Chapter 12 John
JOHN
Somehow, I’ve gone from Chad yelling that he wanted to blow me at the craps table to watching him slam chips onto a blackjack table like he’s got any idea what he’s doing.
He doesn’t.
“These are my last twenty dollars,” Chad declares proudly, looking at the two chips in front of him.
“They’re not your last twenty dollars,” I mutter. “You’re stupid rich and you have a whole prepaid card full of money you haven’t touched yet. You just don’t know where it is since you had to pay cash for this table.”
“Oh yeah. Thanks, John. Huh.” He pats his chest, then for some unknown reason, turns to pat mine before checking his pockets—the first place he should’ve looked—before pulling it out and holding it in the air. “You hold it.”
“No,” I automatically respond, but he doesn’t listen as he shoves the card into my hand anyway.
“Great! Also, will you gamble for me?” He beams, pushing away from the table. Nothing about his behavior makes any sense to me, but once again, I seem to be incapable of saying no to him and meaning it.
We’ve been hanging out, just the two of us, since we got to the casino, and I’m trying to ignore the annoying voice in my head that keeps asking why Chad wants to spend so much time with me.
I know it doesn’t mean anything. He’s decided we’re friends, and he’s a very outgoing, happy person who likes to casually touch all his friends, not me specifically.
Last night I’d barely been buzzed, but tonight I’m probably as drunk as he is.
I’d hoped the alcohol might numb some of the more inappropriate thoughts I’ve been having about Chad today, but it’s only had the opposite effect.
I keep catching myself staring at the way his shirt is stretched over his muscles, or the way his smile lights up his whole face. Like it is right now.
What was he talking about again? Right. He wants me to take over for him. “Chad, I’m not—”
The dealer is staring at us as Chad attempts to guide me into his seat.
“Fine,” I grumble as I look at the cards now in front of me, push the chip forward and tap the table to signify a hit.
I don’t know why Chad thought playing this game while drinking would be a good idea, but I guess that’s why he’s only got twenty dollars in chips left. I assume this will be over in a couple of rounds since we’re playing at a ten-dollar table.
Chad leans into my side, and I try my best to ignore him to focus on the dealer. It’s a miracle he didn’t kick Chad out himself, but I guess if you’re just giving money to the house, there’s got to be some benefit of having a drunk guy at a table who clearly doesn’t know what he’s doing.
“If you win, I get to see your piercing,” Chad whisper-yells into my ear, leaning in way too close, and we’ve definitely got some eyes on us now. I shouldn’t be able to smell his expensive cologne in this crowded casino. Damn, what is that? How does he smell so good?
“No,” I dismiss quickly.
“You’re no fun.” He pouts. And would you look at that; he does know the word.
“And you’re straight,” I push back, my tone less harsh than I intended as my confusion bleeds into my tone. I’ve never had a straight man so interested in my dick before.
“So? What does that have to do with anything?” he asks.
I honestly don’t know how to answer him, but it’s definitely time for us to leave this table. We’ve thoroughly embarrassed ourselves enough for the night.
I stand abruptly, grabbing the last chip Chad had left. “Come on, we’re going.”
“But!” Chad starts to protest, and I level him with a look. He immediately stops talking. “Oh! Yes, okay, let’s do that. Let’s leave!”
I don’t know what he thinks that look meant, but I can almost guarantee we are not on the same page with how excited he sounds.
I turn to walk away, and he trails after me like he always seems to.
I wish it wasn’t so satisfying to have him blindly following me around.
I wish I could ignore how powerful the way his complete trust in me makes me feel.
“Where are we going?” he asks, stumbling once before he confidently continues like nothing happened. Then, just like last night, he laces his fingers through mine. “Somewhere for you to show me your dick?”
I stop walking, staring at our joined hands for a moment before I tip my head back and take a deep breath. How am I supposed to have innocent thoughts when he says things like that? I swear Chad is going to be the death of me. “No.”
“Okay, can you show me—”
“Still no.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” he protests with a laugh.
I roll my eyes. “I don’t need you to finish. I’m not showing you anything.”
“Just show me your tattoos! I want to see where they start and where they end, if you know what I mean,” he says suggestively.
How could that not be suggestive? Am I crazy? “You saw enough this morning during our massage.”
“Well, if you’re not showing me anything, I get to pick where we go. Come on,” Chad says, yanking me with him toward the bar. “We need more drinks.”
