by Ginger Scott
Bailey and I escape to the elevator with our small travel bags, and when the doors close without anyone following us, I let out the breath I’ve been holding and sink against the mirrored surface.
“That Alex guy is intense,” she says, pressing the twentieth-floor button then falling into the opposite corner and kicking the heels from her feet. Both of us got a little excited about coming to Vegas and maybe didn’t dress car-ride comfortable. My feet are killing me. I’d kick my heels off too if the straps didn’t wrap around my legs four times.
“Be careful.” Bailey’s quiet warning draws my gaze to hers in a snap. I blink a few times through our stare. We’re barely into our elevator ride and she hits me with the first lecture of the trip. It’s coming from a good place. And she’s not wrong. I just don’t want to hear it right now.
“I’m being careful,” I say. Am I? A closetful of clothes, and I wore black shorts with a deep red halter top and strappy heels. I can’t even say I just threw my hair up in this messy bun because the truth is I re-messy-bunned my hair seven times before I was satisfied with how the loose hairs fell around my temple and neck.
“I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
I nod at her explanation and smile with tight lips. My chest is literally caving in on itself with the growing want I have for Dustin. Physical, for sure. But deeper than that. I want to be his anchor again, to not miss any of the moments coming for him. As he’s turned to me over the last few days, it’s been so natural. Our partnership syncs, and I love being the person he turns to. I still love him.
“What if I don’t care if it hurts?” I can’t look my friend in the eyes because I don’t want to see her disappointment. I was a mess when Dustin left. Thing is, I still am. I’m a mess just having had a piece of him, and it doesn’t matter how careful I am from here on out.
“I care if it hurts,” she says, crossing the small space between us and taking my hand in both of hers. I offer a pitiful smile and twist my lips in my effort to hold back sappy tears. I hate crying.
The doors open and Bailey and I navigate our way to our rooms. She’s across from me, which is perfect. We make plans to get ready for dinner and the club together, then retreat to our own spaces to rest. I wheel my small bag in a large circle behind me as I take in the expanse of my room. I’ve never lived anywhere alone, and even though my friends are all just a room away, it’s still striking to have this much space all to myself.
The entire wall is glass that overlooks the strip and the mountains beyond. It’s not yet evening, so the air is dusty and the busy world twenty stories below looks messy and cluttered. The sun is starting to light the mountains, though, a crisp orange line detailing the jagged edges. By sunset, this scene is going to be spectacular. If I were a better friend, I’d trade Bailey so she could see it. I’m pretty sure she’s looking at the airport.
I lift my bag and set it on the couch across from the enormous king bed. A copper-colored rug fills the center of the room, a table under a chandelier set perfectly in the middle. A bouquet of fresh flowers in a vase with orange-colored marbles arranged in the water draws me in to smell. They must change these every day. The money in this place is insane. Every detail oozes luxury, and not the fake kind like the bag of knock-off designer dresses I brought for the club scene tonight. Things in this room are legit.
My fingertips run across the billowy satin bedding on my way to the sliding glass panel that leads to the balcony. Warm air embraces my arms and chest as I slip through the door and step out into the open sky. I breathe in the desert and close my eyes as I grip the railing. Lifting my chin to the sky and closing my eyes, I tug my hair free from my hardly effortless bun and shake it into loose waves down my back.
I’ve grown up, too.
“You’ve got some fantasy brewing in your head right now,” Dustin says.
I don’t even realize I’m smiling until he calls me on it. I wonder if my body knew he was near. I open my eyes and let my smile grow before dropping my chin and meeting his gaze. Our balconies connect. How . . . convenient.
“You plan this?” I glare at him with playful suspicion.
He holds up a key card.
“It was the last one left after Virgil and Tommy grabbed theirs. They’re down the hall, corner rooms. I bet their views—”
“Aren’t anything like ours,” I fill in for him, my insinuation clear by the way my eyes rake down his chest. I blush at my overt flirtation, but I’m not sorry I said it.
