No Good Deed
Asher
As the afternoon draws to a close, our black town car cruises along the Strip, nearing The Extravagant, when a billboard of me looms overhead.
Maeve points and grins. “Hello, sir!”
I roll my eyes. I had no idea CheekyBeast had rolled out a new billboard of me cooking eggs and bacon in nothing but giraffe boxer briefs.
The slogan Elevate Your Breakfast Game stretches across the bottom of the sign.
That photo shoot was months ago, but the new campaign is running all year—online and, apparently, in front of the entire city.
“The slogan’s not bad, but they should have gone with Go Pants-Less at Breakfast,” I quip.
“And all day long,” she adds, giving me a playful once-over. “Are you wearing giraffes now?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I tease.
I hope so.
Nope. Don’t go there. Don’t think about that.
“Actually, I would like to know,” Maeve says, her eyes wide with curiosity.
The words find out hover on my tongue, but I bite them back. “No,” I murmur, leaning in closer to her, unable to resist teasing. “That’s not what I’m wearing right now.”
I don’t say anything more because the car has just pulled up to the entrance of The Extravagant.
I step out first then hold the door for her.
The late-January air of Vegas greets us with a crisp, refreshing chill as the sun dips low in the sky.
The city’s lights flicker on, the bright neon summoning the night.
After the driver pops the trunk, I sling my duffel over my shoulder and reach for Maeve’s bag too.
“I can carry it,” she says.
“I know, but I want to,” I say, taking her small roller bag.
“Do you always get what you want?” It’s asked playfully. Teasingly.
But as I look at her, an unexpected pang lodges in my chest—a pang that feels like it’s trying to tell me something I don’t want to hear.
I quickly look away, trying to dismiss this irritating emotion as best I can.
“No. But maybe I’ll win at blackjack tonight,” I say, hoping to cover up the ache I’ve no business feeling.
We head inside.
The hotel’s jewel-themed lobby is over the top, even for Vegas, with ruby-red velvet couches and an emerald-green carpet. A huge chandelier dripping with faux gemstones hangs from the ceiling.
“This place looks like a jewelry box. Good thing I brought something nice to wear,” Maeve muses as we weave past the Friday sleek and stylish crowd on our way to the check-in desk. “Or they’d kick me out.”
“Why do I feel like you’d enjoy being kicked out?” I joke.
“Because I would. It’d be another adventure.”
“You’d get your ‘Kicked out of a Vegas hotel’ badge,” I say, grateful for the levity.
Her eyes widen. “Yes!”
“I suspect I’d be picking you up at the police station,” I tell her.
“And you’d love every second of it,” she says.
The thing is, I would, a thought I don’t want to examine too closely right now.
We reach the long, shiny brass check-in desk. The first available clerk, a young man with a sharp suit and perfectly gelled black hair, greets us with a practiced smile. “Welcome to The Extravagant. How was your flight?”
“I have zero complaints because my best friend upgraded me to first class,” Maeve says, looking my way with a smile.
“Well, he’s a keeper, then,” the clerk responds with a wink.
“Don’t I know it,” Maeve replies.
As the polished clerk takes our IDs, a harried sigh draws my attention to a couple checking in with the next clerk.
A man and woman stand at the counter with three kids circling the luggage at their ankles.
One child is maybe in middle school, but the other two are younger, the girl tugging relentlessly on her mother’s sleeve while the younger boy darts around the adults, making airplane noises.
The woman looks at the older man behind the desk with an exhausted plea. “Is there any way we can get an extra room? For the kids?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” The clerk glances at his screen through gold-rimmed glasses. “We’re fully booked tonight.”
Her shoulders slump. “Thanks for trying.”
The husband, judging by his wedding ring, rubs her shoulders. “We’ll make the best of it, honey.”
“I know,” she murmurs. It sounds like an attempt to stay upbeat, but both their expressions say sleep is the new sex.
Ouch. I’ve had some sleepless nights myself. More than I’d like, so I feel for them. Maeve and I exchange a quick glance of sympathy, then she mouths, “We should share.”
For a couple of seconds, I don’t move. I picture her and me in one room together. Navigating showers, and bedtime, and changing into going-out clothes. That sounds fuck-all hard. No way will that help me stay on the friendship path. After these passing thoughts I’ve had, I don’t need temptation.
But I’m a grown-ass adult. I can handle a hotel room, no problem. This family has a problem we can fix, and it’d be the right thing to do.
I give Maeve a nod that says, Go for it, and she claps in excitement. Her delight in helping someone is worth my discomfort.
