“Thank you,” we both replied.
When we walked through the door, the smell of vanilla filled in the air, not strong or overwhelming, just pleasant. The lobby was beautiful, with a large silver sculpture that looked like mercury, frozen in mid-air.
There were lines backed up to the casino floor at the registration desk, which made me grateful to have a VIP by my side.
Jake led me to the blackjack table with a smile. “Wanna play?”
“I didn’t bring any cash,” I lied because I didn’t want to admit that I couldn’t afford to play. “I didn’t know we were coming to Vegas, remember?”
“I’ve got you.” He pulled out a wad of cash, laying three crisp one hundred dollar bills on the table.
“Jake, I don’t feel comfortable gambling with your money.”
“Gambling? Please, you’re a sure thing. Let’s just call it an investment.”
I argued, but he insisted, so I took a seat beside him.
The dealer ID’d us, which made me feel good. I was only thirty-one, but I felt older most of the time.
“Careful with this one,” Jake joked with the young lady dealing. “She’s a force to be reckoned with.”
I laughed. “Don’t listen to him. I haven’t played in years.” She had no interest in what I had to say. She was too caught up in Jake’s eyes. Couldn’t blame her.
It took a few hands for me to get back in the groove. I was down a hundred before I could tally up what had been played and what was still in the decks. The odds were in my favor if my card counting skills were still intact. Dealer busted, and I won. I went all in on the next five hands and won them all, bringing me up to…I counted my chips. Two thousand dollars! Oh, what I could do with two thousand dollars, but I reminded myself that it wasn’t my money.
Jake had stopped playing an hour before. I glanced at him and saw a look of awe in his eyes. It gave me tingles all the way down to my toes. I wasn’t sure how to react to that feeling so I said, “Let’s cash out and go to our room.” He agreed.
We went to grab our key at the VIP desk and were informed that we’d been complimentarily upgraded to a corner suite due to our play at the blackjack table. Jake fake applauded me, to which I bowed dramatically, and we headed up the elevators.
I’d begun to ignore the attention bestowed upon Jake at this point because it was very distracting. I realized that he wasn’t being rude by ignoring them. He was just trying to go about his business. I didn’t think the strangers were trying to be rude by calling after him. Rather, they just wanted to get closer to him because he was a celebrity. By doing so, they unintentionally invaded his personal space. I suddenly understood why he couldn’t give in to it all the time. He would never get anywhere.
Our room was exquisite. It was a suite, but just a small one with one bedroom, a small living space and a full bath in the bedroom with a Jacuzzi tub and stand-up shower. I pressed a button and curtains pulled back, revealing the city. As I walked through the space, I could see why it was called a corner suite. The window started at the far wall of the living room curving around to the bathroom and on into the bedroom. When I stepped close to the window, I felt as if I were standing in the sky.
On the bar, I found a plate of dark- and white-chocolate-covered strawberries with a personal thank-you note addressed to “Mr. Jacobs and Ms. Masters.” I indulged in a white-chocolate-covered berry, savoring the sweet taste.
“What now?” Jake asked.
“Let’s just stay in the room.”
“You don’t want to sightsee?”
“Nah, I’ve seen it all before, and I doubt we’d get far with a thousand people following us around anyway.”
“I’m sorry.” He dropped his gaze as though he’d ruined our trip.
“No, it’s fine. It’s more than fine. It would be a shame to let this beautiful room go to waste. Let’s just order in and hang out,” I said, taking another bite of my strawberry. Jake reached over, catching a bit of berry juice from my chin, then licked it from his thumb casually. It was in no way sexual, but it stirred a long-forgotten urge deep within me. I blinked it away.
“Sounds good to me, but first things first. We have to play our travel game.”
“Oh no,” I said. It’d been a while, but I knew what he wanted to do, and again, I did not drink anymore.
“Oh yes.” He pulled out every bottle of liquor in the mini fridge.
