by Elle Casey
Thirty minutes later they were sitting at a table for four, diving into plates piled high with all-you-can-eat buffet finds. Their bags were locked in a small room just behind the reservation desk, and the ticket to retrieve them rested safely under Mack’s hat.
“Man, I ain’t never seen so much food in one place in all my life,” said Bo, Ian’s best friend since grade school.
“That’s cuz you’ve never been outside Baker your entire life,” said Ian. “They have buffets like this all over Portland.” He shoveled a huge mouthful of potato salad in his mouth, not letting it get in the way of his conversation. “See, the difference is, here in Vegas? They got all kinds of food, like seafood, steaks, Indian food, vegetarian garbage. Anyone can come to Vegas and have a good time.” He glanced up at his brother before spearing a hunk of beef. “Even Mack.”
Ian’s friends snickered.
“Laugh it up, boys, but I came here to do some business. I got plans.” Mack took a bite of his overcooked steak and cringed. “Jesus Mary and Joseph, this meat is like jerky. Remember that jerky you made with Mom that one year, with the deer meat?” He poked the lump of meat he wasn’t going to finish. “This stuff is worse.”
“Oh, I remember that,” said Dillon, Ian’s other friend. “The dog wouldn’t even eat it.”
Mack pushed his plate away and drained his beer. “I have a date at the blackjack tables. Move it,” he said to Dillon, elbowing him in the ribs.
“Aren’t you gonna wait for us?” asked Ian, looking first at his brother and then at his half-full plate.
“You kidding? If I know you, you still have at least three more trips to the buffet before you’re done. If I start now, I’ll be up a grand before you’re done with dessert.”
Ian snorted. “Fine, mister high roller, go on with your badass self. After we’re done tearin’ up the buffet, we’ll come find you. Just don’t leave the casino here in the hotel.” He stabbed his fork into five layers of various foods and stuffed them into his mouth, his cheeks bulging with the effort of chewing it all.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mack said, standing and throwing some cash on the table. “Dinner’s on me. Save room for beers. I’ll see you at the tables.”
He strolled away, tipping his best cowboy hat back a little on his head as he made his way to the blackjack pit.
Chapter Seven
A DINNER OF SALAD AND a single breadstick wasn’t exactly a gourmet meal, but with this tight black dress on and the stupid gel-filled boob propper-uppers Candice had forced into my bra, there was no way to fit a normal dinner into my belly, even if I’d wanted to. Thing was, though, I was too nervous to eat that much anyway. I found the firey liquid diet I’d been feeding myself since the haircut was more to my taste right now.
“God, all I had was a stupid salad and I feel like I’m going to bust a seam on this thing.” I was walking on higher heels than I was used to, thanks to Kelly and her having the same size foot as me. “You guys conspired against me with this outfit, and don’t think I’m going to forget it easily, either. We have at least two more bachelorette parties to plan in the future and revenge will be my bitch when that time comes.” I flicked my hair back, trying not to smile. The haircut really did make me feel beautiful. It was totally Jennifer Anniston, and both Kelly and Candice said I was pulling it off well.
“What’s she whining about now?” asked Candice, putting on lipstick using her tiny purse compact.
Kelly hiccuped. “I’m not sure, but I think she’s complaining about the shoes again. Or maybe the dress. I can’t keep track. I lost my brain about an hour and three margaritas ago.” She rubbed her stomach and grimaced. “Can I go to bed now?”
“No, you can’t go to bed.” Candice snapped her compact shut and dropped it into her small handbag. “We’re just getting started.” She rubbed her hands together. “Okay, girlies, where to first? Poker? Slots? Craps?”
“Do you have to go to the potty? Because I do too. Good idea.” Kelly tried to take Candice by the hand but Candice shook her off.
“What are you talking about? No one said anything about going to the bathroom.”
Kelly frowned at her while I laughed silently. I loved watching my harebrained buddies try to have a grown-up conversation. The several cocktails I’d consumed since my haircut was making it even more amusing than usual.
