by Lauren Rowe
“Here we are,” the floor manager says, indicating the high-rollers craps table before us. It’s a table at which peasants like Aiden and me normally wouldn’t be allowed to gamble. But Aiden finagled it for us a few minutes ago when he showed the floor manager his five cranberry chips and told him he wanted to put it all on the pass line in one bet. “Stay here, please,” the floor manager says, before leaving us to approach the dealer.
Aiden and I exchange a nervous glance and then return our attention to the floor manager chatting with the dealer. The dealer nods. The floor manager gestures to Aiden, signaling he’s cleared to play.
Our hands clasped, Aiden and I make our way to the edge of the table and stand stiffly together as we await the end of the current roller’s turn.
“You okay?” I whisper.
He doesn’t reply for a long beat. “I can’t do it,” he finally whispers. “I need you to place the bet for me, Savvy.” He shoves his chips at me. “Please.”
“What?” I push on Aiden’s hand. “Not me. I’d barf all over the table.”
“I need you to roll the dice. I need lady luck. And you have to have chips on the table to be the roller.”
I feel like I’m going to tip over. “Aiden, no.”
“Please,” he whispers. “You’re my good luck charm. If I roll and crap out, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“And if I roll and crap out, you’ll never forgive me.”
“Not true,” he says, shoving the chips toward me again. “Please, Savvy.”
I look into his ocean-blue eyes for a moment. “We’ll do it together. I’ll roll, but we’re both going to bet. Three for you and two for me.”
“Great. Just as long as you roll, I’m happy. You’re way, way luckier than me.”
That last statement is patently ridiculous. I’m not even slightly lucky. But there’s no time to argue with him because the dealer just called out for a new roller.
I signal to the dealer that I’ll be rolling and he pushes the dice across the felt table to me.
“We’ve got a lady roller,” the dealer calls out. “Place your bets.”
As the well-heeled high rollers at the table place their bets, Aiden and I split up the five cranberry chips between us and then place our respective bets on the pass line.
Aiden smiles tightly at me. “Good luck,” he whispers. “And thank you.”
I pick up the dice with a shaking hand, feeling like I’m going to hurl.
“You’ve got this,” Aiden whispers.
“Aiden, are you sure you want me to—”
“I’m sure,” he says. “Don’t think about it, chicken girl. Just roll.”
Without further ado, I say a prayer, kiss the dice, and toss them toward the far end of the table…and then watch as they bounce across the felt…and hit the bumper on the far end of the table…and then bounce back…and, finally, come to a rest.
A five and six.
The gamblers crowded around the table cheer.
“Eleven!” the dealer calls out. “Winner!”
I throw myself into Aiden’s waiting arms, and he crushes me in a jubilant hug that knocks the air out of my lungs. The dealer calls out to us to collect our winnings, and we break apart and gleefully collect the five new cranberry chips sitting in front of us on the pass line.
“Holy shit,” Aiden says, looking down with wide eyes at the five new and five old chips in his hands. “You did it, Savvy! Oh, my God.”
“Place your bets!” the dealer calls out—and Aiden lurches away from the table like it’s on fire.
The players at the table begin a new round while Aiden stands ten feet away, staring at his ten chips with bug eyes.
I stand next to him, my heart racing, too freaked out to ask him what he’s going to do next.
“This is my dad’s life right here,” Aiden says softly, staring at his hands. “These chips are literally the only thing standing in the way of my dad getting a bullet to his head.” He lets out a shaky exhale and looks at me. “I thought I’d have the balls to make another bet. But now that I’m here, and I know I’ve got my dad’s life saved for sure, I can’t risk it.”
My stomach flips over. Does he mean he’s decided to forfeit the opportunity to buy back his grandfather’s guitar…or that he’s intending to report for duty with Regina tomorrow?
Aiden chews on the inside of his cheek for a long moment, apparently lost in thought. “What would you do in my shoes, Savvy? Tell me the truth. Would you bet again or stop?”
Shit. As much as I want Aiden to try to parlay the fifty grand in his hand into seventy-five, there’s no doubt what I’d do. No doubt what he should do. “I wouldn’t risk it,” I reply honestly. “Nothing matters more than saving your father’s life. Now that you’ve done that, you should stop.”