“Can we at least dilute it?” I looked at all of it, shaking my head.
“I’ll tell you what: you drink the fruity ones, and I’ll do the hard stuff.”
I laughed. “In that case, this ought to be fun!”
He pulled out two shot glasses and poured Midori for me and Patrón for himself. We plopped down on the floor by the coffee table and I told him to go first.
“I’ve never”—his face twisted in thought—“worn pink socks.”
“Shut up, get real!”
“That is real! It’s a fair ‘I’ve never’! Drink up.”
I drank and tried to think of something equally as uninteresting. “I’ve never kissed a movie star.” He shrugged and drank. I could tell it didn’t go down smoothly by the way he hissed through clenched teeth. “Maybe we should order dinner first,” I suggested.
“No! Tradition is tradition. We always play this as soon as we get to our room. Remember that time we started at like nine o’clock in the morning in Panama City Beach?
“Yeah, I remember. Just the thought of it still makes my stomach churn. Are we playing or what? I’m hungry…”
“Okay, okay,” he said excitedly. “Um…I’ve done a lot since we last played! This is harder now! Got it: I’ve never been skydiving.”
I tossed back my shot because I had gone with George. “I’ve never been to the movies alone,” I said. He didn’t drink so that told me that he hadn’t either. It also meant he got two turns.
“I’ve never watched any of my movies all the way through.”
“Are you serious?” I said as I took a shot. “Why?”
“It’s weird. I’ve watched the beginning of all of them at the premiers, but I always leave in the middle.”
“Freak,” I teased. “I’ve never…”
“It’s still my turn.” He shoved my shoulder playfully. “I’ve never played this game with anyone but you.” I smiled but didn’t drink because I hadn’t played with anyone else but him either. He smiled back because we still had a “thing” that was just ours.
“I’ve not been touched by a man since George left…” I slapped my hand over my mouth. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I just said that!” I noticed his mouth agape in surprise.
“You’re joking, right?”
“Forget it.” I shook my head.
“Why? I mean that’s crazy. You haven’t had a relationship in five years?”
“No.”
“You haven’t even had sex?”
I looked down at the sweet green liquid in my glass. “No.”
“So let me get this straight. When you say you haven’t been touched by a man in five years, you mean not even a kiss?”
“You don’t have to keep saying it!” I threw my shoe at him. “It’s your turn. Well, it’s not, but you go.” He stared at me for a beat so I tossed my other shoe at him. “Go!”
“I haven’t been in love since I was a teenager,” he admitted.
“Really? What about all those girls, all those beautiful women you’ve dated?”
“It wasn’t love.” He shrugged. “Drink up.”
Against my better judgment, which had apparently left the room around my third shot, I said, “I’ve never had a one-night stand.”
He took a shot. “I’ve never had sex without a condom.”
“Never?” I asked, shocked.
“Never,” he reiterated so I drank, and the Midori sloshed in my stomach.
“I have to eat,” I said to him. “I don’t want to spend all evening puking.”
“Fine, but this conversat
ion is not over.”
“Oh, it so is.” I raised my brows. “How did we get on that topic anyway?”
Jake grabbed the phone and ordered two filets, two lobster tails, some bread, a bottle of wine, some tea with sugar packets because they didn’t have sweet tea out here, and a plate of fries with a “huge bowl of honey mustard.”
“You’re such a cliché. You can’t just order for me. You don’t even know what I like.”
“That didn’t sound good?”
“Well, of course, it sounds good, but there might be something better.”
“Better than surf and turf? Highly doubtful. And you’ll love their fries. They’re so good! I pay extra to stay at this hotel when I’m in town just for the fries.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you.”
“You shouldn’t put anything past me.” He smirked, and it almost felt like he was flirting with me. If I didn’t know him better, I would think he was. “Maybe I have changed a little since we were BFFs.”
“I can see that.” My eyes roamed his body of their own volition. Was I flirting? I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. I shifted the topic. “Tell me something I don’t know about a celebrity.”
