Staying in Vegas: (Vegas Morellis, #1)

by Sam Mariano

  “Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, beer if that’s what was around. Not malt beverages.”

  Rafe’s voice cuts in, not conversational, not even interested in making fun of my chick beer story. “Take a drink, Laurel.”

  I suppose I could. If I’m not going through with the pregnancy anyway, it hardly matters.

  Only in this moment, feeling as reluctant as I am to do so, I admit to myself that maybe I was waiting for his response before firmly deciding. If I had already firmly decided, I could have used the money Carly gave me for that instead of a plane ticket that brought me here. Logically I know that solution to this tiny—yet enormous—problem is the most sensible, but I have an idiotic romantic streak, I guess. Even though I knew Easter was only a hook-up, there’s a small part of me that couldn’t quite help hanging onto that tenderness.

  It’s hard spending a few days with someone like Rafe and then trying to reenter the world of exceedingly average men. Sure, I guess a small part of me hoped that seeing me would rekindle some of his tenderness. Maybe even a ridiculous corner of me thought maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t be horrified by the news. I’m much too young for this, but Rafe isn’t. I don’t even know his exact age, but I’d put him around 30. He’s old enough to procreate, and I already know what he looks like cradling a baby against his incredible chest. Even without being prepared, that kind of inspiration could sway me.

  Only there’s nothing like warmth in his eyes now. My romantic vision of him cradling our baby against that perfect chest flickers like a mirage in the desert, and I have a feeling it’s about to disappear altogether.

  My unwillingness to take a drink has become a thing now. Rafe issued a command. Not that I’m his to command, but that he did it verifies he finds it odd that I won’t. Maybe he can guess why.

  “I don’t want a drink,” I murmur, giving up the pretense and putting the glass down on the coffee table.

  “Why?”

  “I’m not thirsty.”

  Rafe takes a long sip of his own drink, then puts the glass down and strides toward me. I squirm and consider standing, but before I can commit to it, he’s already standing in front of me. My heart drops into my gut. I know it’s time, so I clear my throat.

  “Could we, um… could we maybe have a little privacy?”

  His tone lacks the warmth I crave. Right now I feel like a soldier who is disappointing him rather than a woman he has shared intimacies with. “Quit stalling, Laurel.”

  “I’m not stalling,” I mutter, looking down at my leopard print ballet flats.

  His voice shifts, more patient than a moment ago. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  That’s one way of putting it. I swallow, casting a longing look at the alcohol. Ironically right now is when I can’t have it, when I need a long gulp of liquid courage more than ever.

  “You don’t want Carly to know,” he continues, even though I haven’t spoken.

  Even though I’m still nervous as hell, that he seems to be piecing it together and he’s still calm reassures me enough to manage a nod. My gaze drifts up to him. Thankfully, I don’t see anger on his handsome face, more like sympathy. I breathe a small sigh of relief. I should have known the man who snuggled me in front of all his family over Easter wouldn’t leave me high and dry in a bad situation. He’s a grown man, not a teenager.

  “I wasn’t sure what to do.” My gaze darts to his again.

  Rafe nods. “So you came to me for help, not a booty call.”

  My cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I did try to tell you that, but then Sin got here.”

  Rafe looks almost relieved as he takes a seat beside me. “Yes, I remember that now. I got distracted. It’s been a long, strange day. I’m not completely on top of my game. I’m sorry; I should have picked up on that.”

  I shrug, feeling a million times lighter. This is going so much better than I was prepared for. “I’m just relieved you’re not mad.”

  Reaching for my hand and rubbing the back of it with his thumb, he says, “Of course I’m not mad. You aren’t mine; I expected you might try out new lovers after our weekend together.”

  Every drop of blood in my veins freezes and my heart nearly stops. The awful implication of his words hits me in the gut with the force of a physical blow.

  I withdraw my hand and frown at him. “What?”

  “I won’t insult you by lecturing you on the importance of safe sex; accidents happen.”

  Sin eases forward on the couch beside me. I turn my frown on him and he throws back the rest of the alcohol in his glass, then puts it on the table next to mine. He looks like he’s preparing for some unpleasantness.

