Chapter 4 Remy #2
I take the can, and Tom’s fingers linger on mine a beat too long. Our eyes meet. Nothing flutters inside because he isn’t Bash Murray and, you know, there’s an elephant in the room in the shape of a wedding ring on his finger.
“You seem nervous out there on the floor. You shouldn’t be. You’re a natural.” He lowers his hand, but I still feel where our fingers touched.
“Thanks.” Why am I thanking him? Or am I totally misreading the situation? Again. It’s becoming a bad habit that I’ll need hours of therapy with Ariel to understand. “I should get back.”
No point flirting if Bash isn’t here to witness it, and I’m not that girl who can blatantly disregard someone else’s marriage vows.
He follows me back to the bright lights and low hum of conversation on the casino floor.
He doesn’t try to touch me. He simply winks as he resumes his position behind the bar, and my eyes instinctively seek out Bash in his private booth on the mezzanine floor.
Maybe he was waiting for me to reappear because he looks straight at me before returning his attention to whichever VIP he’s entertaining tonight.
That’s it.
No glimmer of acknowledgement that he’s seen me naked with my legs spread wide and his tongue inside me. No smile. No lingering look that means he wants a repeat performance.
Disappointment sucks.
“Where do you think you’re going with this?” The pit boss removes the unopened can of Diet Coke from my hand. “One more lapse of concentration, and I’ll have to let you go.”
“I’m sorry.” I shake my head. Ariel was wrong; Bash probably has no input into whether I stay or go. Firing me isn’t his decision. He didn’t save my job because I meant something to him, he literally didn’t do anything. “It won’t happen again.”
I take over on one of the roulette tables. Keep my eyes down. I don’t even check out the guests seated around the betting area. My eyes feel heavy with unshed tears, but I hold them in, or the option to quit will be outside of my remit too.
My hands work on muscle memory. My brain slowly clicks back into calculating-bets mode, and I deliberately avoid glancing at the mezzanine for the rest of the night.
I know Bash is there in the same way that I know that the moon will be shining when I step outside at the end of my shift.
But I’m trying to convince myself that he isn’t shining for me.
He never was. I was a pleasant interlude, nothing more.
Focusing helps. The realization will crash through me later, when I get back to my dorm room, but I’ll face that when it happens. I’ll quit. I should’ve done it while I was ahead, while there was still the tiniest possibility that Bash Murray might miss me, but what other options do I have?
I might be a fawn, but I do still have my dignity, and I’ll wear it with pride. Like a crown. Even if he’ll never understand that I won’t be used and discarded like a paper towel.
No, siree.
By the end of my shift, I congratulate myself on not glancing at him once since the pit boss delivered his warning. I haven’t flirted with anyone either, but at least I can walk out of here with my head held high. Ish.
Don’t cave now, Remy, I tell myself. Don’t look his way.
Too late.
Communication between my brain and my body only seems to function when I’m watching the tiny ball rolling around the roulette wheel and counting chips.
He’s no longer on the mezzanine.
My heart races. Where did he go? Not that it’s any of my business, but what if he’s waiting outside for me? Because, sure, we haven’t spoken in three weeks, and now suddenly, he has seen the light and realized that he can’t live without me.
Deep breath. Get a grip. He’s probably in his penthouse apartment right now, telling a beautiful woman that she has bewitched him.
Ugh!
I can’t wait to get out of here, cool down, take great gulps of polluted air, and pace the streets until my feet ache some more.
Instead, I gasp audibly when a suit appears in front of me, and a familiar voice, says, “Looking good, Remy.”
I raise my eyes. “George? W-what are you doing here?”
He’s looking smarter than I’ve ever seen him. He always was particular about his clothes and hair products and his designer stubble, but his suit clearly comes with an eye-watering price tag, and his cologne hovers around him like a poisonous cloud.
He smiles. I don’t miss the way his eyes dart around the casino floor though, and I instinctively imitate the movement.
I don’t know how he can still pull those strings when we haven’t seen each other in almost two years, but there’s no time to figure out what game my body is playing tonight.
I feel like a yoyo waiting for someone else to make the bouncing stop.
Only you can take control, Remy. Ariel’s voice resounds inside my head.
She’s right.
“I’m here on business,” George is still talking.
I’ve spotted Bash on the far side of the floor with a couple of guests, the woman dripping diamonds, the man jutting his chin as if the world is his playground.
“I didn’t know you worked here.”
I face my ex. He’s good-looking in a Disney prince kind of way, all sharp jawline and perfect features. I know this isn’t what Ariel meant when she told me to flirt, but George is familiar territory, and there’s absolutely no danger of this going anywhere because, you know, he has a fiancée.
“Why would you?” I slant my eyes and give a nonchalant shrug. “I don’t have to give you a running commentary of my movements anymore.”
Man, that felt good. If this is how Ariel lives her life, I wish I’d followed her advice sooner.
His brows furrow momentarily and he quickly smooths them out. The smile doesn’t waver. “It was only because I worried about you, Remy.” He pauses. “I still do.”
“Why?” I’m on a roll; no stopping me now. “Is your fiancée harder to keep track of?”
He swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs above his shirt collar. “Don’t be like that, Remy. You know I still care about you.”
What the actual fuck!
“Oh, is that why you couldn’t commit to a future with me?” I force an obvious fake smile. “Does this mean that you don’t care about the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with?”
His eyes darken, and the smile fades. “Keep your voice down.”
“Or what? Afraid she’ll hear that you still have feelings for me?”
“That isn’t what I said.” He tries to grab my arm, and I move out of reach.
“Don’t touch me. Go back to your fiancée and I’ll pretend this never happened.”
I walk away from him, and this time, I don’t look back. I keep my head up and tell myself that he’s watching me and wondering how the conversation could’ve steered so far off course that he didn’t have the last word.
Grabbing my bag from my locker with the new key that I had to pay for, I wave to the concierge as I walk through the foyer.
I almost make it outside.
Almost.
But Bash is there, alone, and it seems that Ariel’s advice worked after all.