He twisted his mouth up in thought for a moment. “Oh, I’ve got one. I’m not calling any names, but you know America’s Sweetheart?”
“Which one?”
“The one you loved so much in high school.”
“Yeah.”
“Total hag.”
“Nuh-uh!”
“Yuh-huh!” His southern accent found him. “She is so demanding that she’s had like twenty personal assistants quit on her. No one wants to work with her. That’s why she is always paired with some nobody actor in her rom-coms.”
“But you did your first big movie with her.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s crazy! I thought she would be really sweet.”
“She’s a really good actress.” He laughed. “She hit me with a script for speaking too loudly in her presence. She also gave me a complex.”
“What kind of complex?”
“She said I was a shitty kisser. I was humiliated. I mean, it’s not like we were really kissing.”
I jumped to his defense, “What a bitch! Wait…what do you mean you weren’t really kissing?”
“We don’t actually, ya know, use our tongues when we kiss. We just move our mouths together.”
“Oh, well, I’m sure you’re not a bad kisser.”
“I’m not,” he said confidently. “No one else has ever complained.” I was feeling a little flushed and bothered by the topic. Here was this gorgeous man in front of me, whom I knew better than anyone on earth, whom I cared for deeply as a friend, and all I could do was wonder how he kissed. I felt like a teenager again. I’d always done that with my other guy friends, but I’d never had a taste of Jake.
The knock on the door broke that thought process, and I was glad for it. Jake would’ve laughed if he had known what I was thinking. He would’ve brushed it off, but secretly it would have bothered him. He didn’t see me like that, and I shouldn’t look at him that way either.
The room service guy was older. He didn’t seem to care who Jake was when he wheeled in the large table of food. He uncovered each dish without a word then tucked a rolled-up magazine between a plate and a glass, letting Jake know it came from Shane, the guy at the door. Jake thanked him, tipped him, and sent him on his way. I turned on the TV, searching through the movie rentals.
“Hey, look! Maroon Monday is on! We can rent it for six bucks. Want to go halfsies?”
“I told you; I don’t like to watch my own movies.”
“Yeah, but this is a good one! You’re really good in this one.”
“As opposed to?”
“Well, The German Soldier, for one. That whole story line sucked. Boring!”
“Hey, I’m nominated for an Oscar for that performance!”
“That’s right! Congratulations!”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Really, I’m excited for you. Your performance was great. I just don’t like era films. The Academy obviously does though. Anyway, Maroon Monday.” I pointed the remote at the TV. “You make an amazing CIA agent!”
“It was fun to play. I channeled my inner Ethan Hunt for that role.”
“I totally got that vibe when I watched it!” I smiled. I noticed a twinkle in his eyes. His face lit up when I complimented his work. With the way he’d downplayed it, I wouldn’t have guessed he cared what I thought, but I could see that he did.
I let out an “hmmm” noise when the lobster touched my tongue. It was so tender it just melted.
“Try the fries,” Jake suggested. I took an orange-battered wedge and soaked it in honey mustard before taking a bite. “Good, right?”
“Delicious,” I moaned. “Who needs a man when I can have food like this?”
“You don’t have to choose.” He tried to make it come out like a joke, but it was flat, and I knew that he was suggesting I should go out and get myself a social life.
“What’s with the magazine?” I said, changing the subject again. I’d become really good at redirection. I do have an autistic child, after all.
“Oh, ugh, it’s the newest edition of People magazine.” He did that put-upon routine. “I did an interview with them about a week or two ago. I forgot it was coming out today.”
“Gimme.” I reached for it.
“We’re right in the middle of a conversation,” he protested, but I snatched it from him, unrolling it to find him on the cover. His stance was so Jake. He was standing with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, wearing that smirk that everyone seemed to love.
“This seems to be your signature look,” I said.
“Gotta give the people what they want.”
