Chapter 6 #2
I plonk myself down into a chair in front of a machine called Huff N’ Puff, featuring neon-colored little pigs, and pop my cash-out voucher into the machine.
I have twenty-three dollars to play with, and I sip the dregs of my drink loudly as I make my first spin with an aggressive punch of the button.
“You know the drinks are free, right? You don’t have to suck every last drop like that. Just order another.”
I glance to my right. A tall, broad figure coolly loads up the machine next to mine with eight one-hundred-dollar bills and sits down. He’s wearing dress pants and a crisp white shirt that has the top button undone, and he’s not even looking at me.
“Maybe I enjoy sucking every last drop,” I mutter back, slamming the empty glass down on the machine in front of me, because how about he minds his own business?
He turns to me now, an eyebrow raised and the smallest of smirks toying at his lips. “Do you?”
As the realization dawns on me, my jaw slackens in horror. “Not like that.”
Well.
For a man with a face like his, maybe it could be like that.
Because holy fucking hell.
Crafted in the image of a Greek god, the stranger next to me might just be the most gorgeous example of the male form I’ve ever had the pleasure of viewing with my own eyes.
His facial structure is so hot—every feature is sharp and angular and defined.
Seriously, he could slice bread with that jawline.
And his eyes. They’re an unmistakable emerald, vivid and bold and kind of haunting, and they are fixed on me.
Did the hotel turn down the AC on this casino floor? Because my skin prickles with heat.
“What’s the sash for? Is it your birthday?
” Zeus asks, gesturing to the “Just Drunk” sash I’m still wearing, before shifting his attention back to the screen in front of him and playing a few more fifty-buck spins.
He leans back in his chair, all nonchalant and somewhat disinterested, and crosses one ankle over his knee.
Mindlessly, he drums his fingers against his thigh.
“It’s my sister’s bachelorette weekend,” I respond, and I mimic his actions, also staring ahead at my own machine as we talk. I’m totally chill over here. Not freaking out at all. Such a composed queen.
“And you’re sitting in the casino alone?”
“Everyone else is around here somewhere,” I say, gesturing behind me to nothing in particular. “I’m just moving around trying to find a machine that’ll work with me.”
“Well, this one doesn’t seem to have any luck for you,” he says as my latest spin wins me—drum roll!—nothing. “But I don’t want you to move away to try another, so let me put you back up so you can keep playing a little longer.”
Before I can register his words, he stretches forward and slips a one-hundred-dollar bill into the notes slot of my machine. Now I drop my feigned placidity and snap my head back to stare at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Just told you. Keeping you next to me. Am I allowed to know your name?”
“It’s Evelyn,” I force out, my throat so dry my own name nearly gets stuck, “but most people just call me Evie.”
“Well, Evie, I hope you win big.”
Yeah, me fucking too. I don’t know what I did to deserve this generous man sitting down at the machine next to mine, but I’m definitely not upset about it—finding someone with stacks of cash they aren’t precious about is exactly the kind of person I was secretly praying I’d meet in this casino.
“Thank you, kind stranger,” I say. “Am I allowed to know your name? It’s only fair. ”
Zeus says, “Jameson Park.” He holds out his hand for me to shake, and as I slip my hand into his, my gaze is instantly drawn to the Rolex on his wrist, its silver watch face glistening under the casino lights.
It’s a subtle display of wealth, but I kind of already figured this man is loaded, given he’s throwing one-hundred-dollar bills around like nothing and wearing a luxury shirt without a single crease distorting its pristine surface.
I want to be friends with this man. No—I need to be friends with this man.
“Hi, Jameson,” I say, removing my hand from his as I take note of the lack of wedding ring on his finger. “What brings you to Vegas, then?”
“In town for a work conference this weekend,” he says, and that explains the attire. As his game wins one of its jackpots, he coolly rubs a hand over his stubble-lined jaw like it’s no big deal. Celebratory music jingles from the machine and cartoon coins fill the screen. “Nice.”
“What kind of work do you do?” I ask, eyeballing my own machine out of the corner of my eye, willing it to do anything. Even winning fifty dollars would have me springing from my chair and doing a happy dance in these heels.
“I’m in tech,” Jameson answers, glancing over with a closed smile. “Yeah, I know. Computer geek, essentially. How about you? You certainly look younger than me, so I’m going to guess you’re still in school.”
I don’t know why, but my face flushes with embarrassment.
I suppose I want to be a bit more intriguing than I actually am.
“Yeah. University of Florida. I graduate next year,” I confirm, and then give him another once-over, trying to put an age to him because he certainly is not twenty-one. I’m not even sure he’s twenty-anything.
“Florida native?”
“Boca Raton born and bred,” I say proudly. “You?”
“I live in Atlanta these days.”
There’s a lull in the conversation as he focuses on his machine, but I haven’t made any spins in a while, because I’m forming a new plan in my head that is much better than simply praying I win huge amounts of money on these slot machines.
Option one: I become so endearingly charming that I make this rich, successful man fall in love with me and have him pay off my debts in order to save the life of the woman he loves, but that’s not very achievable over one weekend, and all hinges entirely on my personality .
. . Suffice to say, not a foolproof plan.
So then there’s option two: I get this man so loaded up on booze that he loses all inhibitions and I steal his wallet. And perhaps that watch, too.
With perfect timing, a cocktail waitress waltzes past and I raise my hand to flag her down.
“We should get some drinks,” I suggest, and when the waitress approaches, I cast Jameson a flirtatious smile as I say, “We’ll have two vodka sodas, please. And can you make those doubles?”