Chapter 7
Aria
“Santos, carry me.” I whine as I lean against the closest wall I can find. It’s close to two in the morning, and my feet are yelling at me to free them from the death traps I call heels.
My best friend of the night, Santos, the broody motherfucker who barely speaks, stops and looks over at me, both amused and annoyed.
A crips no leaves his mouth.
“Why not? My feet hurt,” I whine some more, almost stomping my foot like a toddler who isn’t getting her way before I remember my foot is throbbing in my heels and stomping is going to make it worse.
“I’m not the one who made you wear those shoes.” He looks down at my feet like the heels offend him. “Besides, I don’t carry women around.”
“Ha! You carried me to my room on Friday.”
Serena and I met Santos and his friend, Leo, our first afternoon here in Vegas as we drunkenly wandered around the wrong hotel floor trying to find our room.
In the process of me trying to open one of the doors I for sure thought was our room, the two guys appeared.
Serena made goggly eyes at Leo, and the two men ended up carrying us back to the right floor.
Later that night, we ran into them at a club, where I asked them to join us. They seemed like good guys that were up for some fun. Leo and Serena continued to throw googly eyes at each other and ended up leaving to do God knows what to each other, all the while Santos and I became friendly.
I’m not going to lie, that night, I thought I was going to get lucky too, but as it turns out, Santos and I are better as friends. Besides, he might have drunkenly told me he was in love with someone back home.
“That was because Leo told me to. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have done it,” he states.
“How noble of you.” I snort at the same time as a laugh escapes my lips. “I’m sure the woman who owns your heart would be fine with you doing a friend a favor. It could be our little secret, a one-time thing nobody will know about.”
He lets out a grunt I’m taking as a no.
Sighing, I accept defeat. This man may have carried me back to my room once, but it sure as hell isn’t going to happen again, no matter how hard I push.
“Fine. Can you at least drag me to that bench over there so I can take off my shoes and rest for a few minutes?”
“You can’t walk for ten more minutes?” The look he gives me is one of an annoyed little kid and not a grown man.
I snort again. “Nope,” I say with a pop of my lips and a smirk, just to annoy him some more.
Santos rolls his eyes but still closes the distance between us, places a hand on my elbow to walk me over to the bench I nodded to few feet from the casino at Caesar’s Palace.
As soon as my ass is planted, my whole body lets out a sigh of relief and my feet about cry in happiness when I start sliding the death traps off.
“Oh God. That feels good,” I let out, my head falling back against the wall behind me in bliss.
“If you knew you there was a chance of you walking tonight, why they hell would you wear heels?” Santos asks.
I open one of my eyes ever so slightly to find him hovering near the bench, looking down at me with his arms crossed, almost scolding me.
The dude is hot, there is no lie about that, especially with all the tattoos on his hands and peeking out from under his shirt, but he doesn’t do it for me.
“Because I wanted to look pretty. Besides, I didn’t know we would be walking this much. There is something called a cab or an Uber, you know? Hell, a bus. I’m pretty sure I saw a sign for a tram or something.”
“You’re the one who wanted to come all the way over here for a cupcake latte—which sounds fucking disgusting, by the way.”
He may be right—about it being my idea to walk over here, not about the cupcake latte sounding disgusting.
My plan was to visit the place tomorrow before heading to the airport, but drunk Aria had different plans.
After hours of drinking, dancing my ass off, and getting ditched by Serena for dick, Santos said it was time to head back to the hotel.
I agreed only if he took me to the cafe, because of course I needed even more sugar in my system. All the mixed drinks weren’t enough.
Surprisingly, he said yes, and we made our way over from the Wynn. At the time, I didn’t even think twice about my feet and the stabby heels. I was getting my sugar fix, and that was all that mattered.
That excitement went away, though, when we arrived and found the cafe closed.
I think I about cried when I saw the lights were off. Who the fuck closes at nine in Vegas? That had to be illegal.
The tears threatened to come even more when my companion just let out a chuckle at my obvious frustration, left me standing there, and walked over to a chicken place.
Why was the chicken place open but the not the cafe?
Rude.
Since I still wanted something to control my sugar wants, and I saw a sign in front of the chicken place that advertised something with hot honey and chicken tenders, I followed Santos inside and got my sweet fix.
We didn’t even make it fifty feet from the restaurant before my feet stared yelling at me. Now, here I am, sitting on a bench, with a man who won’t carry me back to my hotel, all while I’m trying to find the will to even stand.
