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I thread my fingers through his hair. “Yeah,” I say and look down at him. “I didn’t want something to happen to you,” I explain, “you know, since you threw your friend out.”
There’s a moment of silence and I think he’s fallen asleep, but then he whispers, “Fucking Alistair,” in a sleepy voice, and I smile thinking of Alistair’s face as he stood in the elevator as the door closed in nothing but his underwear. Maybe he didn’t deserve being kicked out, but I can’t help the mental image of him roaming through the casino in only his boxers.
Alistair seems like a clever guy though, so I’m sure he’ll figure something out. It’s quiet in here, so very quiet, and it’s hard not to think of things I shouldn’t.
“What’s your name?” he asks out of the blue, suddenly lucid again.
I look down at him, my fingers stilling in his hair. “Holly,” I tell him and close my eyes.
He’s quiet for a minute. “Your real name.”
I suck in a breath, thinking he probably won’t remember in the morning before whispering, “Evangeline.”
“That’s a beautiful name.” His voice is heavy with impending sleep.
After only a few moments, his mouth opens, and a little sigh escapes before he slips into a deep sleep. In the dark room, all I can hear is his even breathing that seems to mimic the ticking of the gold timepiece on his wrist.
On the bed next to me is his wallet, hundred-dollar bills spilling out, and I pick it up. Dare moves off my lap, curling onto his side and settling back to sleep, the whiskey pulling him under once again.
I sit on the edge of the bed holding his wallet and the money in my hand before grabbing my shoes and dress from the floor. I take Darren’s wallet with me into the living room. Pulling out my phone from my clutch, I tap on my contacts and send a message to Cleo.
I’m fine. Be home soon.
4
The Kingmaker
Darren
I throw my arm over my eyes, trying to block out the sun. Rolling onto my side, I feel the nausea roll through me, so I reach over to grab the wastebasket next to the bed and empty the contents of my stomach into it.
“Fuck,” I rasp, my voice hoarse, and my throat feeling like I’ve swallowed sand.
I would happily fall back asleep, but the events of last night start to come back to me in pieces. I sit up gingerly, giving my head time to catch up with my body. On the nightstand are two bottles of water near the almost empty bottle of whiskey. I grab for the waters like a man on a deserted island and down them both, way too quickly.
I remember I wasn’t alone when I passed out last night.
Looking around the room, I don’t see any signs that my guest is still here. I look for my wallet, remembering that I tossed it on the bed last night, but it’s not there. I toss back the sheets—it’s gone.
Fuck!
Angrily I smack the whiskey bottle off the table and watch as it careens across the room. What little contents that were left in it arc through the air and land on the carpet.
I sit on the edge of the bed with my head in my hands, trying to get up the nerve to face the day when I hear the shower running.
I lift my head and notice the crack in the slightly opened door, steam drifting out and causing the room to feel thick and humid. My body instinctively leans to the side to allow a view all the way into the bathroom.
Through the frosty glass doors of the shower, I can make out the outline of a woman’s body—from the swell of her breasts to her small waist, the curve of her hips, and finally the generous roundness of her ass. Even though I’m sitting here with a horrendous hangover, I still want to sink my teeth into it.
Rising from the bed, I slowly make my way towards the bathroom, my bare feet making no sound on the carpet. I stand in the doorway and push it open wider as she pushes the water through her hair, her head tipped back, eyes closed, causing my pulse to quicken.
She didn’t leave with my wallet.
She didn’t leave, period.
She tilts her head and makes eye contact with me. The beautiful blues burn into me, beckon to me, and fuck, I’ve already paid for her. I step further into the room, the steam thick and heavy, while she watches me, the curve of her lip tempting and taunting me. Now that I’m fully sober and I’m no longer looking through whiskey laden eyes, I can tell she’s worth even more than what I paid for her.
Water drips from her long eyelashes down her face and pebbles at her perky breasts. The pale pink around her nipples puckers, and as my eyes lower further, I find that, Jesus Christ, she’s fucking bare – so bare that I can see the soft, wet outer folds of her cunt.
