by Lauren Rowe
Oh, Jesus. I feel like I’m going to vomit.
Aiden continues, “And if that didn’t pan out, then, yeah, I guess I’d have no choice at that point but to gamble Regina’s twenty-five grand and hope to God the roulette wheel comes up black for me on my second try.” He rubs his forehead, clearly feeling anxious. “Fuck.”
I suddenly feel like I’m going to lose my breakfast. “Aiden, this is horrible. There’s got to be another way to get the money you need than playing roulette.”
“Hey, if you’ve got a better idea, I’m all ears. Robbing a bank isn’t an option, obviously. There’s not enough time to run a long con or make some kind of legitimate investment with the guitar money. And I sure as hell don’t have anything left to fucking sell.” He sighs. “Look, I’m not an idiot, okay? I know casinos exist to take gamblers’ money fifty-one percent of the time. I know that. But, still, on any given day, it’s possible for a guy to walk into a casino, put it all on black, and walk away a winner. It’s possible, Savvy. And I just keep hoping that, maybe, just maybe, today is my lucky day.”
My mind is racing. I suddenly feel like there’s an elephant sitting on my chest.
“Do you have a better idea than gambling with the twenty-five grand?” he asks.
“No,” I admit. “But if you’re going to gamble, then you need to gamble smart. Putting everything on black in roulette can’t possibly be your best bet in the casino. That would give you only about a forty-seven percent chance of winning—a fifty-three percent chance of losing it all in the blink of an eye. I’ve got to think there’s a game with better odds than that.”
Aiden rakes his hand through his hair. “I’m all ears. I have no idea what I’m doing. I never gamble.”
I glance away from the road to look at Aiden, and the tortured expression on his face breaks my heart. Shit. He’s right to be nervous. Gambling is ultimately a losing proposition, any way you slice it. Anyone who grew up in Vegas will tell you that. But what would be the point of telling Aiden that right now? He’s right. He’s got no other practical option than to gamble the money in his backpack and hope today is his lucky day.
“I don’t even like to gamble,” Aiden mutters, his gaze trained on the highway stretching before us. “My grandfather’s two mottos in life were ‘Nothing comes for free’ and ‘Slow and steady wins the race.’ He despised get-rich-quick schemes every bit as much as my dad has always chased them.” He looks at me. “I know as a teenager I got mixed up in some really stupid shit with my father. I thought his fast life seemed glamorous and exciting compared to the slow and steady life I lived with Gramps. But I’m back to basics now. I work my ass off every day, slow and steady, trying to be the man I was raised to be. But normal rules don’t apply right now, Savvy. Not when my father’s life hangs in the balance. If those fuckers put a bullet in my dad’s head, it’ll be even worse for me than losing Mom and Gramps because it’ll be my fucking fault.”
I look at Aiden in the passenger seat. The poor guy looks like a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
“Oh, Aiden,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry you’re in this position.” But that’s all I can muster. Nothing in my life has prepared me to handle a situation like this. I truly don’t know what to say or do.
We drive in silence for a while. Indeed, we’re both quiet for so long, we’re still not talking by the time I’ve exited the freeway and turned my car onto Las Vegas Boulevard.
“I tell you what,” I say, my stomach churning. “Let me crunch some numbers, okay? There’s got to be a game with better odds than roulette. When we get to the hotel, I’ll do some research and figure out a bet that will give you as close to fifty-fifty odds as possible. I don’t know what to advise you off the top of my head—my parents never gambled, so I didn’t grow up with it. But gambling is nothing but math and probabilities. Totally in my wheelhouse. Let me do some research and tell you what I recommend you do.”
“Thanks, Savvy. I’d really appreciate that.”
I let out the biggest exhale of my life. I just implicitly nixed our prior agreement to say goodbye the minute we arrive in Las Vegas, and he didn’t push back. “Great,” I say, trying not to let the relief I feel permeate my tone. “When we get to the room, why don’t you lie down and try to relax while I do my thing? Order some room service on me. Have a couple beers.” I glance over at him, my heart pounding. “I’m sure you’re feeling incredibly stressed out.”