Aiden closes his eyes and nods.
There’s a long moment of nausea-inducing silence. “So now what?” I finally whisper. I clutch my chest, bracing myself for his answer.
“I don’t know,” Aiden says. “I’ve got to think about it. At the end of the day, which will be worse? Living without Betty for the rest of my life or spending two days in hell?”
Oh, dear God. Aiden is seriously considering being that woman’s boy toy for two solid days? “Let’s gamble some more and try to win the twenty-five grand you need,” I blurt. “Not with that fifty-grand. We won’t touch those ten chips, no matter what. We’ll gamble with…” I look down at my hand, my heart thumping. “With my ring!” I blurt. “I’ll hawk it and gamble with the money!”
“No, Savvy.”
“Yes!” My heart is racing. I feel desperate. Panicky. “My ring is worth about three grand, I think. Yes, it’ll be a tall order to turn three grand into twenty-five. But it’s worth a try.”
“No,” Aiden says sharply. “Your father gave you that ring. You told me it’s your most-prized possession.”
“I don’t care about the ring. In fact, it’ll be better for my mental health to use it to help you than to wear it and be constantly reminded my father doesn’t love me anymore.”
Aiden looks pained. “Aw, Savvy.” He touches my shoulder. “Your father still loves you. People aren’t perfect. They fuck up. That doesn’t mean they don’t still love.”
Tears flood my eyes. “I don’t want to talk about my father. I shouldn’t have brought him up. All that matters is I want to help you. Please, Aiden. Let me help you.” I grab his arm. “I want to see what might happen between us back in LA. And if you have sex with that woman for two days, we both know that won’t be possible. What we’re feeling will get tainted by my irrational jealousy and your self-loathing and we’ll be over before we started.”
He looks emotional, but he shakes his head. “I can’t let you hawk that ring. It’s your Betty. If you lose it trying to help me, you’ll never forgive me. And then we’d be dead in the water, regardless.”
I wipe my eyes. “I admit I love this ring. But I’d sell it in a heartbeat to help you. Especially if helping you would mean I’d get to see you again after today.”
Aiden presses his lips together for a moment. “Thank you,” he says softly. “But you’d be hawking it in vain. We both know I’d lose every dime of the ring money long before we came close to winning twenty-five grand. And then I’d be in the same situation I’m in right now. Sitting on fifty grand from craps and needing twenty-five grand more. The only difference would be you’d be out of a ring, and I’d feel like shit about it.”
My lower lip is trembling. I swallow hard to keep myself from losing it. “I’m not ready to say goodbye to you. I’ve never felt this kind of electricity with someone. I’m greedy. I don’t want it to end.”
“Aw, Savvy. Baby.” He stuffs his cranberry chips into his jeans and puts his hands on my cheeks. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. Every fiber of my being told me to leave you out of it, but I just couldn’t resist you. I was selfish. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you coul
dn’t resist me.”
“I’m no good for you,” he whispers. “Can’t you see that? You’re way out of my league. You should walk away.”
“Stop saying stuff like that. Just stop. I don’t care about your résumé, Aiden. All I care about is how you make me feel. And I can honestly say you make me feel like nobody ever has.”
He wraps his arms around me and squeezes me tightly, and I melt into him and let my tears flow. Losing my dad six months ago. Losing my job yesterday. Being humiliated by Derek yesterday, not to mention Mason Crenshaw five years before that. It’s all been too much to take. I don’t want to lose Aiden, too. I’m fully aware I don’t know him yet. For all I know, these feelings I’m having for Aiden might be nothing more than a projection. A fantasy. A beautiful dream. But I don’t care. I want this beautiful dream to keep going. I want to find out if this dream could possibly become a reality.
“Let’s get out of here,” Aiden says softly into my ear. “I need to think about my decision, and I can’t do it here with all the noise and lights. I need quiet. I need to make music.”
I pull back and look at him quizzically.
He wipes the tears from my cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “Let’s find a piano somewhere, chicken girl. There’s a song I haven’t been able to get out of my head since the taco place. I’m dying to play it for you.”