I scoffed at his conceited remark and flipped through the pages until I found the spread that began with a full-page photo of him.
Jake was sitting in the grass, leaning back on his hands, his head thrown back in laughter with a smile so wide it touched his eyes. The caption read, Jackson Jacobs talks love, values, and Oscar nominations.”
“Why do you act so put-upon by this? You look really happy in this picture.”
“It’s called acting.”
“So you weren’t really laughing?” I asked, trying to imagine him faking that.
“I was, but not because of what they were doing at the shoot. I was just doing what they asked.”
I skipped the article for now and flipped the page to find the next picture. That photo was completely different. He was looking in the camera lens with a smoldering—dare I say sexy?— serious expression. His blue eyes leapt off the page to give the reader the impression that he was looking right at them. It was a beautiful photograph, but it didn’t capture him. I didn’t see the Jake I knew in that picture. There was nothing boyish about it. It screamed gorgeous, sexy man.
There was a quote below that read, Love is impenetrable. It’s unbreakable. It’s forever.
“So they tell you to laugh, and you laugh. Then they tell you to be sexy, and you strike this pose?”
“You think I’m sexy?” He grinned at me.
“Shut up! Seriously, tell me how it works.”
“It’s not like that. I just think of something funny, and I laugh. It’s really pretty simple.”
I considered him. “What about the sexy one? How do you do that? It doesn’t look anything like you in real life.”
He turned on the look, and I was mesmerized for a moment. Those sapphire blue eyes, that dark hair, the bit of stubble around his chin. “Stop it.” I swatted him with the magazine, and he laughed.
“See! It’s easy.”
“You just think of something that makes you feel sexy?”
“No, I just do it. I don’t know. Anyone can look sexy. It’s the carefree shots that are the most difficult to master. It’s harder to convince people that you’re happy than it is to convince them that you’re sexy. T
hey want me to be sexy, so that’s what they see.”
“Whatever! I’m the master of shining smiles, but I haven’t felt sexy in I don’t know how long.”
“Come here and I’ll show you.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, then pulled me to the couch. “Smile.”
“You’re so silly,” I said, a bit nervous. He tilted his head in aggravation, so I screamed, “Cheese!” as he snapped a picture with his camera phone.
“See?” He showed me. I looked ridiculous in the picture. “I can tell that’s not your real smile. Think of something that makes you happy.” I thought of my little love, Ty, and my lips curled up naturally. “There, that’s a real smile.” He showed me the picture he’d taken. Surprisingly, I could see the difference.
“Now just look at me,” he said. I scrunched up my face, and he laughed, taking the picture anyway. “Seriously, just look at me.” I looked up at him through my lashes, and our eyes met. He just stood there for a second staring. The moment was intense, but I couldn’t make myself break eye contact. Then I heard the snap of the camera; it broke the spell.
I cleared my throat. “Let me see.”
“Nah, I think I will keep that one for myself.” He smiled, tossing his phone to the side.
“That bad, huh?”
“Meh, it was all right. So whatcha wanna do now? And don’t say watch Maroon Monday.”
I thought about going for a walk, but then another idea hit me. “Hey, is this an MGM hotel?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I know I don’t have enough comps for that meal you ordered, but I probably have enough for a massage. Want to go to the spa?”
“Not really.”
“Come on! I haven’t had a massage in ages. Let’s go downstairs.”
“I just want to hang out,” he whined.
“I can run down, get one and be back in an hour.”
“Yeah, right! If you go to the spa, I won’t see you again until they kick you out!”
“You know me too well.” I took a bite of a cold fry. “I’m sure they have in-room massages so can we do that?”
“I guess, if you insist.”
“I do, my treat.” I smiled wildly, grabbing the phone. I dialed up the spa with a push of a button. I told the lady what I wanted, and she regretfully informed me that they were booked for the day. “You get your way. They’re booked.”
Love Reconnected (Hollywood Series Book 1) Page 5