  I look back at Rafe, attempting to suppress indignation. I shouldn’t feel offended. He’s absolutely right; I don’t belong to him. There’s no reason for him to assume I haven’t slept with anyone since him. He’s probably slept with plenty of women since.

  Yuck, what an awful thing to think about. My stomach roils again. I can’t quite look at him, but now I feel insulted enough to come out with it. “I’ve only had safe sex. I’m not a moron.”

  “But you are pregnant?”

  “Yes.”

  He frowns at the impatience in my voice. “And since you have no money of your own and you didn’t want your sister to know, you came here to ask me for help.”

  “I came here to tell you, because I thought it was the right thing to do.”

  For someone so observant, he seems to have blinders glued on right now. “Why would telling me be the right thing to do? You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Would you stop saying that?” I snap, pushing up off the couch. “I know I don’t owe you anything. I wasn’t even sure I needed to tell you, but I know Morelli men are… weird, and I talked to Vince and he said how he would be mad if—” I suck in a breath and shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m pregnant. I told you. Now you know.”

  As if he is the one I just delivered this news to, Sin is now sitting forward with his face buried in his hands.

  Rafe’s dark eyes narrow with malice when it hits him. The intensity of his gaze causes my stomach to drop. Some of the righteous indignation drains right out of me as my instincts prickle. This is closer to the response I was dreading. While my romantic brain was projecting visions of Rafe snuggling Dom against his chest and imagining teaching him how to swaddle our little bun in the oven, the more predominant, logical side understood a man in his position probably would not find an accidental pregnancy with his holiday hook-up terribly exciting.

  “Am I understanding correctly that you’re trying to say I am the man responsible for this predicament?”

  “Well, yes, that’s… I’m not saying it well, admittedly, but that—” I lose my train of thought as he stands, prowling toward me. I take a few self-preserving steps backward. “I thought—”

  He cuts me off. “You thought I would believe this?” Now he smiles, but it’s not a nice smile. “I used a condom each time I fucked you, Laurel. My naked dick went nowhere near your vagina. I would have noticed if there had been a break in the latex.”

  Now I flush with humiliation, not only because he’s calling me a liar, but he’s speaking so coldly and clinically about those lovely days, and to make matters worse, he’s doing it in front of an audience. “I don’t have an explanation for you, Rafe. I was as surprised as you are, but there’s really no arguing with that little plastic wand.”

  “I did not impregnate you.”

  My eyebrows rise, even though he stalks close and my stomach sinks with nerves. I keep my chin up and meet his gaze. “Yes, you did.”

  His jaw locks, anger flickering in his gaze. “You took the wrong approach, kitten.”

  I shiver at the coldness in his tone, hating that he’s using that nickname right now.

  “If you’d been honest with me, I would have been happy to help you. Hell, I would have still taken you upstairs and fucked you tonight before sending you home tomorrow with the money you needed. Mista
kes happen. But this manipulative bullshit—I thought you were above this. I guess being raised by your mercenary sister, she must have rubbed off on you.”

  My eyes widen, fists clenching at my side. “Excuse me? My sister is an incredible person. I’m not sure where you get off—”

  “I get off right here,” he says, simply. I feel him withdraw emotionally, but he takes a step back, just in case I missed it. “Easter was fun. I’m sorry you tried to extend the ride with deceitful bullshit, because now it’s over.”

  I can’t breathe properly again. My skin is so hot with embarrassment, I’m surprised I don’t burst into flames. Then the absolute worst thing happens—tears well up in my eyes. I don’t cry often, but I’m also not accustomed to this level of humiliation. None of my experience with Rafe in Chicago prepared me for this sort of response. Despite being a bad guy at work, he was consistently warm in his downtime with me. I came here alone and unprotected, completely vulnerable, putting myself entirely at his mercy, expecting—at the very least—civility. Even if the news disappointed him, I didn’t expect him to be cold.