“You said you were going to crap, so call me crazy, but in my world, that means we need to find a toilet.” She smirked at Candice and then looked at me, rolling her eyes.
“If you had a functioning brain cell right now, you’d be dangerous,” said Candice. “I said do you want to play craps, not I have to go take a crap. Jesus, I don’t even use that word. You know I wouldn’t say that, what’s wrong with you?”
I decided to rescue my poor tipsy friend before she got too much dizzier trying to figure out what Candice was talking about. “Craps is a game, sweetie. Gambling. Where you throw the dice across the table and that guy has that hockey stick he uses to push and pull chips around? Like on TV where the guy’s on a roll making a bunch of money and everyone’s standing around cheering for him while he throws the dice?”
Seconds ticked by and then a virtual lightbulb went on over Kelly’s head. “Ooooohhh, you mean the gaaaame craps. That makes waaaay more sense. It’s true … you never say crap unless you’re around people you want to impress and then you say that word instead of saying shit.”
“No, I don’t,” said Candice, looking miffed or maybe a little embarrassed.
“Yes, you do,” said Kelly, completely oblivious to Candice’s mood change. “Okay, let’s play this crap thing. This crappy crapper craps game.” She giggled.
Candice rolled her eyes. “Do I want to get her another drink, Andie?”
“Yes and no,” I said. “Yes, because it’s her bachelorette party and yes we want her to get good and hungover later so she never forgets this trip and how much fun it is to be single … and no, because I hate it when people barf. It makes me barf when I see it. And if she drinks too much more…”
“…she’s gonna barf,” Candice finished for me.
“Exactly.”
“Waitress!” yelled Candice, running after a barmaid with a tray.
Kelly and I watched her go. “What’s she doing?” Kelly asked.
“Getting us drunk.”
“Aren’t we already drunk?” she asked, scratching her head.
I smoothed down the hair that was sticking up as a result of her confusion. “You are and I’m nearly there. But this is your party, little sis, so you must drink until you fall over or until you kiss a stranger.”
Kelly looked at me in horror. “I did not come to Las Vegas to cheat on Matty!”
“Then you better start drinking,” I said, handing her one of the cocktails Candice brought over.
“How’d you get these so fast?” I asked her, looking down into the glass, wondering if I was drinking something she found next to a slot machine.
“What can I say? Cleavage works.” Candice raised her glass high. “Here’s to winning big tonight and possibly getting laid in Vegas!”
“Here’s to getting married!” said Kelly, raising her glass.
“Here’s to getting getting married and laid in Vegas!” I said, clinking all of their glasses and downing my drink in one, giant, three-swallow gulp session.
Candice looked at Kelly. “Do you think she knows what she just did?”
“Nope.” Kelly giggled, sipping on her straw.
“Shut up, buttheads. You know what I meant.” As if I’d drink to getting married in Vegas. Shuh, right. That totally didn’t fit into my lifeplan or my personality.
As soon as I finished my drink and put the glass down on a nearby shelf, we locked arms and walked into the casino area of the hotel. Having my girlfriends on either arm made walking in Kelly’s ferocious heels way easier, so I was all for it, even though it made quite the barrier for people trying to get by. Whenever anyone scowled at us, I sm
iled big and said, “She’s getting married. To a mortician. This is her going away party,” and they’d turn their frowns upside down. It was like Vegas magic or something. It was impossible to be cranky here.
As we left the restaurants and lobby behind, we entered a darker area of the huge facility. The casino. Bells were dinging all over the place, lights of every single color of the rainbow were flashing and blinking, and thousands of people milled around. There were slot machines in groups with small passageways between them to get by and chairs filled with butts. People were dropping quarters like there was no tomorrow, pulling one-armed bandits as fast as the money clanged into place.
A group of tables were across the aisle from the slot machine section, all of them with green felt on top. The very first thing I noticed when we walked in that direction was a cowboy hat. And it had the most beautiful man I had ever seen sitting right under it.
