by Jess Bentley
When I walk back out into the bedroom, something about the site of Dahlia’s reclining body under the Egyptian cotton sheets tugs at something deep in my chest. I realize that I'm happy. Truly happy just to see that she's right there. Right in front of me.
Carefully I walk over to the bed, sliding the sheet from her bare shoulder and dipping my head to kiss her gently until she begins to stir.
“Oh, did I fall asleep?” she asks in a sweet voice, half rolling over and rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand.
“I wish we could just stay here,” I say honestly, “but unfortunately we still have work to do. Kirkman needs to head down to the green room in just a bit.”
Her brow furrows. “Are you still concerned? Is everything all right?”
“Everything's fine,” I reassure her. “He's not going to be my problem after Sunday anyway. All I need to do is keep his stalker from making more of a mess while he's under my care and then I won't have to think about him again.”
“Still didn't find the girl with the blue nail polish?”
She wiggles her fingers charmingly. I snatch them out of the air and tug on them playfully.
“No such luck. Maybe Lori would've had better luck with her after all,” I tease.
Dahlia pouts, thrusting her lower lip out. “I still feel bad about that.”
I take her into my arms, cradling her as I kiss her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and those sweet rosebud lips.
“Well I do not feel bad about anything. Not even a little bit.”
She wiggles against me and smiles, letting her eyes half close.
“I don't think that Lori would've found anything either,” she sighs happily. “She wanted to know if Bunny was a stalker. Can you believe that?”
“Bunny? I never even thought about it. What color nail polish does Bunny have?”
She scowls at me. “Not blue, if that's what you're asking.”
“Oh really? Are you sure?”
She rolls her eyes, pushing herself away from me lightly and crawling to the end of the bed. I watch her scamper away, licking my lips as her buttocks jiggle jubilantly against each other. Oh, the things I want to do to her.
She takes her phone out of her purse and holds it in the air, walking back over to me completely naked. The soles of her pretty little feet whoosh against the plush carpeting and I'm tempted to try to steal a few more moments with my head buried between her legs.
“Here, look,” she smirks, holding the phone out to me. “That's the picture we got with Kirkman. In the Gucci store, remember? Bunny’s a bright red kind of gal.”
“Oh, looks like she is,” I muse, taking the phone from her. I can't help but smile at this. They look like a couple of dorky fan girls, cheesing it up as Kirkman grins like a doofus and wraps his arms around them. The saleswoman stands slightly off to the side, her eyebrows raised in smug disdain.
“Hold on, what's this?” I mutter, expanding the screen to zoom in. “Well, would you look at that?”
“What is it?” she asks, leaning in closer.
I turn the phone around toward her so she could see it too. “Blue nail polish.”
Her eyes go wide and her lips form a small, perfect oval.
“It's the saleswoman? Do you really think so?”
I shrug one shoulder, shaking my head. “Could be. Why not? It did seem kinda weird that Kirkman insisted we visit.”
She shakes her head. “I don't get it.”
“I don't either,” I confess. “But I'll have my guys look into it. If she's local, then this is just a fling, probably Kirkman seeing an opportunity to trying to get his name on social media. If she's not from here, and she's following him around the country, that's another kind of problem.”
“So what kind of problem is it?”
“Well, what kind of problem do you think it is? Use your instincts.”
I cross my arms and wait for her to think it through. She knits her brow, chewing on her lower lip as she puzzles through it.
“Did Kirkman ever seem really concerned about this? Like ever?”
I smile, I can’t help it. I wrap my arms around her and press her long, naked body to mine, loving how solid she feels, how perfectly she fits me.
“You have beautiful instincts, Dahlia,” I tell her. “How about you come work for me?”
“What? Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack,” I answer. “Now get dressed. We have got work to do.”
I try not to watch her get dressed. She tiptoes around the room, laying her dress out, arranging all the little vials and tubes that she uses to make herself even more beautiful. I could get swept up in this. I could just sit here and watch all the mysterious things that she does, the rituals she created for herself.
But suddenly I feel self-conscious, remembering that for the past three years I have trained myself to absolutely not do that. Now, with just the smallest bit of her permission, all those desires come flooding back. I realize that I've been denying myself something profoundly satisfying as I am watching this beautiful creature being herself.
After slips her dress over her head, she looks at me shyly over one shoulder, smiling.
“What are you doing over there?” she asks me.
I look around, hoping for an excuse.
“Oh, just checking Twitter, Facebook… you know. The usual.”
She walks over to me on her tiptoes. At the very last second she spins around and pulls her hair up off the back of her neck.
“Zip me up?” she asks.
“Of course,” I mumble.
She kissed the air and thanks and skips away again, finishing up with small humming noises as she does so. It's like watching a fairytale character. I half expect cartoon birds to pick her towel up off the counter and put it back on the rack.
After a while she comes out and slips into her shoes, then tucks her phone into her pocket. She does a little half turn in each direction.
“Is this all right?”
“You look outstanding,” I tell her, smiling. She's wearing a sleeveless blue dress with a tie at the waist, subtle pockets hidden in the seams on the sides. It's both feminine and practical at the same time and she's wearing flats instead of heels, I notice.