Chapter Fifteen
Savannah
Holy crap.
Aiden MacAllister is a musical genius.
I figured he’d be a skilled musician. I figured he’d inherited at least some of his mother’s and grandfather’s talent, either through DNA or simple osmosis. I also figured a popular restaurant in Silver Lake wouldn’t pay Aiden to perform every Sunday if he wasn’t pretty good. LA has its pick of talented troubadours, after all. And Aiden said the tips he earns at his Sunday gigs are his biggest source of income each week. So, yes, I expected Aiden MacAllister to be pretty talented. But not this talented.
For the past few minutes, Aiden’s been playing piano and singing to me in a storage room at the Bellagio—a room the catering manager led us to when Aiden flashed her his most charming smile and asked if there was “a spare piano somewhere in this big ol’ hotel” he might play for a bit, “just to unwind.” And I’ve been rendered speechless since the moment he started tickling the ivories.
But it’s not Aiden’s piano playing that’s astounding me; it’s his voice. Oh, God, Aiden’s voice. It’s mesmerizing. Swoon-worthy. Soulful. Honest. And this song he’s serenading me with? It’s perfection. It’s not his song, actually. It’s John Mayer’s. “Daughters.” But Aiden is making the song his own as he sings. And, holy hell, he’s giving me all the feels. After everything that’s happened in my life recently, I feel like this song was written specifically for me.
When Aiden finishes singing, I blink back the tears welling in my eyes. “Beautiful,” I whisper. “You’re amazing.”
Aiden grins. “Thanks. I’ve had that song running through my head on a loop since you told me about your dad at the taco place. It feels so good to finally get to play it for you.”
I wipe my eyes. “I loved it. Will you play me another one? Maybe a song of yours?”
“Absolutely. But first…” Aiden pushes my dark hair behind my shoulder and lays a soft kiss on the bare nape of my neck. He trails soft kisses up my neck…to my jaw…and, finally, presses his lips against mine. I slide my palm onto his cheek and kiss him passionately, with every emotion I’m feeling in this moment. Excitement. Heartache. Joy. Arousal. Yearning. And Aiden returns my kiss with equal fervor. Indeed, his kiss feels so full of emotion, it’s taking my breath away. When we finally pull apart, I feel like I’m going to tip over.
“What was that for?” I whisper, my heart racing.
“For the way you were looking at me while I was singing.”
I blush.
He lays a soft kiss on my cheek. “Okay, chicken girl. I’m gonna play you my favorite song of all the ones I’ve written. And, trust me, I’ve written a lot.” He lays his beautiful hands on the keys of the piano and begins singing me a song—a song I’d guess, judging by the lyrics, was inspired by his grandfather and mother. It’s a song about love and loss. But, mostly, loss. A song about taking solace in happy memories. About finding light in the dark. Oh, God, this song is breaking my freaking heart.
My phone vibrates on top of the piano with an incoming call. It’s Derek’s name on my screen.
Aiden’s eyes drift to my phone. He abruptly stops playing. “Is that the douchebag?”
I nod.
“Answer it.”
“What would be the point?”
“You deserve to hear him grovel. Let him grovel for a bit and then tell him to fuck off.”
I shrug and press a button to answer the call on speaker phone. “Hi, Derek.”
“Jesus Christ, Savvy!” Derek roars. “You didn’t give me a chance to explain! I never said we were exclusive! If that’s what you assumed, then I can’t be expected to—”
I disconnect the call. “I guess he didn’t call to grovel.”
Aiden clenches his jaw. “Douchebag.”
The phone rings with another incoming call. Derek again.
“May I?” Aiden says.
“Sure.”
Aiden answers the call on speaker phone. “Hello, Derek.”
“Who the fuck is this?” Derek barks.
“The guy who’s been lucky enough to be with Savvy since you cheated on her.”
“Is this the asshole from the videos—the guy with the stupid guitar tattoo on his forearm?”
“The one and only,” Aiden says.
