16. Lucky Streak
16
LUCKY STREAK
KEATON
The casino floor buzzed with noise and light as we passed through—neon slot machines chiming, chips clinking, people yelling at blackjack tables like they’d just won the lottery. But none of it compared to the way Sophie kept smiling at me.
We paused by a cluster of cast members and talked about the situation. We were all waiting to learn if tomorrow’s wedding was still on. Their voices were anxious: no word from the bride or groom, no sign of Starla, and not a single instruction from Melanie.
All oddly quiet.
As much I wanted to get back to our room and remove those sexy stockings of hers, how could we not pass through the casino on the way to the elevators without having a little more fun?
Sophie claimed poker as her game. We drifted to a table. She lost at one game, won at another, doubling her initial investment, then quietly scooped her chips into her purse.
“Always quit while ahead.” She winked at me.
I caught her up and spun her around, dancing through the slot machines. She laughed, her face glowing, and I felt it down to my bones. I wanted her. Not only because of this amazing date. I wanted to wake up to that laugh. I wanted to hold onto the version of myself that existed only when she was near.
By the time we stumbled upon the craps table, we were both flushed, glassy-eyed, and riding that Vegas high.
I threw my last few chips down, grinning.
“I’m feeling lucky tonight,” I said, tossing an arm around her shoulder. "This is the one."
The dealer passed the dice to me with his stick. I held them out for her. "Blow on them for luck."
She rolled her eyes and leaned in, lips pursed.
But at the last second, I changed my mind.
I wrenched her closer and kissed her instead—deep, unfiltered, shameless.
The table erupted.
Whooping. Applause. A couple of drunken cheers. One jeer to throw the damn dice already.
She pulled back, breathless. "You’re ridiculous."
"Maybe," I murmured, brushing my lips just beneath it. "But if I win this roll... no pillow wall tonight."
Her pupils dilated, eyes dark.
I rolled, praying, and focusing on the dice.
Seven.
The table lost its mind, urging me to roll again.
“Let it ride.” I slid my new chips on the same bet.
"Keaton, you can’t tempt fate twice.” She tensed beside me.
I laughed in the face of fate, and lifted the dice. The heat in my blood had nothing to do with the neon lights or the game. I was buzzing again—from her by my side.
With eyes gleaming, I claimed, “If I win again, we both sleep in the nude."
She gasped, half-laughing, half-shrieking. "You’re not serious."
"Dead serious." I cupped the ice and offered them. She shoved my hand away.
"I’m not blowing."
"Then kiss me again. For luck."
She folded her arms, fighting a smile, but the twitch was there.
I pressed a soft kiss to her lips and let the dice roll. The table erupted in cheers so loud I felt them rumble in my throat.
Another win. One guy fist-bumped like he was part of the team.
Sophie’s cheeks blushed bright. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I’d never felt like this happy and grounded at the same time. Like I couldn’t stop my fall off of a cliff, but trusted I’d stick the landing when I hit the ground.
The dealer slid the dice to me again. The other players urged me on.
"Okay, last one." I stacked my chips on the same bet.
“Shouldn’t you stop while you’re ahead?” She arched a brow, saying the sensible thing, although her eyes danced mischievously, like she’d flipped my world upside down since the day she walked into it. No stopping now.
“If I win again, we throw the rulebook out the window and have some... spontaneous fun tonight."
Her mouth fell open. “Wasn’t this entire night spontaneous and fun?”
“You know damn well what I’m talking about.” I winked and tossed the dice before she could stop me. I didn’t want to give myself a second to overthink things. How this had started out fake. Temporary. How my gut was screaming to lead us into unknown territory.
For a third time in a row, the dice landed on my side of luck. Another win.
My jaw went slack and I stared at the table. Then like an earthquake hit the casino, everyone roared around us, stomping feet, clapping and yelling, like I’d hit the big jackpot.
I had, with her.
I seized Sophie, dipped her and claimed her lips in triumph. When we parted I growled into her ear. “To our room. Now.”
I gathered the chips into the bottom of my T-shirt like a makeshift basket.
"Sophie?” She’d suddenly vacated my side, already striding off toward the elevators like she was upset.
Panic stabbed my chest. Had I pushed too far?
I caught up to her right as she hit the up arrow. “Are you upset about something?”
She glanced up at me, cheeks flushed, lips parted and shook her head. She grabbed the front of my shirt and yanked me into the elevator just as the doors slid shut—and crashed her lips on mine.
Hot. Wet. Mind-blowing.
The chips didn’t matter anymore. They scattered to the floor as I dropped them, freeing my hands to lift her up. I pressed her into the wall of the elevator. Her legs locked around my waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her fingers tangled through my hair, and every bone in my body screamed for more of her.
I was seconds from stopping the elevator and doing it right here. But the elevator dinged. Doors opened.
“Fuck the chips,” I breathed, and carried her to our door, mouths and tongues tangled the entire way. Whatever came next behind that door, I only knew this: I wasn’t faking anything with Sophie anymore.