“Han, this trip. These guys?” He grimaces for a moment, seemingly trying to work out his words, before shaking his head and looking down. His hands slip into his pockets, his body closing off.
“It’s business. I get it,” I wave him off. I feel stupid for hoping for more, but maybe a little relieved that I won’t disappoint Bailey. It used to be so easy to draw him in and push his buttons. I felt his desire, and maybe it was because the idea of us seemed so forbidden when we were teens. It’s still forbidden, but for entirely different reasons now. And he’s grown more disciplined.
“I should shower so I can get ready for later,” I say, making my way toward my glass door. Dustin hasn’t moved.
“Hannah . . .”
“Dustin, it’s fine,” I say, beaming my best smile over my shoulder. Our eyes lock and I know he can see right through my façade. My ego is bruised, and I hate that I feel it.
“I want to get this right,” he says, his head tilting a little to the side. I imagine my hand running up his jaw, but only for a second.
“I know you do. I’ll see you for dinner.” I shut the glass behind me and draw the curtains before I sit on the end of the softest bed I’ve ever seen and fucking cry. I let it all out—the irrational thoughts, the memories, the fantasies, and more—and then I seal it up and promise I won’t ever let him see me do that. Nobody will. Not ever again.
13
I should get a different room.
I’ve marinated on that thought since Hannah stepped back into her room, which is on the other side of this wall, a room I could be in after taking a dozen steps. Yet here I remain, on the end of my bed, feet on the floor, hands clasped and elbows on knees as if I’m waiting for someone to come get a different room for me. I can think it as many times as I want—or don’t want—and it’s not going to change the fact there is no way in hell I am getting a different room.
Temptation is the devil, but better to know where it is, right? I laugh out loud and lower my head, pushing my hands into my hair. I took the coldest shower of my life an hour ago and I’m still searing from my one minute alone with Hannah on the balcony. Red suits her. Any color, really, but something about that blood red shirt against her bronzed skin, the light sheen of sweat on her sun-kissed arms and chest. The swell of her breasts. The stud in her belly button. The curves from her hips to her calves.
“Fuck,” I grumble.
My phone vibrates on the bed next to me and I flip it over to read the text from Tommy.
TOMMY: Dinner’s comped, right?
I breathe out a laugh and rub my palm over my eye before typing back a shrugging emoji. Of course it’s comped, but I like that I can still fuck with my friend. Some things you don’t outgrow.
Knowing he’ll stew about this and march down the hall to my room in seconds, I stand and roll up the sleeves of my shirt, then tuck the hem into my pants. I have one nice semi-suit and I packed it in a roll in a backpack. I left the jacket because my arms don’t fit anymore, but the shirt and pants still look nice. I was supposed to take Hannah to prom in this outfit—black dress pants and a crisp white shirt. The fit is a little tighter than when I was almost eighteen, but I think this suit was always meant for a man anyhow. I got it on clearance.
It’s hard to look the part when I’m with Alex. Anything he owns is about a thousand percent more expensive than everything I own added together. I do a decent job of faking it, though. I clasp the watch my uncle gave me on my wrist. It’s a vintage Rolex, and it hasn’t kept ti
me since the seventies, but who checks to see if a watch is ticking? I rip one of the cologne ads from the magazine left on the night table and rub it against my wrist and the side of my neck. The only thing I’m missing is a solid stack of cash to roll up in my money clip. The few hundreds I have left will have to do if any bets are made tonight.
I’m hoping we can get right to business. The longer I’m in that place, the more I’m going to want to pound a few Jack and Cokes. A week totally sober is not a very long time, and I only halfway committed to veering off the bad path I was on until I saw Colt’s trailer and the mess he left behind. I don’t want to become that—become him.
I slip my room key in my pocket and take a deep breath, then head into the hall. I beat Tommy’s knock on my door by about half a second. I lay my hand on his chest as his mouth opens and I hold a finger up to stop him.
“Of course it’s comped,” I say.
He grimaces and shakes his head.