  I was infatuated with Rafe Morelli a few hours ago, even after watching him with the blondes at dinner, but right this moment, I despise him. This is not my fault, and he’s being needlessly cruel and completely irrational.

  Now he behaves like I’m not even here. He doesn’t speak as his finger moves across the screen of his phone. I want to cry and throw up and yell at him, all at the same time.

  Breaking the heavy silence, I make another attempt to engage. I get that he’s not thrilled—neither was I—but I flew here from the other side of the country to talk to him about this, and he’s ignoring me. “I am not lying to you, Rafe. Why would I lie to you?”

  His mouth curves up in a small, mean smile. “For the same reason any woman would. What kind of fucking question is that?”

  “I didn’t even come here to ask you for money,” I tell him, despising the way my voice shakes mid-sentence. Clearing my throat and trying again, I add more strongly, “I came here because I didn’t know what was fair. I didn’t know if I needed to tell you or not, but more importantly, I didn’t know if you’d want me to. I was trying to be respectful—”

  “Stop it, Laurel,” he says, pushing a button, then taking a screenshot. “All set. I booked you a red eye home tonight so you won’t have to waste more money on a hotel. Sin will give you a ride to the airport.”

  I hate him.

  I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

  This is the single most humiliating moment of my whole entire life, and I want nothing more than to get out of it. Nodding, I walk back toward the couch for my purse. “Don’t bother. I’ll get myself an Uber.”

  Before I can get to it, Sin grabs my handbag and stands. “I’ll drive you.”

  The last thing I want to do is sit in an enclosed space with him after this experience. My pride cannot take much more. “No thanks.”

  “Wasn’t offering,” he says, heading for the door.

  Since he has my purse, I have to go after him. “Please give me my bag.”

  Without saying another word to Rafe, Sin rips open the front door and walks out. Apparently he’s confident I’ll follow since he has my bag—and he’s right. My phone and wallet are in that bag; I can’t go anywhere without it.

  “Please,” I call, shutting Rafe’s door behind me and speeding up to try to catch up with Sin. “I am humiliated and I want to go home. Have a little fucking sympathy. Let me leave.”

  He indicates his car with the sweep of his hand. “The sooner you get in, the sooner you can leave.”

  “You’re as mean to me as he is. I will walk before I ride with you.”

  Sin flashes me the screen of his cell phone. “He forwarded your ticket confirmation to me, not you.”

  “I need to be alone,” I say, a little desperately. “I’m not being pointlessly stubborn, here. I require solitude right now. That was horrible.”

  “I know,” he replies. “It wasn’t fun to watch, either.”

  “Then give me my purse and let me leave.”

  We’re standing outside his car now. Instead of doing as I ask, he grabs me by the arm and drags me around to the passenger side. Opening the door, he gestures again, urging me inside. “I won’t give you the bag until you’re inside my car.”

  Completely exasperated, I tip my head back and look up at the sky. Even though my life feels more like a landfill right now that it has at any point prior, I feel like I can breathe again. The stillness of night and the peaceful lights dotting the sky bring me a small measure of peace. Looking up at the stars in a clear night sky reminds me of my childhood. It reminds me the telescope I got for Christmas one year, of trying to find planets with Carly in Nana’s backyard, then lying together on the cool grass and pointing out constellations.

  Oh, God, the tears are back.

  I miss my sister. I miss safety and comfort, and a heart that doesn’t feel vaguely achy. I want to go home. I should have never kept this from Carly and tried to deal with it on my own. I definitely should not have involved Rafe. Vince doesn’t give good advice; I should have known that. I should have owned the gigantic fucking mistake I made sleeping with Rafe and just told her about the mess I got myself into. My sister has never been less than supportive. Even if I disappointed her, she wouldn’t have tried to make me feel bad.

  My humiliation grows exponentially as a tear slides down my cheek. I’m too close to Sin and he’s staring right at me, so I know he sees it. If I don’t meet his gaze, I can pretend otherwise. To escape this mortifying moment as quickly as possible, I quit fighting a battle I’m not going to win and drop into the passenger seat.

  Sin watches to make sure I get my hands and legs in, I guess, then he pushes the door shut and walks around to the driver’s side.

