I exaggerate the man’s features—his ears, his eyes. The sketch is a caricature. It’s the way I always draw people. I collect faces the way some people collect stamps, keeping my drawings in notebooks and folders at home. The idea is that, one day, a face might really inspire me, and I might have a great idea for a children’s book.
Time slows down as I draw, the sweet-smelling paper and the earthy charcoal between my fingers being all that exists. As I finish shading the man’s cap, I look up and find he’s vanished.
He’s not the only one who’s gone. The schoolkids have disappeared, and the daylight is quickly receding. The square is taking on a new tone, with streetlights flickering on in all corners. I close my sketchbook and stuff it back into my bag.
How much time has gone by? It only felt like a few minutes, but I managed to complete a whole portrait, so, surely, it was longer than that.
I make my way back toward the port, picking up my pace as I go. My heels click against the pavement and I skirt to the side, dodging other pedestrians. Signs of nightlife are starting to show. The younger people are already out, the guys looking suave with their slicked-back hair and the women adorable with their miniskirts and glittery makeup. No doubt, Macau is an amazing place to party, but it’s too bad I’ll never know. I have a ship to catch.
As the port comes into view, I start scanning it. I can’t remember exactly where my cruise ship was docked, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find. There’s what appears to be some kind of large, yellow fishing boat, and a small, blue sailboat…but nothing that looks familiar.
My stomach does a somersault and I frantically glance up and down the docks. Then I see it: the familiar monolith sailing across the water in the distance, its white and red lights dancing over the waves in the night.
I’ve missed my ship.
They’ve gone without me.
Chapter Two
Lauren
“Fuck.”
I don’t cuss much, but there’s a time and a place—and being stranded in a foreign country with night steadily approaching is definitely the time and place.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, not wanting to see the ship that’s only getting farther and farther away. What are my parents thinking? They must be freaking our right now. Did they try to get in touch with me to tell me the ship was leaving?
My eyes fly open at a new realization: Mom and Dad have no clue that I left the ship. They probably assumed I stormed off to sulk on the deck.
With a sigh, I turn away from the water and look back at the city behind me. There must be a ferry or something here, or some kind of other boat that can take me back to Hong Kong. And since the night’s only beginning, I should be able to still get a ticket.
But, then again, why would I do that? Aren’t I in the very middle of something that I’ve always wanted to do? I’m in a new country, far away from my boring life and the expectations of my parents. I’m the very thing I’ve always wanted to be: a traveler, a girl alone with her freedom and her sketchbook.
And I’ve only just arrived in Macau. There must be so much more to see here. Let my parents think I’m on the ship. It’ll give me a few hours to explore.
With a new pep in my step, I head back to the street. I have money in Macanese Patacas, so I’m good to go, in that regard. But the question is, where am I headed?
Idling on the sidewalk, I give it some thought. What was it that Donna had said about Macau? People called it the what?
The Vegas of Asia.
A smile tugs at my lips, and I instantly know what I’m going to do with the next few hours.
I’ve never hailed a pedicab before, but it can’t be that different than hailing a taxi. Stepping up to the curb, I wave my hand and make eye contact with the nearest guy on one of the bike contraptions. He nods and pedals over to me. I don’t know how to say ‘casino’ in either Cantonese or Portuguese, so I send up a quick prayer that we’ll find some way to communicate, and hop into the covered cart.
“Do you speak English?” I ask the driver.
“Yeah, yeah. English. Where you going?”
“A casino, please. The best one here.”
“Okay. I know where.” He nods and starts pedaling away.
I relax back into the worn, black cushions and enjoy the sights. Before too long, we’re in an area that’s unmistakably a gambling mecca. Lights of every color dance across the faces of the surrounding buildings. I lean forward in my seat, eager to soak every bit of this glorious new world.
The pedicab crawls to a stop.
“Here,” the driver says. “Biggest casino in the world.”
“Really? The whole world?”
The driver nods. “The Venetian Macau.”
It’s impressive; there’s no doubt about that. A tower covered with white lights reaches up toward the sky, and the main entrance is crowded with pedicabs and sleek, black cars.
I pay my driver and climb out of the pedicab. Lights flash, people chatter, and car wheels screech. The casino is one of the busiest places I’ve seen in the city.
The doors in front of me seem to draw me in, as if they’ve wrapped me in an invisible rope. Before I know it, I’m walking inside the casino—and literally gasping.
The main color of the gigantic lobby is gold, with multiple staircases winding up to the second level gaming floors. On the ceiling, a painting that emulates Michelangelo’s work on the Sistine Chapel adds an extra dose of luxury. I walk the perimeter, eyeing tourists taking photos and well-dressed gamblers hurrying here and there.
The wonders in the casino are unending. True to its name, the main feature of the casino is a real, functioning canal, with sparkling blue water and real gondolas ferrying people around the casino. The main floor branches into four separate gaming areas, each with its own distinct style.