“I see that you don't dress like a Secret Service agent,” she observes. “I thought I would go for something practical but pretty, you know?”
“I think it's perfect. Once we get you firearm training, you should probably have a holster on your thigh.”
Her eyes go wide. “Are you serious?”
I have to chuckle at her enthusiasm. “One thing at a time,” I smile.
“I wore flats, in case I need to chase someone,” she says. “And my dress… it has pockets.”
“I think you should start calling me boss,” I tell her.
She sidles up a little bit closer, thrusting her chin in the air stubbornly. “You think I should call you boss? Really?” she asks me playfully.
I take her hand and draw it to the front of my pants so she could feel how hard I am through the fabric. She draws in her breath and bites her lower lip.
“Yes, I think you should definitely call me boss,” I tell her.
A soft knock comes through the door and Dahlia takes a step back, folding her hands behind her innocently. I open the door for Melanie. She raises her eyebrows at me, then notices Dahlia off to my side. For a moment she stands there, calculating, judging. Then she purses her lips disdainfully.
“We’re going to be late.”
I see Kirkman in the hall. He hits the button for the elevator.
“We are exactly on time,” I inform her.
We all pack into the elevator, and I notice Kirkman is covered in some kind of strange substance, something like glitter. He's bronzed like a statue. He looks like a teenage girl.
He catches my eye and just shrugs. “It looks good from the stage,” he remarks.
“If you say so.”
Melanie sniffs, crossing her a
rms and tapping her fingers against her elbow. “So are we all set? No more new surprises?”
“I don't expect anything out of the ordinary,” I shrug.
She arches her eyebrows at me in challenge. “I don't suppose you expected any of these other surprises over the last week though, did you?”
I pivot toward Kirkman, so close he could feel my breath against his ear. In the narrow confines of the elevator car, he can’t escape.
“You tell us, Kirkman. Will there be any surprises tonight?”
He flinches. “You're awful close, man,” he grumbles.
“What are you talking about?” Melanie huffs.
“Kirkman knows exactly what I'm talking about. Did you invite the girl from the Gucci store… Kirk?”
“Kirkman, dude,” he mumbles stubbornly.
“No?” I continue, pretending he answered me. “Okay, then I assume we are good.”
I turn back toward Melanie, holding my hands out like the case has been solved. “Well, if Kirkman didn't invite his little local piece of ass… I guess there won't be any incidents. She's probably still at work.”
Melanie's eyes narrow she looks past me toward Kirkman. “Are you kidding me?” she growls. “Kirkman… answer me. You did not try to —”
“— just drop it,” he rolls his eyes, pushing to the front of the car as the doors open and exiting the elevator with a swagger. Melanie hurries after him, and I hold up my hand so Dahlia stays behind with me.
I watch as Melanie chases Kirkman down the access hallway toward the green room until she can’t hear us anymore.
“See? You have excellent instincts,” I tell Dahlia, leaning down close so I can nuzzle against her ear.
“I can't believe it!” she breathes. “He totally created that whole thing himself ! What a douche!”
I shrug. “I hate musicians, man. They're all douches.”
“Bunny likes him,” she rolls her eyes. “Actually, she just texted me to say she's here. What do I tell her?”
“Go get her, and take her to the VIP room. She's gonna love it.”
“You don't mind? Is there work I need to do here?”
I squeeze her shoulders, wanting to squeeze her harder, wanting to undress her here, in his abandoned hallway, far away from the thousands of people on the casino floor above us, the thousands of people filing into the amphitheater. It's just the two of us, no one would know.
“I think I can handle it all myself.” I say begrudgingly. “I’ll be up there in a little while. Give Bunny the superstar treatment. Be a big shot.”
She smiles broadly, dimpling her cheeks and pushing up on her toes to kiss me quickly before stepping back into the elevator. She raises one hand and wiggles her fingers.
“Yes…” she says breathlessly as the doors close, “yes, boss.”
Chapter 44
Dahlia
Groups of people file through the lobby, dressed in all kinds of ways. I always thought that casinos were super fancy, like a scene out of a James Bond movie, but a lot of these people look like they're going to watch their kid’s T-ball game or something. Then again, other people look like they're going to church. It's a wide variety of people, with wide variety of means. Some of them look really well-off and ready to drop a thousand dollars like it’s no big deal, and some of them look like they’re just here for the ambience, happy to spend an hour or so playing penny slots.
I spot Bunny through the glass doors as she exits her Uber. She's dressed in a short black shift with a plunging neckline. The rows of bangles stacked up her lower arms glitter as she walks toward me.
“Holy shit, you look amazing,” I tell her honestly. “You didn't have to get dressed up for me.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “I did not get dressed up for you, Dahlia. I just got dress up for… you know. This swanky cosmopolitan lifestyle. It's a thing.”
“You showed up in an Uber,” I remind her. “Not a Rolls Royce.”
“Whatever,” she sighs, tucking her pocketbook under her arm. She sways back and forth, letting her eyes investigate me critically.