He nods. “Thanks. Yeah, I am.”
I nod. If I say something, I’m worried Aiden will figure out the sneaky maneuver I just pulled on him.
“I’m surprised your family doesn’t gamble,” he says as I pull into the long driveway leading to the Bellagio. “I thought everyone in Vegas gambles.”
“Nah, people who actually grew up here typically aren’t big gamblers. And that’s especially true of a girl who grew up with a father who’s the head of a math department.”
“Would it be okay for me to sleep with you in your room tonight?” Aiden asks. “I haven’t actually booked a room for tonight yet.”
My heart leaps and bounds and lurches, but I try to make my voice sound breezy and casual. “Of course. I was assuming you’d stay with me tonight.”
“Thanks, Savvy. I didn’t want to ask if it would make you think I’m taking advantage of you.”
I roll my eyes. “Aiden, we’re way past that. I know you’re not using me for a freaking hotel room. You’re using me for sex.”
He smiles.
“Seriously, Aiden. You’re in a terrible situation, and I’m helping you out because I care about you. It’s as simple as that.”
“But you’re strapped for cash, too,” he says.
“Don’t worry about me. I prepaid for my room so long ago, it feels like a free room now. And, regardless, my situation is irrelevant. Yeah, I lost my job. But so what? I’m twenty-three with no family to support. If need be, I can eat macaroni and cheese for the next three months or move in with my mom and aunt in Phoenix. Compared to what you’re dealing with, making my mortgage on a fixer-upper condo in West LA is a first-world problem. All that matters to me now—literally, the only thing—is figuring out how to get the money you need to save your dad’s life. And once we do that, the very next thing on the list is helping you get back Betty, too.”
Chapter Thirteen
Aiden
For the past twenty minutes, I’ve been lying fully clothed alongside Savvy on top of the fluffy white bed in her hotel room, watching her clack on her keyboard and squint at her screen.
“Do you need glasses?” I ask.
“Huh?”
“You’re squinting.”
“Oh. No. This is the face I make when I’m thinking really hard.”
I grin. God, she’s adorable. “Carry on.”
Savvy returns to her screen.
I rest my cheek in my palm, my eyes fixed on her beautiful face, and watch her for a few minutes longer. “You got any advice for me yet, Savvy Who Isn’t Savvy?” I ask.
“No, not yet, Aiden Who Isn’t Patient. Hold your horses, hot stuff.”
I chuckle. “Wow. Has Savvy Who Isn’t Savvy morphed into Savvy Who Doesn’t Pull Any Punches?”
“That’s what happens when a girl’s give-a-shitter done breaks, sweetheart. She loses the ability to sugarcoat.”
I laugh, just as my phone buzzes with an incoming text. I pull it out of my pocket, and my stomach clenches sharply at the name on the screen. Regina.
Have you made it to LV yet?
I glance up at Savvy, my stomach tight, and find her still engrossed in her laptop. Quickly, I tap out a reply.
No. My motorcycle broke down
along the way. Had to arrange some
alternative transportation near
Barstow. On my way now.
Where are you?
Still in Barstow.
But you’re still coming, right?
I grimace. The thought of showing up at Regina’s hotel room to
morrow makes me feel physically ill. But, obviously, I’ve got to keep her on the line.
Yeah. I’ll be there.
Regina replies immediately.
Woohoo! This is going to be the best
birthday ever! I got a suite at the Four
Seasons for us. I’m there now and it’s
spectacular. Be here tomorrow at noon
sharp. You and I are going to kick off my
birthday weekend with a bang.
She tacks her room number to the end of her text, followed by a “blowing kisses” emoji.