Already feeling out of my element, I double back and go to the front desk to get some information and a map of the casino. Exploring a foreign city is one thing, but there’s something about being in a casino that intimidates me. Maybe it’s because I’ve never gambled before, or maybe it’s because everyone here seems to know precisely what they’re doing and where they’re headed. Nothing in the casino is idle, and every movement has a frenetic agenda behind it.
After some more exploring, I find myself in the ‘Red Dragon’ game room. Wide, oval tables made of dark, shining wood fill up the space. This new area is just as crowded as the front of the casino was, filled with less tourists but more cocktail waiters, and even more gamblers.
I stand still against one of the gold painted walls, watching it all. I came to the casino with the intent to gamble, but at this point, I’m still feeling out of my league. I have no gambling experience whatsoever. I can’t even claim a winning streak of ‘rock, paper, scissors’ to my name.
The people here clearly know what they’re doing—or at least, they act like they do. Nearby, a hard-faced woman takes a seat at a table and eyes her opponent. A string of diamonds sparkle around her neck, and the man across from her gives her a snide smile.
After trying and failing to understand the game they begin to play, I decide to make my way back to the foyer. I take one step—and collide with something hard and warm.
“Oh!” I cry out as I step backward and liquid hits the ground with a slosh. The man in front of me stares back at me with raised eyebrows, his glass tumbler now half-empty.
“I’m so sorry.” I cringe at the liquid pooling on the floor. “I didn’t see you…”
“Don’t worry about it,” he replies smoothly.
My ears perk up at the American accent, and my heart rate picks up as I take in the man in front of me for the first time. With wavy, brown hair, thick brows, and a strong jaw, he’s the statue of David that would have completed the décor in the lobby.
“I…um…I didn’t get you, did I?” I ask, looking carefully at his impeccable suit for any sign of a stain.
“No, not at all. Really, I’m fine.”
“Good. Sorry, again.” I start for the front entrance, suddenly desperate to get back to the street and out into the air.
“Wait! Hold on a second.” He sidesteps so that he’s in front of me again, and offers his hand. “I’m Jay Hammond.”
“Lauren Reinhart.”
I accept the handshake. His grip is light, but I can feel the hidden strength behind it. An excited shiver runs through my fingers and up my arm.
“A New Yorker, right?”
I laugh. “Wow, is my accent really that obvious?”
Jay smiles, and two gorgeous dimples appear in his cheeks. “I’m from Detroit.”
“Manhattan.”
“Great area, you’re lucky. I like visiting there. So, you done for the night, or are you just getting started?”
“Oh, I’m not partying. I’m…” my voice trails off as I realize he was asking about gambling, not drinking.
Jay gives a slow nod, his shining hazel eyes never moving from my face.
“I don’t gamble,” I explain. “I just came here because someone told me Macau was the ‘Vegas of Asia,’ and then the pedicab driver told me this was the best casino here.”
“You came all the way from New York to see the gambling mecca of the world, and you’re not even going to throw one pair of dice?”
“No, it’s…more than that. It’s complicated, actually. I came here with my parents.”
I bite down on my bottom lip. I’m doing an awful job of making conversation, and I don’t know what’s wrong with me. He doesn’t need to know these things. I was feeling just fine earlier, but something about the lights and excitement of the casino, combined with the hot guy in front of me, has my head spinning and my face flushed. I’m too hot and too cold, all at the same time.
“Are you all right?” Jay asks, his eyebrows knitting together in concern.
“Yeah. I think I just need to sit down.”
“Here. Come with me.”
He lightly takes my elbow and guides me over to a long bar. A few moments later, there’s a tall glass of water in front of me. I gratefully drink half of it down.
“This place is kind of intense,” I admit.
Jay settles on the stool next to me and rests his forearms on the bar. Even with all the other scents in the casino, I can smell his cologne. It’s fresh and spicy and makes my stomach flip.
“They’re not all like this,” he explains. “Although, they are all as showy as they can be.”
I take another sip of water and feel a little better.
“You said you were here with your parents?”
“That’s right,” I reply with a sheepish nod.
“Where are they?”
I ruefully shake my head. “They’re on the cruise ship, sailing back to Hong Kong.”
“You didn’t go with them?”
“No, I…” I hesitate and glance up at Jay. Is unloading on this total stranger something I want to do?
Jay calmly watches me, not only seeming to know that I’m thinking things over, but being perfectly willing to give me my time. There’s a softness in his eyes, an honesty. He’s not rushing me, and nor does it feel like he’s trying to extract something from me. I don’t know why, but I feel like he’s someone I can just let my worries loose around.
“We had an argument,” I slowly explain.
Jay nods.
I go on. “I just graduated from college, and they want me to go to grad school to study something ‘practical’.”
“And you don’t want to do that.”
“Hell, no. I want to be an artist.”
“Are you good enough to be one?”
It’s such a straightforward, ballsy question, that it momentarily takes me aback. After a second, I reach into my canvas bag, pull my sketchbook out, and hand it over to Jay. He thumbs through it, his eyes growing wider as he takes in each new page.
“Shit,” he breathes. His gaze travels back up to my face. “Your parents are out of their minds to not recognize talent like this.”
