The Forever Experiment

4. Maya

4

Maya

“I guess I’m not attending that dinner tonight,” I mutter to myself, adjusting my black denim jacket for the umpteenth time as I stare at myself in the mirror.

I had planned to wear a satin blouse tucked into black trousers and my favorite pair of Dolce every time I got afraid or insecure, I’d look at him and feel settled. As I reach him, he lets out a low whistle, extending his arm toward me.

I take it, saying, “One drink. I’ve got to get a good night’s rest because I’m attending several workshops tomorr—”

“Goddamn,” he rasps. “You look un-fucking-real, Maya. Makin’ me the luckiest man in Vegas tonight.” He spins me around, giving himself a full view of my outfit.

“I feel overdressed. You didn’t even change.”

He laughs. “Because I brought exactly two outfits. Plus,” he drops my arm before gesturing to himself, “I still look damn good. Not that it matters. Nobody is going to be looking at me when I’m standing next to you.”

My ex, Anthony, used to say the same thing, except it was always laced with venom.

I’m invisible when it comes to you.

I’d met him at Harvard, moved to San Diego for him too. His father was a renowned immigration attorney there, and Anthony was dead set on taking over the firm when he finished college. They have a legacy in the area—highly respected and well known. While the family and the firm’s praise is more than deserved, Anthony took issue when I decided to open my own practice.

When I made a name for myself, when I was featured in articles and invited to seminars, he took personal offense. Even though we operated in completely different branches of law, he saw us as competitors, and he couldn’t handle being with a woman who was more successful. He wanted to be the guest of honor at all times, never the plus-one.

I refused to diminish my achievements to make space for his spotlight, and in the end, we deteriorated. He also hated when I dressed provocatively, complained about the way I chew my food, and was flabbergasted when I told him that while I’d love to have children someday, I have every intention of being a working mother.

I should’ve known long before I finally called it quits that we weren’t the right fit, but after watching everyone around me fall in love, get married, and find that seemingly impossible balance of work and life, I was desperate for it too.

“Is that a problem for you?” I ask.

Easton blinks. “Is what a problem for me?”

“If my outfit causes people to look in my direction more often than they look in yours?”

He chuckles, rubbing a broad, strong hand across his jaw. “Not even a little. It’s an honor to have you on my arm, Maya, baby.” He holds it out to me, and I smile as I loop mine around his elbow.

Again, that settling sensation erupts inside my belly, spreading through my chest, allowing me to breathe easier than I have all day. I packed this outfit because the most confident version of myself, the one I feel I lost so many years ago, would love it. I packed this outfit on the slight hope I might locate that lost confidence and gain the strength to wear it, though I felt so sure I wouldn’t.

Somehow, I’m certain it’s Easton Mason’s words, his smile and sultry eyes—the way he strides through the casino like I’m a priceless piece of art he’s honored to carry—giving me that conviction I need, believing I’m every bit the fucking masterpiece he says I am.

We step out into the cool February air, the lights of the strip blinding bright, the sounds of Sin City echoing around us. I turn to Easton, multitudes of color cascading across his handsome face. “So, did you have a place in mind?”

He smiles mischievously. “Yep.”

Without another word, he takes my hand, dragging me behind him. We turn right, heading toward The Flamingo, and onto an escalator that’ll take us on a bridge to cross over Las Vegas Boulevard. We stop momentarily at the top of it, looking out at the lights in front of us.

Paris towers above on one side, the bright blue balloon reflecting over the Bellagio fountains. This time of February isn’t crawling with tourists the way the spring and summer are, and while I’d never describe Vegas as romantic, it feels…nice next to Easton. He waits patiently as I admire the skyline, and when I’m finished, we continue in the direction of Cesar’s Palace.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“You’ll see.”

We exit the escalator, and Easton takes us to what appears to be a giant, white circus tent. He walks right up to it, and I realize it’s some kind of outdoor bar. Tapping his fingers against the counter, he smiles at me, only slightly taller when I’m in heels. “What flavor do you want?”

“Flavor?” I ask.

He nods behind the bar, and I realize the massive slushie machines in front of us. “Cherry, pina colada, or lime?”

A giggle bursts out of me. “This is what you had in mind when you asked to take me out for a drink?”

“Well, what did you have in mind?”

I snort. “I don’t know. Cosmos at the Cosmopolitan?”

“Please,” he tsks. “That’s lawyer Easton and Maya nonsense. We don’t need to be lawyers all the time.” A strand of chestnut-colored hair falls over his forehead as he drops an elbow on the bar and turns toward me. “Look, you told me you’d have one drink, so I’m getting you one drink.” He nods toward a couple beside us as they’re handed a two-foot-tall plastic cup with a lid and a curly straw. “What flavor?”

I bite my lip, contemplating whether I throw caution to the wind and put my life in the hands of Easton Mason for the evening. “Fuck it.” I sigh. “I want a mix of all three.”

“Atta girl.” He winks, and my insides go molten at his tone.

“Just one, and then I’m going back to the hotel, okay?”

