city was just putting on its shoes, getting ready to make trouble.
I couldn’t wait to get in the mix.
I made a right into the Venetian and drove around a long windy road to the valet entrance. The Venetian was a big white Italian castle shooting out of a bright blue lake, with people rowing around in boats that looked like giant elf shoes. A guy about my age in a vest and bow tie came walking over. He opened the door for Irina, handed me a ticket—and we were free.
I grabbed Irina’s hand and led her to the sidewalk. The rubber band of excitement in my chest was getting tighter. “Where do you want to go first?”
She looked around, eyes sparkling. “Caesars Palace. I like those commercials.”
“Yeah, Caesars seems like classic Vegas.”
Walking down the Strip was like being plugged into a giant outlet. Even outside you could hear the machines clinking. A carpet of party flyers was tacked to the ground by too many feet, and billboards flashed pictures of boxing champs and plush suites and snow-white plates of steak and shrimp. Even the Mickey D’s was lit up with sprays of lights that kept changing colors.
We crossed the street and hit Caesars through the Forum Shops entrance. It was brighter inside than outside, and for a second I thought it had suddenly turned into a perfect blue-sky, puffy-cloud day just for all the rich shoppers.
Then Irina said in amazement, “It’s a fake sky!” I started laughing. Of course it was fake. Everything was awesomely, hilariously fake in this place.
The Forum was packed with shop
pers loaded with bags, but off to the right I could see a stretch of dark red carpet and the twinkling gold of handrails. Under the roar of voices was the clang of slots and the click of chips, and under that, I knew there was the whisper of cards.
Somewhere in that room was a spot in front of a Texas Hold’em table.
“You ready to try out your poker skills?” I asked.
Irina gave me a sideways look. “We can’t play here. This is for real players.”
“I’m a real player,” I said, kind of offended. “We could start with the five-dollar tables if you want.”
She shook her head.
“Then be my good luck charm.” I started pulling her toward the floor—and then I realized how selfish I was being. I stopped. “You want to look around the shops or get a drink or something?”
“I thought you wanted to gamble.”
“Nah, this is your vacation. We’ll do whatever you want.”
Irina slipped an arm around my waist and smiled up at me. “That’s sweet, Gabe. No, let’s go in there and play for a while.”
We hit the floor, and I went to the cage and got some chips, and then followed the signs past the Sports Book to the poker room. Irina was holding my arm, and her grip got pincer-sharp when a Samoan security guard rolled up. He had a mic clipped to his collar and a bored expression. “Gotta be twenty-one to be in here.”
I pulled my card out of my pocket, hoping Irina wouldn’t blow it by looking nervous. But she was completely cool as she handed hers over. The bouncer glanced at them, handed them back, and said, “Have a nice time.”
I signed in at the desk for no-limit Texas Hold’em, and the hostess took us straight to a table. There were five other players: a young guy in a greasy suit who looked to have been awake for at least a couple days; two women my mom’s age checking out every dude who walked past; a tough-looking Mafia type stacking his chips in perfect piles; and a long-bearded old man in a button-down “Jack Daniel’s” shirt who looked like he might fall backward any second. His eyes were half-shut, he had his hand wrapped around a beer, and some kind of poker guide was cracked open across his leg.
Betting Blind (Betting Blind #1) Page 16