“Asshole,” he spits out, tossing my hand from his body.
I laugh, loving that I can still get under his skin like old times, when my breath is literally ripped from my body and all sound and time halts.
Her dress is red, gathered in these touchable strips around her breasts and hips, skin exposed at her back and her sides. Her hair is straight and silky, and the ends flirt with the peaks of her breasts in the front and the small of her back as she turns after checking the handle on her door. And . . . Tommy is staring at me.
“You legit never change, do you?” He furrows his brow and shakes his head, but for some reason doesn’t punch me.
“What’s that?” Hannah steps closer to us. While her brother stews I laugh through my crooked, very guilty smile.
“I was checking you out and Tommy wants to kill me for it. Same story, different age.” I shrug, accepting that I’m going to have to let myself admire her at the very least.
“Well you can look, but . . .” She mouths the rest. You can’t touch.
There’s a devious flicker in her eyes and a slight snarl to her candy red smirk. She’s still angry about the balcony. Good. It’s easier if she’s angry. When she’s forward with me, I’m a weak-ass puppy.
Hannah knocks at Bailey’s door just as Virgil ambles down the hallway to join us in his Stetson hat, formal jeans, and black vest. Born and raised in Oklahoma, Virgil has two sides to his story—mediocre mechanic and mediocre cowboy. He dresses both parts well, and this is about as fancy as I’ve ever seen him.
“You on the prowl or something?” Tommy teases him.
Virgil gives him a wink and tips his hat as Bailey exits her room to join us, wearing the blue version of Hannah’s dress. Tommy chokes a little when he sees her and I tuck that fact away for later, grinning to myself as I lead our crew down the hall.
Virgil didn’t really want to come out with us tonight. He’s not much of a club-scene kinda guy. He’s widowed; his wife was his high school sweetheart and she died in a car crash. When he’s not in the garage with me, he’s at home watching sports and eating TV dinners. I don’t begrudge him his existence. I get it. Add in drinking alone and I was exactly the same my first couple of years in Oklahoma. Virgil has a way of keeping me out of trouble, though. Again, there’s surely some father issues at play here. It’s why he was all right tagging along to Vegas. It’s why I need him at my side while I talk to Alex tonight. And it’s what will keep my glass filled with water instead of whiskey.
We pile into the elevator and use a special key to take it to the top floor where Alex owns a club. The music possesses my internal organs the second the doors open, and my heart syncs with the rhythm. We weave through the throng of bodies, past the bar, and into the more secluded back area shielded by tinted glass walls. Alex and his partners are already several glasses deep into the night at a large round velvet booth, and when he spots me, he stands on the seat and opens his arms wide, shouting my name.
“Dustin Bridges, you motherfucker! Get your ass in here.” He hops over the back of the booth and I paste on my best smile. Meanwhile, my insides twist with the force of someone ringing out a mop. We pat each other’s backs through our bro-hug, then Alex motions for his friends to slide around the curve of the booth to make room for us. Virgil and Tommy drag over a couple of chairs to sit at the open end of the table.
“Ladies, you are lovely tonight. What are you drinking?”
“We’re all good,” I say, waving my hand. Assuming. Yeah . . . ass . . . me.
“Suit yourself, bro. I’d like whatever’s on tap,” Tommy says. I shouldn’t answer for everyone, but damn, I wish we could all just be sober tonight.
Alex holds up his hand and snaps a few times, calling over one of the servers. He orders Tommy’s beer and one for Virgil, along with several plates of hors d’oeuvres and a round of some drink named after him. I’m sure it’s mostly vodka. Fuck.
“Listen, Alex . . .” I do my best to get right to business, but before I can, he slides over a fat stack of papers, all bound together with a binder clip with his club’s logo.
I flatten my palm on it and slide it toward me, but meet his gaze.
“What’s this?” My heart is racing. I’ve never heard of a business deal getting messy with Alex, but I’m savvy enough to realize there are things he keeps out of the public’s eyes and ears. His entire family does.
