19. Neomi
If the restaurant was a slow seduction, the casino is a live wire to my soul.
After we finish dinner, we walk into the expansive space of the casino floor, and the air hits us in a blast of perfume, money, and adrenaline.
It’s the perfect atmosphere to coerce people into forgetting their limits, their names, or their morals.
Lars’ fingers lace through mine as we walk, and God help me, it just feels too good.
Sitting with him through dinner, I realized we have a lot in common.
For two people who barely know each other, I feel like we share an energy that I can’t quite put my finger on.
He doesn’t judge my profession or feel threatened by my competency.
I saw the hurt in his eyes when I asked him about past love, but I don’t feel the need to mend it.
We’re equals. I don’t know that I’ve ever been able to say that about a man. Which makes him dangerous for me.
Because I could fall for a man like Lars.
I shake off my thoughts and decide we need a distraction.
Blackjack is first. We sit side by side, our chairs so close I could lean over and taste his skin.
He taps the felt with two fingers and I can’t help myself from staring.
I play looser than usual, a little reckless around the edges, because his presence disrupts my neural pathways in a way I don’t have the training to counter.
He smells expensive, a hint of cedar, the faint bite of his cologne that I want infused into my skin.
A cocktail server appears and I don’t hesitate to order drinks. “Two tequila shots,” I say, then look at Lars. “Unless you’re planning to behave?”
His eyes drag over me slowly. “I don’t think that’s possible for me around you.”
The first shots burn. The second round warms. By the third shot, the blackjack table is a blur of green velvet and chips. Lars’ knee brushes mine. Or I brush his. Hard to verify with all the tequila turning my blood into liquid fire.
I lost a hand I should’ve scrapped. Lars wins a hand he barely looked at. I laugh too loudly, and he looks at me like he wants to bend me over the nearest table and fuck me into sobriety. Which would be good right about now, because I think we’ve both passed the line of just being tipsy.
We gather our chips to move on and when Lars stands from his chair, he places a hand gently around my neck. I look up and his eyes dart between mine.
“This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”
He says it with such sincerity that it makes my eyes burn. He’s so sexy, so sweet that I just want to know more. I want to spend time with him and learn all the little things that make him unique. As he looks into my eyes, I can feel something changing in me because of him.
I turn in my chair as he moves between my legs. I loop my arms around his waist and stare up at him. “That makes me happy.”
He bends down, placing a light kiss to my lips. “Every time I’m with you, all I want is more. I don’t know how to control myself with you.”
“Then lose control, Lars,” I respond. “I don’t want an edited version of you. I want all of you.”
His lips form a thin line. “What if you don’t like what you see?”
I reach up, my hand resting on his cheek. “Don’t play scared with me, Lars.”
He leans into my touch. “I could fall for you, Bella.”
His honesty cuts through me. “I know, Lars. Believe me, I know.”
He kisses my forehead, and I feel dizzy. We need another distraction.
I stand from my chair, still in his space. “Come on, Lover Boy. Let’s gamble.”
He smiles and fuck, I love his smile.
“Do you play craps?”
The craps table is louder and messier. Exactly what we needed.
The table erupts around us, dice tumbling across the table, people shouting, chips piling high.
Lars stands behind me, one hand on my hip, his mouth near my ear as he murmurs betting odds I only half-process, because all my brain can compute is the fact that he’s touching me.
He’s touching me and I want him everywhere.
I guess the alcohol has fully set in.
We fall in with an older couple, Bennie and Meredith. They both have silver hair and matching sequined shirts. They tell us they’ve been married for forty years this weekend. They adore us instantly, probably because we’re young and clearly one bad decision away from a tragedy.
Meredith slams down a stack of chips and shouts, “SHOTS IF WE HIT THE POINT!”
We hit the point, and shots appear.
I clink my glass to Lars’ and raise it to the couple and then to the entire universe, because reality barely applies anymore.
The tequila spreads through my body, warm and heavy, and then I’m kissing Lars. It’s feverish, hungry, open-mouthed, tasting tequila from his tongue, swallowing the growl he gives when I bite his lip.
Someone cheers. Someone whistles.
Bennie yells, “GET MARRIED WHILE YOU STILL LIKE EACH OTHER!”
I break the kiss, breath hitched and look at Lars.
“We should,” I hear myself say, as if the voice is coming from outside of my body.
He blinks. “We should what, Bella?”
“Get married.”
The world tilts. Not because of fear, but possibility. The casino lights look like stars caught in chandeliers. His eyes—God, those eyes—focused despite the chaos around us.
“You’re drunk,” he says.
“So are you,” I counter.
His smile is a sin. “True.”
The table screams again as someone wins another roll. We’re dizzy with noise and tequila and proximity, and I don’t know whether it’s the alcohol or instinct or both, but I take his face in my hands.
“We should get married,” I repeat, firmer now.
“We live in different cities.”
I swallow hard. “I can live anywhere.”
“Bella, you’re crazy.”
“Think about it…” I can hear the slightest slur in my own words. “We could be a power couple. We could make money and have incredible sex. All the time.”
Meredith and Bennie place another shot in our hands. We take them simply out of obligation at this point.
Fuck, what the hell am I doing?
“What about love? Don’t you want the fairy tale?”
“Fuck love.” I scoff. “The fairy tale is a lie.”
Lars’ head tilts back as he laughs. “God, Neomi, you’re perfect.”
My chest heaves, my blood racing through my veins. “Let’s do it.”
“You want my ring on your finger?”
I nod, stroking his jaw with my thumb. “I want your everything.”
Something breaks in him. Or frees within him. It's hard to tell the difference.
He takes my hand, brings it to his mouth, and kisses the inside of my wrist—a vow more intimate than words.
“Then let’s go,” he says, voice gravel and promise.
The older couple goes feral. The wife is chanting “CHAPEL! CHAPEL! CHAPEL!” while the husband slaps Lars on the back like he's sending him off to war.
We stumble away from the table, still kissing, still laughing, and headed straight into ruin.