“Fuck you, you piece of shit!” Derek roars. He lets out a growl that can only be described as primal. “I can’t imagine how drunk you had to get Savvy to get her to fuck you on Wednesday—mere hours after meeting you. Let alone to agree to let you videotape her, too! What’d you do, asshole? Did you roofie her, you piece of shit? Because the Savvy Valentine I know would never agree to—”
I lean into the phone. “Wrong. Savvy Valentine would and Savvy Valentine did. Willingly, consensually, and quite happily.” I wink at Aiden, and he flashes me a stunning smile. “The truth is I’ve left my corporate job to become a porn star, Derek.”
Aiden chuckles. “That’s right, baby! We’re the porn star and the felon!”
“What? Savvy, is this guy seriously a felon?”
“He is. As it turns out, felons are extra hot in bed. All that pent-up frustration while they were sitting in a prison cell, I guess.”
Aiden and I share a huge laugh.
“Savvy, talk to me,” Derek says, his tone turning decidedly concerned. “Is this guy holding you against your will? Are you drugged right now?”
“No, Derek. I’m perfectly sober. My give-a-shitter done broke, that’s all.”
“You’re…what?”
Aiden leans into my phone. “Her give-a-shitter done broke.”
“Hey, asshole!” Derek yells. “Shut the fuck up, okay? I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to Savvy.”
“Fuck you,” Aiden roars. “Savvy’s done talking to you, you piece of shit.”
“Oh, I’m the piece of shit?” Derek roars back. “You think it’s okay to lure sweet, innocent young women into making nasty sex videos with you, motherfucker?”
Aiden rises from the piano bench, suddenly enraged. “Hey, asshole,” he shouts toward my phone, a vein in his neck throbbing. “You want to talk about a guy luring sweet, innocent young women, then let’s talk about you. How many women have you lured to the top of that mountain, asshole? How many times have you told a girl you love her, just to get your dick wet, huh? You better pray you never go to prison, fuckwad, or the guys in there would sniff your pussy-ass out in a heartbeat and make mincemeat out of you.”
Derek growls like a grizzly bear. “Is that so? Well, you’d better hope and pray I never find you, motherfucker, because the minute I see that stupid fucking guitar ta
ttoo, I’m gonna know—”
Aiden disconnects the call. He sits back down and takes a deep, steadying breath. “You actually liked that tool?”
“I believe I mentioned I was more flattered by Derek’s attention than anything.”
Aiden rolls his eyes. “He’s an idiot.”
“Thanks for jumping in to defend me. You’re my knight in shining armor, Aiden MacAllister.”
“Anytime, my pretty little chicken princess.”
I bat my eyelashes and motion to the piano. “Now, where were we? I believe you were playing me a song.”
“Yeah.” He shakes out his arms and exhales. “Fuckwad.”
“Forget him. He doesn’t matter. Play me a song.”
Aiden takes another deep breath and his shoulders visibly relax. “Okay. I’ll play you another song I wrote.” He plays me a new song, and I swoon and sigh throughout. Finally, he finishes, and I clap and kiss him.
“I suck on piano,” Aiden says. “But you get the gist.”
“You don’t suck on piano. You’re amazing.”
“I’m way more comfortable on guitar. That’s my main instrument.”
“Wow. You’re better on guitar? Damn. Then you must be out of this world. Honestly, Aiden, with that voice of yours and all that charisma and good looks, I can’t fathom why you’re not a huge star.”
“Thanks.” He shrugs. “The music biz is a tough nut to crack. Tough for anyone, but especially an ex-con. But it’s okay. I’ve long since stopped dreaming of becoming a rock star playing arenas. All I dream about now is making a simple living from music. If I could get steady session work and a few high-paying, live gigs a month, I’d be thrilled.”
“Hey, don’t people sometimes get discovered on YouTube? You could post some clips of yourself there.”
“Oh, I already have. And so have my fans.”
“You’ve got fans?”
“It’s all relative. But, yeah. There are a bunch of people who follow me around from gig to gig. Show up on Sundays pretty regularly. They’ve actually posted a ridiculous amount of videos of me. But so far, that hasn’t gotten me anywhere.” He winks. “It’s cool. I’m happy just playing, whether it’s a restaurant patio or a club.”