“Oh. My. Good. Ness,” I said, caught in some kind of tractor beam, unable to look away. My foot lifted up, trying to walk that direction, but Candice held me back.
“I don’t feel so good,” said Kelly, pulling away from me. I let her go without a thought.
“Oh, shit.” Candice let go of me too, leaving me to wobble a little on my own. “Come on, Kelly, come with me. I don’t want you to barf on their nice carpet. Please don’t yack. I hate it when you yack, you’re so loud about it.”
My brain barely registered what they were saying. I only had eyes for the god sitting on the stool just twenty feet away from me. Jeans, dress shirt, cowboy hat, five o’clock shadow beard, muscles visible just below his rolled up cuffs, bronzed like he spent most of the day outside. “Be still my heart,” I said, talking to no one, to the wind, to the goddess of love who I was pretty sure had just shot an arrow into my chest cavity. I reached up and touched my hair, hoping it was perfect.
“Stay here while I take care of her,” ordered Candice, her voice getting fainter as she got farther away. “I don’t want you watching her and getting sick too or my whole night will be ruined.”
“Yeah, okay,” I said absently, walking towards the card table so I could get a closer look at the cowboy who’d taken my breath away and sent my brain on a vacation to Mars.
A cocktail waitress walked up to me when I was almost there and offered me a drink that someone had paid for but never picked up. I nodded and drank half of it down before I got to the table, hoping it was an offering from the gods, concocted specifically for the purpose of giving me the courage I’d need to say hello to this mystery man. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a magazine ad for Levis or a Bowflex or something.
I was nearly to his spot at the table when the toe of my borrowed heel caught something on the carpet and sent me flying forward. I watched in horror as my hand went out to help find my balance, sending the contents of my glass out in a stream right at the man who’d stepped out of my lustiest of dreams.
Chapter Eight
I HALF STUMBLED, HALF RAN over to fix things. Oh my god, oh my god, what have I done! The former contents of my drink were now dripping off the top of his hat and down his cheek and into his shirt. He’d stood up and was staring down at himself in shock.
“Holy shit, I am so sorry. Oh my god, what did I do?! Oh my god…” I grabbed a bunch of cocktail napkins off the table, nearly spilling other people’s drinks in my haste, using them to dab at his amazing, gorgeous, weather-lined face. He was even better-looking up close, which seconds ago I would have said would be impossible.
When he lifted his gaze to look at me, I nearly had a heart attack. I dropped the napkins with a plop onto his cowboy boots. It would have made Candice proud, the high register that I hit with my girly squeal. “Eeep!” Those eyes! They glowed out from under his hat a sky blue so bright they looked as if they were illuminated from inside his head.
“I’d say the drink is on me, but that would be way too corny and cliché,” he said, his voice almost lazy the way it came out. But I barely heard what he was saying because his glowing blue eyes were piercing my soul or something. I’d never seen anything like them in my life. I could look at him all day long and never get tired of it.
“Huh?”
I cringed inwardly as soon as the syllable slid past my lips. The oratory skills that served me so well in the courtroom had abandoned me entirely. I doubted at this point whether I’d be able to string a coherent sentence together. His beauty combined with his slow-talking cowboy sexiness had completely robbed me of any intelligence. The drinks probably weren’t helping.
“Never mind.” He took his hat from his head and shook it a little off to the side, droplets of my former drink flying off to land on the carpet. His hair was longish, the ends curling up at his neck, which really surprised me. I’d been expecting a crew cut or a big bald spot under that hat to spoil the effect, to make him seem more human and not so supernaturally gorgeous … but no such luck. He was that beautiful, managing to make every other man in the place look like dog meat. Every single one of them instantly ceased to exist for me, just like the memories of that guy I’d been dating for three years who’d broken up with me by text on my way out here. What was his name again? Puke, I think?
I looked down and noticed a wet spot on the front of the cowboy’s jeans and all down the front of his shirt, and suddenly felt the desperate need to help. I’d caused this problem. I’d ruined his night. And if the stacks of chips in front of him were any clue, he’d been doing pretty well.