My cheeks grow warm. “Thanks. I think they like my stuff; they just don’t think I can make a living as an artist. They think that everyone who has a creative job lives in a cardboard box and eats breadcrumbs every day.”
“I make a living as a gambler.”
I swear my jaw unhinges. “What?”
Jay shrugs. “I make a good living as a gambler,” he reiterates, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I guffaw. “I should bring you home so you can tell them that. It’ll really convince them to get off my back.”
Jay grins. There’s a lopsidedness to his smile that I find irresistibly sexy.
“I’m afraid I’m not much of a role model. I wouldn’t recommend the path that I’ve taken to anyone.”
As he talks, I notice colorful tattoos visible under the cuffs of his well-tailored jacket. This guy has given me barely any information about himself, and I’m already hooked on wanting to know more.
“So, what’s next for you?” he asks. “Are you going to go totally MIA? Disappear in Asia and then draw your way around the world?”
“No, I’m going back…eventually. I know I’m sitting here complaining, but my life in New York is actually pretty good.”
Jay gives me a slow and easy smile.
“How long until you have to go?” His voice is husky, with a warm, deep timbre. A shiver starts at the base of my neck and goes down throughout my whole body.
“How late do the ferries run?”
I’m surprised to find how flirtatious my own voice is. I’m not usually confident with guys, typically letting them make all the moves. Here, so far away from home and everything I normally am, though, I’m slowly realizing I can be anything I want.
“Pretty late,” Jay answers. “Do you have to be in Hong Kong at a certain time?”
I shake my head, starting to feel as though I’m in a trance. Jay’s presence is like a warm blanket. It’s comfortable and reassuring to be sitting next to him.
“My flight home is the day after tomorrow.”
The corner of Jay’s mouth twitches upward. “That should be enough time to cast a bet or two.”
Chapter Three
Jay
I lift my hand and signal for the bartender.
“What are you drinking?” I ask Lauren.
Her long eyelashes flutter and I suppress a groan. The woman sitting next to me isn’t just beautiful—there’s something else about her that I don’t quite understand. I’m burning with the desire to know what it is.
“I should buy you a drink,” she points out, pushing a strand of her black hair out of her eyes. “Since I made you spill yours.”
“Nonsense. That was the best thing that’s happened to me all night. Also, as of this moment, you’re my guest. It’s up to me to show you a good time.”
I didn’t mean for the comment to be suggestive, but apparently, Lauren takes it that way. Her eyes go a little wide at my statement, and she lightly bites down on her cheek.
Christ. Women shouldn’t be allowed to be this hot.
“Wine?” I ask. “Gin and tonic?”
“What are you having?” Her voice is low and flirtatious.
“An Old Fashioned, for both of us,” I tell the bartender.
He nods and turns to mix the drinks.
I turn to face Lauren once more. “Do you know anything about poker?”
Her musical laugh fills my ears. “I know that you play it with cards. Beyond that…no.”
“Would you like to learn?”
She eyes me suspiciously, although I suspect it’s just a ruse. This woman is as interested in me as I am in her. I can see it in her eyes.
“You’re offering to teach me?”
“I’m a good teacher.”
She presses her lips together in a cute attempt to stop a smile. “How do I know that?”
The bartender sets our drinks down in front of us. I raise mine for a toast.
“I wis
h I could say, ‘Do I look like the kind of guy you can trust?’, but I’m well aware that I don’t.”
Lauren laughs again and raises her drink. “You don’t look so bad to me.”
“Fair enough, and thank you. I should probably tell you, right up front, that I’m no saint, though.”
“I don’t mind.”
She clinks her glass against mine so hard that my fingers vibrate.
As I sip my drink, I take a second to look her up and down, realizing how incredible her body is. Hot desire swells in my gut, and I take in a sharp breath to quell it. Either this woman is going to be the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time, or she’s going to be my total undoing.
Here’s hoping she’s the former.
I take a hearty sip of the whiskey drink and enjoy the sting of it against my tongue. It’s decent, but I’ve had better elsewhere in my travels.
“Ready?” I ask Lauren.
She nods. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
I offer her my arm. “Right this way.”
She delicately wraps her hand around my forearm. In heels, the top of her head comes just to the bottom of my chin. She’s the perfect height for dancing and for laying her cheek on my shoulder.
We take our drinks and make our way through the casino. It’s become more alive in just the fifteen-or-so minutes since I’ve met Lauren. Though I know the place well, each time I visit, it’s different. The people make the environment and ambiance change each and every night. It’s the gamblers who give the venue life, imbuing the walls with their passion and rollercoaster of feelings of excitement and disappointment.
“The poker tables are right over here,” I say, using steering Lauren in the right direction as an excuse to place my hand on her lower back.
Trepidation passes across her face as we close in on a table. “I have no clue what to do,” she whispers frantically at me. “Remember?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”
I give a curt nod to the dealer—one who has worked here for years and knows me well—then pull a chair out for Lauren. It’s a round with no real bets, which means that most of the other players at the table are amateurs, just like her.
Lucky Baby Page 2