“Dustin, you doubt yourself too much. I know what you’re capable of, and if it’s something you’re behind, I’m in. It’s a contract to be partners in this . . . this . . . track thing you proposed over the phone. I had my lawyer dig into it and get the ball rolling. It’s a good idea, lots of potential. And who knows, maybe there will be one here in Vegas someday.”
The waiter delivers a tray of drinks just as Alex finishes, and I’m too stunned to move. He winks at me and chuckles, then passes me a drink. I take it, but don’t bring it to my lips.
“Now, relax tonight. Enjoy yourself. Enjoy . . . the view,” he says, letting his eyes rake over Hannah. I set my drink down and push it a safe distance away.
“Mind if I have my lawyer look this over too?” I hand the contract to Virgil, though it’s probably pretty obvious to every person in this room that he isn’t a lawyer. His combover is on point tonight, though. As are his Wranglers.
Alex’s head falls back in a laugh but he brings it back up and steps out of the booth, holding his glass in the air. “You review whatever you like. Send me the signed version and we’ll get started. Now, drink!” He downs his drink in one smooth gulp, as does Tommy. The girls sip at theirs, and I roll the stem of the glass in my fingers before taking a modest sip.
The burn is good. It’s been a week since I’ve tasted it. I can feel the alcohol’s claws working down my tongue, warming my body and fueling my desire for more. I put the glass down and push it a safe distance away, enough to make it an awkward reach but not so far that it’s an insult to Alex.
I should be happy. I should be thrilled, relieved—ready to celebrate. But all I can think about is the way his eyes lit up when they drank in my girl.
My girl. She’s not my girl, and that’s the problem.
Conversation picks up and for the next hour, I find myself dipping in and out of the various pockets, trying to talk about my race prep with Alex’s guys but losing focus halfway through. I reminisce a few times with Tommy, Bailey, and Hannah, but swapping stories only makes me think about the past, the one I left and the massive chunk I missed out on.
Virgil’s probably going to head up to his room in twenty minutes now that he’s nursed two beers, and if I had any sense, I’d go with him. But sense has never led me to what I want. And what I want? It’s now grinding against Alex Offerman out on the dance floor.
“You okay with that?” I say, elbowing Tommy. My mouth waters, wanting a drink. I wave down the waiter and ask for a water.
“Nope.” Tommy’s eyes have not left his sister since she went out there to dance and Alex followed. If it weren’t risky to my deal, I’m pretty sure
he’d tear through the crowd and choke the man out on the floor with the weight of his body.
“Go on. Get her out of that,” he says, his eyes meandering to me and rolling briefly.
A smile touches the corner of my lips.
“Don’t get cocky and think this means I’m all right with you and her starting up whatever the fuck you do again. I’m just a lot more all right with that than I am with this fucking shit show.” He waves his hand out toward the dance floor.
“Bailey looks like she could use a rescue, too,” I say, taking the water the waiter just dropped off and swallowing it in one gulp. I step out from the booth and meet Tommy’s eyes. He gives me a middle finger and I laugh.
“What? You’re saying you don’t have the hots for your sister’s best friend?”
“Fuck off. That’s your thing, Bridges.” He sinks back into the banquette, stretching his arms along the back and returning his glare to Alex and Hannah. I leave him be, but give him one last chuckle before I go to get further under his skin.
When I turn my focus to Alex and Hannah, it becomes all I see.
She’s always been a temptress when she dances. We messed around dancing a few times in high school, but I never got to move with her the way I wanted. The fact Alex is indulging in some of those movements right now has my blood boiling. I hook my thumbs in my pockets and make my way through the bodies around them. Alex smirks as I step up, and I know he’s not looking to fight. As much as I love to mess with Tommy, he loves fucking with me about a million times more. He always has. It started out on the Straights when he put Hannah in the car with me. He knows my weakness, and while I hate that he does, I won’t deny it. I would do anything for her. Even walk away when I don’t want to. But right now? I’m staying right the fuck here.