I grabbed the pile of cocktail napkins that the dealer had put down at his place and dabbed the whole wad of them first on his shirt and then on the front of his pants.
“I am so sorry. I have no idea what my problem is. Well, that’s not true, I do know what my problem is.” I snorted in disgust. “I’m wearing these ridiculous heels, which I knew were a mistake the first time I saw them, but against my better judgment, I put them on anyway.” I was busy pounding away on his crotch, trying to soak up the alcohol, not really thinking about what I was doing, so wrapped up in my nightmare of a life. “I knew this was a mistake, I knew Vegas was going to be a problem. I don’t know why I let people talk me into things like this all the time.”
He grabbed my wrist and halted my movements. I stopped in mid stream-of-consciousness brain vomit and looked up at him.
“I think you’d better stop now.”
“What?” I was totally confused.
He looked down at his crotch, still holding onto my wrist.
I followed his gaze and nearly had another heart attack. There was a distinct bulge going down the leg of his pants that hadn’t been there before.
Chapter Nine
“OH MY GOD, I’M SO sorry. Holy shit.” I dropped the napkins on his boots again, my face going up in flames. I jerked my eyes to the ceiling, ready to cry with humiliation. I’d practically given him a hand job in front of no less than a hundred people. Someone nearby snickered. I decided a prayer to the universe was my only recourse. It couldn’t possibly make things worse. “Floor, if you will please swallow me now, I promise to dedicate myself to feeding the homeless for the rest of my miserable life.”
A hand gently grasped my upper arm. It was warm and big, the fingers going all the way around. “No need to sacrifice yourself to the Vegas gods on my account,” said the cowboy. “I’ll be fine. I’m just going to go wash up.” He leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “Watch my chips for me, would you? I’m on a roll and I don’t want to leave just yet.”
I nodded, sitting down in the chair he’d vacated, staring at his wide back and trim waist as he walked away. Holy shit, is this really happening? I sat up straighter, turning to face the dealer. I picked up a few of the chips, reading the amounts on their faces. Assuming my math brain hadn’t completely abandoned me in my moment of crisis and had allowed me to calculate correctly, there was over a thousand dollars sitting in front of me, and the cowboy had just walked away and left it with me. Is he crazy? Am I being punked? No, I can’t be in the middl
e of being punked when it’s my own fault that I’m in this situation.
I looked down at my feet. My aching feet. The heels were the problem. They were the cause of my complete humiliation. Not only did I let men run all over me in my pitiful life, I let my girlfriends do it, too. Kelly and Candice had insisted my practical heels were totally impractical in Vegas. The whole idea made me feel angry and sad and reckless all at the same time. I reached down and pulled the torture devices off, letting them drop to the floor beneath the stool. Ha! Let that be a lesson to you, Kelly! I’m leaving them here! I will not wear heels that hurt my feet ever again! This is the new Andie taking over! No more railroading. No more bossing me around. No more telling me what to do.
“Are you in or out?” asked the dealer. “If you don’t place your bet you’re going to have to leave the table.”
My mouth dropped open as he stared at me. “Are you talking to me?” I squeaked out.
“Yes, I’m talking to you.” He glanced at the chips in front of me. “This is a ten dollar minimum table.”
So much for people not telling me what to do anymore. I picked up a couple chips, my fingers not really wanting to cooperate. Could I spend the cowboy’s money while he was in the bathroom cleaning up my mess? Wouldn’t that violate every rule of socially acceptable behavior ever written?
I put two chips down on the table, mimicking the actions of the person on my right. I had no idea how much money it was. The old man to my left gave me a smile, revealing perfectly straight dentures and bright pink gums. “Ever play blackjack before?” he asked.
“No. Never.” I should have been scared out of my wits, probably. Gambling wasn’t my thing and spending other people’s money felt ten times wrong. But something about being here in this neon-glitzy place, my shoes off and my boobs pushed up to my neck made be feel bold. Daring. Ready to grab the world by the balls and make it beg for mercy. Rawr.