I narrow my eyes at Santos. “I don’t know why you’re complaining. If it wasn’t for the cupcake latte, you wouldn’t have found the chicken place and eaten four—yes, four, I counted— buffalo mac n’ cheese sandwiches.”
Santos looks like he’s about to start arguing with me, but then he shakes his head, lets out a sigh, and takes a seat next to me.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, the night probably catching up to us as we watch the few party goers still on the casino floor pass us by.
I’m the one to break the quiet. “Do you think Leo and Serena will stay in touch after this weekend?”
My question is filled with curiosity. This trip was as much for Serena as it was for me. She didn’t want to admit it fully, but Jeremy did a number on her, something I noticed for the two weeks leading up to this trip.
So, when we got here, I made it my mission to get her out of her bubble, even if it was for three days.
About ninety percent of me is happy she’s having fun this weekend.
The other ten percent doesn’t know how to feel.
Serena is stepping into this thing with Leo hard and fast, and I have a feeling if they don’t keep in touch after this weekend, she is going to lose herself even more.
Santos’ answer hardens that feeling. “I don’t think so. It’s one thing being in Vegas; it’s another being out in real life.”
I answer with a hum, because what else is there to say? He’s right. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.
Instead of answering, I lean my head against Santos’ shoulder. I’m surprised he doesn’t push me away from him as soon as I make contact, so I change the subject slightly y
“Thank you for being my buddy this weekend, Santos. I greatly appreciate you.”
The man just grunts, and I can’t help but smile and roll my eyes at the same time. Of course that’s his response; I wouldn’t expect anything else.
We sit like that for a few minutes, watching the people pass by, neither of us saying anything. When I’m sure we’ve been sitting here for a good twenty minutes, I start to think my feet are up to walk back to the hotel when someone catches my attention.
Again.
Just like when we arrived, my eyes move around until they meet whoever caught my attention.
It’s him.
Elliot.
The guy from the lobby and the pizza place. The guy I almost begged to take me back to his room both times and rail me until I forgot my name.
“Are you still drunk?” Santos’ voice takes me away for my horny thought, but my eyes don’t move from the fine specimen walking out of the bar.
“What?” I ask, not taking my head off Santos’ shoulder because I’m too busy looking at Elliot.
Santos tries to grab my attention again. “You just said something about wanting to go back to someone’s room so he could fuck you until you forgot your name.”
Well, shit. Of course, I said it out loud.
Did I say it loud enough for Elliot to hear?
Doubt it. If he had, he would have looked over here right away, but he’s looking down at his phone.
“No, I didn’t. I think you’re hearing things, Santos. Vegas must be getting to your head. Or you ate bad mac n’ cheese.”
A grunt fills my ears. “My ears work just fine.”
I shrug and go back to giving the guy standing in front of the bar my full attention.
He’s dressed much like he was last night: a white button down, no tie, sleeves rolled up to his forearms and the two buttons at the top of his collar open. Slacks frame every inch of his long legs.
He looks like he just came out of a board meeting and not a bar in Vegas, but I like it.
It makes him look mysterious and hot all at the same time.
“Who the fuck are you talking about?”
Dammit, I was thinking out loud again.
As soon as the question leaves his mouth, I make eye contact with Elliot, whose slacks fit over his thighs ever so nicely. As soon as I look into his eyes, I want to melt. I want to get lost in his stare and forget how to spell my name.
I want to do all that and more. And from the way he looks at me, I get the feeling he wants to do that too.
But then he looks over at Santos, and his face hardens, the look of want gone.
Oh, no. No. NO.
Without even thinking, I react. Not wanting to lose my chance with this guy, I finally take my head off Santos’ shoulder and push him away from me.
“Get off me. He’s going to thing we’re together,” I say, trying to put even more distance between us.
“Who?” he asks, finally looking up, his eyes dancing around the space until I know he finds exactly who I’m talking about.
I keep my narrowed eyes on Santos the whole time he looks around, so it doesn’t go unnoticed when he sends a wave in Elliot’s direction.
A wave.
The broody motherfucker, whom I’ve had to force to talk all weekend, just waved at a literal stranger.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
Is he trying to humiliate me?
“What are you doing? Put your hand down,” I say through gritted teeth while I’m trying to force down an arm even if it already rests against his thigh.
It’s too late, though.
I look up just in time to see Elliot throw a wave in Santos’ direction, returning the greeting, and as soon as the greeting is settled, he starts walking.
Not away.
Not back to the bar.
No. He starts walking straight to where Santos and I sit on the bench.
This could either end up being really, really good.
Or really, really bad.