I toss my phone onto the mattress without replying, bile rising in my throat. Fuck. Maybe the conventional wisdom is that a sixteen-year-old dude should feel flattered or maybe even titillated upon discovering his father’s wealthy fuck buddy secretly wants to fuck him, especially when the woman is objectively not terrible looking. But discovering Regina’s lusty intentions toward me back in the day never once thrilled me—the discovery only disgusted me from day one. Two years before my first encounter with Regina, I’d come to LA a motherless, grandfatherless teenager in the depths of loneliness and despair. There’s never been a kid with a bigger hole in his heart, a more aimless, rudderless child, than I was back then. And that hideous woman’s instinct upon meeting me for the first time wasn’t to nurture or protect me, but to fuck me? And my disgust for Regina only intensified from there, once I started having sex with girls my own age and realized exactly what sex meant. The impact it had on my emotions and soul. The fact that I didn’t like to give it away like most guys my age—that I liked it best when it was special.
Of course, I’ve never told my dad the truth about Regina or the shit she used to constantly imply to me with verbal hints and body language. What if my father actually cared about Regina? I didn’t think he did, but I wasn’t positive. And I didn’t want to hurt his feelings by telling him the truth. Plus, I didn’t want to buy myself a one-way ticket out of my new home if he picked her over me. So I kept my mouth shut. I saw Regina infrequently, after all. Only if I happened to be around when she came by, which she didn’t do often, anyway. And, probably, if I’m being honest, I didn’t tell my father or anyone the things Regina used to say to me because I was just flat-out embarrassed by them. I thought maybe I’d done something to provoke her—and I didn’t know how to explain to the world why a young dude who’s supposed to want to fuck anything that moves had absolutely no intention of doing that. And now, here I am. With Savvy. The only person I’ve ever told about Regina in my life. And I’m awfully glad I never said a word to my father or anyone else, because as it turns out, Regina is quite possibly the only person standing between my father and a bullet to his head.
“Okay, I’ve figured it out,” Savvy says, pulling me out of my dark thoughts. She flashes me an adorable smile that melts me, as usual.
“I’m all ears,” I say.
Savvy takes a deep breath. “Just like I thought, putting all your money on black isn’t the way to go. Your best bet is craps. Putting the entire twenty-five grand on the pass line in one bet.”
“Will that give me a fifty-fifty chance?”
“No, not quite. But close. A hell of a lot closer than roulette. When all statistical possibilities are integrated, your chances of winning at craps are about forty-nine percent. For the first roll, that is. Of course, if you win on the first roll, you’ll need to bet twenty-five grand again to wind up with the full seventy-five. And if you lose that second bet, then you’ll be back where you started with twenty-five grand. Which you could bet again. And if you do that—if you keep trying until you either go broke or make it all the way to seventy-five grand—then my math says you’ll have close to a one in three chance of turning your twenty-five thousand into seventy-five. The actual probability is thirty-two point four percent—not quite thirty-three point three—of you walking away with seventy-five grand at the end of today.”
“Shit,” I whisper, my stomach churning. “There’s less than a one in three chance of me walking away with the full seventy-five grand?”
She grimaces sympathetically. “Yes.”
I let that stomach-churning idea settle in for a long minute. “I knew my chances were bad, but I didn’t realize they were that bad,” I say softly.
Savvy grabs my hand. “You do have some other options besides a pass line bet at craps. At least from a purely mathematical standpoint. There are other games that also yield just under a fifty-fifty chance on a single bet. But I think a pass line bet at craps is the best choice under the totality of circumstances. For one thing, you can bet the full twenty-five grand in a single bet at a high-stakes craps table. Other games probably won’t allow a single bet that big. And, full disclosure, there are mathematically better strategies at the craps table than putting the entire sum on the pass line. For instance, you could put part of it on the pass line and make additional bets that ‘take the odds.’”
“What’s that?”
She explains it to me, and my head feels like it’s going to explode.
Savvy adds, “But the potential benefit of employing that strategy is small, and the casino might not allow it at the level of money you’ll need to bet. So bottom line, taking all factors into account, my recommendation is a pass line bet at craps.”
“Then that’s what I’ll do. I trust you completely.”
She squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out something more ironclad for you. Something totally outside the box, maybe. If we’d only had more time, I think I could have come up with something. Maybe a high-yield investment for the twenty-five grand? Some product we could buy cheap and sell high? I don’t know. I could have called a friend from the finance division of my old job.”
Now it’s my turn to squeeze Savvy’s hand. “It’s okay, baby. You’ve helped me a ton. You’ve just now increased my odds of winning by a couple percentage points. Who knows? That margin might turn out to be the difference between success and failure for me today.”
Her brow knits with deep concern. “I just wish I could do more for you.”
I take her face in my hands. “You’ve already done more for me than you know, Savannah Valentine. You’ve made me feel hopeful in the midst of the worst shitstorm of my life.” I kiss her gently. “Thank you.”
She smiles ruefully. “I can’t stand the thought of you reporting for duty tomorrow, Aiden. The thought breaks my heart.”
I push a lock of dark hair off her forehead and sigh. Shit, shit, shit. I’d love to be able to tell Savvy not to worry—that there’s no way in hell I’m actually going to show up at Regina’s hotel room tomorrow. That meeting Savvy took that option off the table. But I can’t say that and mean it. If I wind up losing all my money at the craps table downstairs in a few minutes—if I’m suddenly penniless and guitarless, and I’ve got no other prospects to save my father’s life than fucking Regina, then, by God, I’m going to fuck Regina.
“I’m sorry, Savvy. I couldn’t have met you at a worse time in my life.”
She nods.
I drop my hands from her beautiful face. “Let’s head down to the casino now,” I say softly. “I just want to get this shitshow over with, one way or another. I feel sick to my stomach right now.”
Savvy looks like she wants to cry, but she puts on her game face. “Let’s do it.”
I put my finger underneath her chin and gaze into her big, brown eyes. “Hey,” I say softly. “No matter what happens down there, chicken girl, I want you to know you’re the most incredible girl I’ve ever met in my life, and I’ll never, ever forget you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Savannah
As Aiden and I follow the floor supervisor toward the high-stakes craps table at the far end of the casino, I glance down at the five cranberry-colored casino chips in Aiden’s hands. The five cranberry chips he’s going to put on the pass line when we reach the craps table—the chips that stand between life and death for Aiden’s father.
Aiden’s hands are su
rprisingly steady holding those damned chips, I notice. The man definitely has his nerves in check, unlike me. It’s not even my father’s life at stake, and I’m shaking like a leaf as we walk. What if Aiden puts those five chips on the pass line and rolls a two, three, or twelve? Just like that, Aiden will have no money and no means of getting any besides reporting for duty with the birthday girl tomorrow and trying his best to “convince” her through “any means necessary” to give him fifty grand instead of twenty-five. Good lord, I don’t even want to think about what kind of “convincing” Aiden would be willing to do.
I swallow hard, feeling like I’m walking to my own execution. If Aiden loses all his money on one roll of the dice, will he subliminally blame me? I’m the one who advised him to play craps instead of roulette, after all. I realize it wouldn’t be rational for Aiden to blame me if he loses all the guitar money in one roll, but gambling isn’t a rational enterprise. That’s why people “follow their gut” when they gamble. They carry lucky charms. If Aiden loses all his chips in craps, I think a part of him will think, Shit! I should have followed my gut and bet it all on black! And even if he doesn’t blame me for his loss, I think Aiden is right; it would mark the death knell of our budding romance, regardless. He’d go to Regina, and I’d feel disgusted and jealous and rejected. And that would be it for us. Yes, I’d understand intellectually why Aiden went to Regina. But I wouldn’t be able to explain it to my heart. And even if I could get over Aiden sleeping with Regina for two solid days while I hung out feeling sorry for myself—even if I could somehow move on from that—I’m sure Aiden would feel so disgusted with himself afterward, the last person in the world he’d want to be with would be the one person in the world who knows his shameful secret. Looking into my face would constantly remind him of what he did.