“That’s a cute dress,” she remarks.
“It's got pockets.”
“Oh my God, what is it with you and pockets?” she huffs. “Lots of dresses have pockets.”
“No, for your information, most dresses don't have pockets. Pockets mean I can carry stuff and I don't have have to carry a purse. Pockets are good if you need to, you know, be ready for action.”
“Yeah, okay, whatever you say,” she says. “Like, what kind of action do we need to be ready for? More stalker stuff?”
Pivoting, we start to follow the flow of traffic. I try to keep my voice at a confidential level.
“No, the stalker stuff is… well, it’s not an issue anymore.”
“Oh my God, that’s a relief!” she sighs. “I hope your boyfriend can be a little less overbearing huh? Maybe crack a smile from time to time?”
“Ha! Maybe. That would be nice.”
We walk through the casino, sticking to the main hallway. I squint at the overhead signs that point the way toward the amphitheater where Kirkman is playing so we can get to the VIP room.
The casino floor is extremely noisy, confusing displays of lights, sudden bursts of noise as people yell about their jackpots, and slot machines that make deafening eruptions of sound.
The room is gigantic and lavish. There must be thousands of people in here and it seems to go on forever. The carpet is crazy — I don’t think I have ever seen anything like it before. It has swirling harlequin patterns in reds and golds and black. Huge chandeliers glitter over our heads among hundred of small globes for the security cameras. A waitress offers us a drink and we shake our heads politely and move on.
Between the noise and all the excitement and all the people, coupled with the patterns and the blinking lights, the space is extremely confusing. I don't know how people can work here, having the sensory overload day in and day out.
And yet, I kind of want to see what it's like. I hope we get a chance to try out some of the machines later. I always thought that I might be good at blackjack.
“This place is crazy, huh?” Bunny asks, smiling brightly as her head swivels from side to side. “Is August going to be working all night? Do you want to get a drink or two?”
“No, I should probably take it easy,” I say, raising my voice over the din. “I need to stay alert… you know, for my new job.”
“Your new job?” she repeats. “You got a new job? Dahlia? What is going on?”
I smile excitedly. “I got fired!”
She flinches, grabbing my elbow. “You got fired? Why are you smiling? Are you having a breakdown?”
“Sort of? Maybe?” I giggle. Actually, that might be a possibility. I definitely don't feel like myself.
“Is this about August? Is he messing with your head?” she asks me, suddenly serious.
We finally get to the escalator that leads up to the VIP rooms and the noise seems to die down a little bit. I wait for an older couple to pass us on the escalator going the other way before turning back toward Bunny. Her expression is concerned and eager.
“Actually… it's totally about August. But it's good, Bunny. It's really good.”
Her eyebrows go up and her crimson lips pucker suggestively. “Really good? Like, how good?”
My heart starts to flutter just thinking about it. “Like… send me over the moon good. Like it's all I think about good. Really good!”
“Yeah, okay… that's good for sure,” she says cautiously. “But you got fired? What is that about?”
I lead her toward Stan, who is standing outside VIP access. He nods at me in a professional way and opens the door. I give Bunny a sidelong look as she enters the private room, noting how impressed she appears.
“Well, August said I didn't really get fired. I got laid off.”
“Oh, honey, that sucks! I'm so sorry!”
We walk into the room, looking around. It's a
large space, but totally empty so far. The two girls from the tour bus sit at one and of a long, bright pink bar. There are leather armchairs arranged in small conversational units and hightop tables with barstools but nobody in them. Apparently we are early to the party. All at once, a dozen LED screens flicker to life and the stage the Kirkman will be on suddenly appears.
“Geez,” Bunny says in a low voice. “This is extremely swanky.”
“Open bar too,” I remark.
“Are you kidding me? Champagne!”
It's like we own the place. It's like something out of a TV show. The women who came to the show with Kirkman pretty much ignore us, but Bunny and I sit at the other end of the bar drinking delicious champagne out of flutes for the next few minutes, just marveling at this room. It really does look like something out of a movie, or like we are in the movie itself. It's kind of amazing.
“So what are you going to be doing? Are you going to try going back to school again?”
“I don't know about that…” I answer uncertainly. “For right now, I am going to be working… for August.”
She stops with the champagne flute halfway to her lips and blinks twice. Are you kidding?”
I shake my head tightly. I don’t know if it is the champagne or what but I feel completely filled with bubbles, filled almost to bursting. I could practically float away, I'm so excited.
“He gave you a job?”
“He says I have good instincts.”
Carefully she sets her champagne down on the bar. She spreads her hands over her knees, holding her fingers wide and tapping her kneecaps for a few moments before she looks up at me.
“Dahlia, I want you to answer me. I want you to think seriously about this question, and then give me an answer.”
“What are you talking about?”
She takes a deep breath.
“Will you do that?” she persists. “Will you answer me honestly?”
I set my champagne glass down too.
“Yes, Bunny… what is it?”
“Could you finally just admit… that I was right??”
She opens her eyes dramatically and sits back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest.