“We really don’t.”
“Yes, we do,” he insists, laughing again as he grabs my wrist and tugs me toward what I now realize is a fucking slushie stand. “You owe me a round because you wouldn’t show me the piercing.”
I snort a laugh. “I don’t owe you anything, and we aren’t children. I don’t want a fucking slushie.”
“Show me the piercing and we’ll call it even.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then it looks like you’re buying the sluuushies,” he says with a delighted grin.
I let out as loud of a sigh as I can. I give up. It’s easier than attempting to win this ridiculous argument. “Fine.”
Chad absolutely beams at me while ordering two tequila slushies. And of course they don’t come in regular cups. They’re in these long, brightly colored tubes that are practically the length of my torso with giant straws.
“Do you honestly expect me to drink this?” I ask dryly.
“Yes. Because tonight I’m going to teach you how to have fun. If you get tipsy, then maybe you’ll loosen up,” he says with a wink that I refuse to think of as sexy. Then, with what I believe is his attempt at being quieter, adds, “And then maybe you’ll show me your dick.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Chad.”
He laughs before sticking his tongue out to bring the straw to his mouth.
He takes his time to wrap his lips around it, gripping the long tube with both hands as he sucks the drink into his mouth.
I have no idea if it’s meant to be suggestive, but it certainly is.
I want to smack it out of his hand. Finally, he pulls back, letting out a contented moan that is far too sexual sounding to not be intentional.
It’s like dinner all over again. “Mmmm, delicious. Your turn. Drink up.”
“I don’t want it,” I remind him.
He steps closer to guide the straw toward my mouth anyway, looking at me with a conspiratorial grin. “Drink. We’re in Vegas. It’s a part of the experience.”
I attempt to glare back at him, but I think the corners of my mouth might tip up because it only causes him to smile wider. He moves a hand back to grip mine, squeezing it. I finally let out another sigh and take one sip, just to shut him up… and instantly regret it.
“This is disgusting, Chad.” I somehow truly hate the drink more than I thought I would. The double margarita earlier was far better than whatever the hell this sugary thing is.
“Fine, we’ll get you a normal drink then, but you’re drinking with me!” Chad drags me back to the bartender. “Hi again. My friend doesn’t like his slushie, it’s not your fault, he’s just picky. Can you pour a double shot of whiskey for him? We’re celebrating tonight!”
“Sure thing.” The bartender nods.
He pours the shot and slides it to me. I eye the shot for a moment, my instinct is to protest, but leaving this casino is the only thing I can think about, well, and getting Chad away from the bar, so I only hesitate a moment before tipping the shot back.
Chad somehow chugs an entire slushie in the same amount of time.
“Thanks,” I mutter to the bartender, throwing some cash on the bar and turning back to Chad. “Now, come on, let’s go.”
“No, ow! Wait! Brain freeze, oh my god, John! Ow! Fix it!” Chad is a mess, and out of the corner of my eye, I realize the bartender is laughing at him. I give him an aggressive glare for laughing at Chad, and he stops immediately, turning around to mind his own business.
“Rub your tongue to the roof of your mouth,” I instruct.
“Ow, ow, ow!” Chad whines as he squeezes his eyes shut as his tongue starts moving vigorously in his mouth, and I try not to think about what else his tongue could do. After a moment, he finally lets out a relieved sigh, looking at me with obvious gratitude.
“Wow. That helped so much. You’re the best, John. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
His overly affectionate response confuses me yet again, so I take the empty drink cup from his hand and set it on the bar.
He reaches his hand out and instead of protesting, I take it, and we start walking toward the entrance of the casino.
I’m not sure where we’re going, but going outside sounds better than staying at the bar.
“Hey, guys,” Blake shouts, coming up to us out of nowhere before we can escape the casino with Liam at his side. “Are you having fun?”
“Define fun,” I immediately respond, and Liam quirks his lip at me, reading my sarcasm.
“Yes,” Chad says at the same time, grabbing my arm possessively with his free hand while keeping our fingers intertwined in the other.
I didn’t wear my typical leather jacket out tonight, and I’m already regretting it.
Chad has somehow worked his hand into the sleeve of my short-sleeved shirt, basically caressing my arm as he answers.
“So much fun! I’m so glad I have my bestie-in-law John here to spend my night with. ”
Blake snorts. “Bestie-in-law? That’s hilarious! I think I told Kieran something like that when we met.”