He straightens his face, offering a mock salute before pulling out his wallet and tossing his card on the counter, ordering us each our own ridiculous slushie from the bartender.

“I’ll agree to that, but I have a condition of my own.” He crosses his arms, leaning a hip against the bar. “While you’re drinking your one drink, I’m going to take you to my favorite place on the Strip.”

“Where’s that?”

“The promenade at the Linq. It’s a lot calmer than other areas, mostly shops and restaurants. Outdoor and sparkling with lights. You’ll like it, I think.” That does sound nice. I’ve never been into the bar or club scene, which was part of the reason I didn’t have plans to go out much on this trip. “Then, I’m going to take you on the High Roller.”

“Oh, fuck no.” I shake my head. “I don’t do big ass wheels.”

He laughs in a way that reminds me of the salt breeze brushing against my cheeks on a rare day spent at the beach back home. “You can’t do Vegas in one night, and I don’t know when or if you’ll return. Even if you do, you may not be with me, so I already know you won’t have as much fun. I want to make sure you see as much of the city as you can in the time you have, and the easiest way to do so is up in the air.”

Damn him for making sense.

There are a few people I’ve connected with at the conference who mentioned going to a club or gambling in one of the casinos, and I’ve always had a hard time in those situations. I get claustrophobic easily, so crowded spaces with low lighting, loud noises, and lack of personal space don’t bode well for me. I remember casually mentioning this to Easton once in college when he asked why I didn’t attend many parties, but I never thought it was something he’d remember.

“Are you amenable to my terms?” He smiles slyly.

“Fine. I’ll do your big wheel and drink this insane slushie, and then I’m going to bed.”

“Say you accept the terms, Maya, baby. This is a work trip, after all.”

I roll my eyes. “I accept the terms, pretty boy.”

He holds his hand out to me, and I place my palm in his. Instead of shaking it, he brings it to his mouth, brushing his lips along my knuckles. Sparks alight along my skin, starting in the place his mouth meets my flesh and spreading like wildfire through my body, embers blazing in my core.

“Hand kisses are legally binding, by the way,” he says as he gently drops my arm and grabs our drinks from the bar, handing mine to me.

“Shit,” I respond, suddenly breathless. “I guess I’m in deep.”

Easton

Maya downed her slushie much faster than I thought she would. We were still in line for the High Roller when I heard her straw go hollow, and though she was pleasantly buzzed by that point, I was still afraid she’d bail before we actually boarded if I didn’t keep her mouth busy.

So many ways I’d love to keep her mouth busy.

I had her hold our place in line while I grabbed us two more cocktails from a nearby bar. Maya was well and truly drunk by the time we finished the High Roller, begging me for burgers. We grabbed a couple of Double-Doubles, and I took her over to another favorite place of mine.

I’ve been to Vegas a few times. My youngest sister had basketball tournaments here some summers as a kid, paired with a handful of twenty-first birthdays and bachelor parties.

Holding our burgers in one hand and her hand in the other, I lead Maya through The Flamingo, to the wildlife habitat behind the casino. It’s not open this late in the evening, but the back doors still provide access to a quiet, plush grassy area lit by neon lights.

We sit down on the concrete steps outside the doors, and Maya sighs, her dark skin illuminated in shadows of pink. I take her burger out of the bag and unwrap it before handing it to her. The moan she lets out as she takes her first bite has my cock jumping in my trousers.

She’s an exquisite fucking moaner. I would know.

“Hey,” she says between bites of food. “Remember that pact we made in college?”

“Our marriage pact?” I ask.

Fuck no, I haven’t forgotten, but I wasn’t going to bring it up. That would mean addressing the night we had all those years ago, and I wasn’t going to mention it until she did.

“Yeah.” She snorts. “I thought that was so silly. I thought there was no fucking way I’d ever end up forty and unmarried. And now, look at us. In our thirties and eating burgers on the ground.”

I’m not sure how those things are mutually exclusive, but I’m not about to argue with a beautifully drunk attorney.

Laughing, I gently place my hand on her thigh. I pause, wanting to ensure she’s okay with the touch before I begin making circles on her skin with my fingers. She sighs again, taking another bite, but my touch seems to calm her more than anything, so I continue.

“I’m looking forward to cashing in on that pact.”

She turns to me, offering a lopsided smile through a full mouth. She drops her head against my shoulder, and my body ignites at the contact. Tilting my head, I let my cheek fall atop her hair, savoring the warmth of her next to me.

“I don’t want to go back to the hotel yet. I want to be stupid a little longer.”

“Giving yourself a break and having a good time doesn’t make you stupid, Maya.” I squeeze her leg. “But whatever you want, baby. I’ll take you anywhere.”

She’s quiet for a moment before she lifts her face toward me, espresso eyes glittering with mischief beneath the lights. “You know, I bet if we pretended we were eloping, we could convince people to give us free shit.”

A laugh rumbles from deep in my raging chest. “You’re a menace, Maya, baby.”

“A very convincing menace.” I can hear the smile in her voice.