  9

  Rafe

  After the longest, most annoying day in recent history, I loosen my tie and peel off my jacket, attempting to roll some of the aggression out of my shoulders.

  This is not how I envisioned this night ending.

  I expected this bizarre day to end pleasantly, with Laurel’s warm body tucked against me, her long chocolate waves draped over my bicep. I expected her warm blue eyes looking up at me, her soft, fuckable lips littering my chest with kisses before we fell asleep.

  I did not expect for her to do something so fucking desperate. On one hand, I consider that she must be truly distraught to resort to this sort of bullshit. I don’t know Laurel well, but she has always struck me as being quite sincere. Calculation is perhaps the least attractive quality a woman can possess, but I never noticed any in her before. Laurel never struck me as the sort of woman who would try to trap a man like this. I acknowledge she’s young, and young people do stupid things, but trying to foist an accidental pregnancy off on me?

  It pisses me off too much to maintain any sympathy.

  If I’m being completely honest, I don’t love the mental image of her out trying to recreate those nights with me using some punk-ass kid as a stand-in, either, but that only irritates me more. Laurel was just a hook-up, so that shouldn’t bother me. I’m probably overly annoyed about it because now I’m home alone and aggravated, while the nice warm body I expected to keep me company has left the fucking premises. Sure, I could go back out—or make a simple phone call—and have a replacement here within the hour, but I don’t feel like it.

  I wanted Laurel, dammit. She arrived on my doorstep at just the right moment; spending a little time with her rekindled my interest, and I was looking forward to spending tonight with her.

  Now I’m spending tonight alone and pissed off.

  I pour myself another drink and take it upstairs to my room with me. After undressing, I finish my drink, check my cell phone, and head to the bathroom. Maybe a shower will wash away the film of disappointment I feel coated in.

  Pregnant. The damned girl is pregnant.

  I am disappointed in that, so I guess everything I sai
d to her was bullshit. I know I’m not the father, but the idea of some other asshole knocking her up still annoys me. Laurel is a bright girl; I gleaned that from spending those few days with her. Yes, in the bedroom she enjoyed letting me take the reins, but I can’t imagine her letting some kid fuck her bareback. She has more sense than that.

  I guess it may not be her fault. Some assholes remove the condom mid-fuck when the woman isn’t even paying attention, so something like that could have happened to her.

  If the damned girl had just been honest with me, she could have explained how this happened, but she had to come at me with a lie. And for what—money? Did she think I wouldn’t be thorough enough to verify paternity? We weren’t together, for Christ’s sake, we had a holiday hook-up. Naturally I wouldn’t trust her claims that I’m the father—especially since we used protection, and I’m far from a novice when it comes to proper condom usage.

  By the time my shower is over, some of the anger has drained out of me and all that’s left is wave after wave of disappointment. Even looking at my empty bed as I emerge from the bathroom is disappointing. I can visualize Laurel kneeling before me as I stand here in front of it, looking up at me with her trusting blue eyes. Hell, I can even imagine afterward, lying in bed with her, hearing her out as she explains to me how she managed to get herself in this situation—the true story, not the scheming bullshit version.

  Sighing, I take a step forward and grab my phone off the bedside table. Laurel’s plane takes off in 20 minutes, so she should be through security now. I’m starting to regret acting so rashly, but I tell myself it’s only because I’m going to bed alone. I could have punished her lying little ass in much more fun ways. Humiliating her in front of Sin and then sending her off to the airport is perhaps the least fun thing I could have possibly done.

  Only, I can’t trust her now. She’s ruined her own appeal. If I wanted to fuck a deceitful little cunt, I could have brought Cassandra upstairs.

  Opening a text to Sin, I type out a message asking if Laurel made her flight, but before I can send it, I delete the damned thing. It’s too transparent. Sin is capable or he wouldn’t be in my employ. Of course she made her fucking flight. I’m also clearly checking in, making it obvious I’m thinking about her. I’ll be damned if I fish. If I’m going to text him, I’ll just ask the goddamn question.