Maeve lifts a hand to catch the tired mom’s attention. “Hey,” she says with a cheery smile. “I couldn’t help but hear that you were looking for an extra room. We happen to have two. They’re both on the eleventh floor—pretty close to each other too. East Tower. Would you like to trade?”
The mom’s jaw falls open. “Oh my god. We’re on the twelfth floor. Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” Maeve says.
“It’s not a problem at all,” I agree, then turn back to the slick guy checking us in. “We’ll take their room and give our two to this family.”
“How kind of you,” he says, then quickly makes the adjustment in conjunction with the other clerk.
“Thank you,” the mother says with visible relief as she pulls her kids closer.
“We seriously appreciate it,” the man with her says. Then he peers at me more closely, as if my face is a math problem to solve. “This might be weird. But you look familiar.”
I hadn’t thought about people recognizing me here.
It happens more in San Francisco than in other cities, but it still occurs.
Maybe he’s seen the billboard on the drive in, but asking a strange guy if he remembers seeing me in my briefs probably isn’t the conversation starter his wife wants to hear.
I offer a fan-friendly smile. “I play hockey.”
He scratches his jaw, admitting, “I’m more of a baseball guy.”
“Can’t fault you for that. I’m counting the days till spring training myself.”
“Me too,” he says.
Before I can ask what team he roots for, Maeve slides next to me and clears her throat.
“Baseball is fine, but may I suggest you try the hockey entree from the sports menu this season? Studies show hockey is a more satisfying sport.” Maeve flashes a smile my way.
“Plus, I’m pretty sure all those Canadians can’t be wrong. ”
The man laughs. “Sold. I’m Hal, by the way. Otherwise known as New Hockey Fan.”
It’s my turn to introduce myself, but their son tugs on his mom’s hand. “Can we go play in the pool?”
“Once we check in, sweetheart. If you can just let Mommy finish this.” She turns back to me with a glint in her eyes now. “I’m Jen. And I know you’re having a great season.”
Hal jerks his gaze to his wife, questions flashing in his eyes. “You follow hockey?”
“I know his stats are good,” she tells her husband.
More like excellent, but I don’t correct her.
Besides, maybe Jen’s just being nice. Even so, I rap on the counter for luck, though it’s not wood.
“That’s all her doing—my season,” I say, curling a hand over Maeve’s shoulder.
I don’t want to leave my companion in the dust. I’m here with Maeve, and I want to include her. “She’s my good luck charm.”
“Clearly,” Jen says. “She brought us good luck tonight too. Thank you again. This is exactly how I want to get lucky in Vegas.”
Laughing, Hal nuzzles his wife. He might have other luck in mind. And yeah, maybe the extra room is exactly what this couple needs. Maybe sex is the new sleep.
Their clerk continues with their check-in while ours hands us our key cards. We thank him, then say goodbye to the family.
But Jen whispers something to her husband, then is looking a little sheepishly at me as he fiddles with his phone.
And I know that look. I see it in the fans who wait by the players’ parking lot after games for photos, where I happily stop and take them.
He nudges her, whispering something like go ahead.
“Did you want a pic?” I ask helpfully, to make it easier for them.
Her eyes widen. “If it’s not a problem.”
“Not at all,” I say.
She beams, then points to her husband, blurting out, “I bought him the fire-breathing dragon ones for our anniversary after seeing an online ad.”
Oh. It all makes sense now. She doesn’t know me from the sport. She knows me from the CheekyBeast campaign.
“Go pants-less,” Maeve snickers, then clears her amusement and says, “I can take a pic of both of you with the world’s hottest underwear model. Would you like that, Jen?”
“Oh yes,” Jen says, right as I say to Maeve in a stern tone, “Hockey player.”
Maeve parts her lips in an O. “Oops. My bad. I meant…pants-less hockey player.”
Hal nods to Maeve. “But we need you in it, since you bring all the good luck, I hear.”
“I also take great selfies,” Maeve says, then takes Hal’s offered phone, snapping a shot of the four of us as the kids wait patiently. That’ll be up on social soon enough, I bet, which will probably make Everly happy since she did say she hoped the winners would post pics of their dates.
And we’re on it.
“Will you tag me?” I ask. I can reshare it then.
“Definitely,” Hal says, then squeezes his wife’s shoulder. “And thanks again. It’s the little surprises, like dragon underwear, that keep the spark alive.”
“Glad to hear,” I say.
Jen gives a soft smile, gratitude in her eyes. “And seriously, this was amazing. Is there anything we can do for you?”
It’s sweet they asked, really. But I just wave a hand and say, “Enjoy yourselves tonight.”
“We will,” Jen says. “We’ll pay it forward.”
“Sounds great.”