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I just smile back as he pushes the elevator button marked with a “3,” butterflies taking flight in my stomach. We step inside, my stomach dropping as we lift off. The elevator doors open, revealing the rooftop bar.
The Bachmans have gone all out, transforming their rooftop bar into a Vegas casino floor. First, to enter the party, you have to make your way down the red carpet. Black velvet ropes line either side of the walkway. There are spotlights shining down from overhead.
Professional photographers have us pause under the lit-up VEGAS sign to snap our couple photo as we make our way down the carpet. I pose as elegantly as I know how to, smiling as I cling to Beckett’s arm. Not sure if it’s the teetering stilettos Ashely put me in tonight, or nerves over meeting the rest of the family that has me holding on so tightly, but I’m afraid I’m going to pop one of his enormous biceps.
Sensing my unease, he smooths a big hand around my lower back, cupping my waist. “They’re going to love you, baby.”
Baby…
When did he start calling me that?
I like the way he says it… I like it too much.
“We shall see about that,” I say.
He lets go of me just long enough to grab two colorful drinks off a passing tray. “You need a Manhattan. Here. This will make you feel better.” He hands me a glass, then his arm returns right where it belongs, around my waist.
Protecting me. “Thank you. But don’t leave my side tonight. Please?”
“Of course I won’t. I wouldn’t dare give another man the opportunity to take my place.”
I laugh. “You’re silly. No one here is going to be hitting on me.”
He grins. “That’s because they don’t want to be murdered.”
My laugh catches in the back of my throat at the word murder. I remember why I’m here. What I must do.
I tip the drink down my throat.
“Hell, you are nervous,” he laughs. “Let me get you another one.”
“Alright, but no more after that. Tipsy is fine, but I don’t want to be drunk when I meet your family.”
“We’re a pretty wild bunch. No judgment.” He hands me another drink. “Have at it. I’ll keep a close eye on you and take care of you if you have a headache tomorrow.”
“That’s so sweet. I’ve never had”—I take a sip to stop myself, too embarrassed to admit that I’ve never had someone to take care of me before—“a Manhattan before. They’re delicious.”
He eyes me but lets it go. “Wanna play roulette? It’s an easy one if you’ve never gambled before.”
“Sure.”
We go from table to table. Some games I just watch, others I find myself brave enough to try, putting down the betting chips he keeps in his pockets for me.
He introduces me to everyone. I try to create mnemonic devices to remember all their names. The boss, Rockland, is built like The Rock. His wife, Tess, has red tresses.
Trays of food constantly pass by. Mini meals. Cheeseburger sliders, tiny pizzas, mini sausages wrapped in dough. It’s fun, casual food that I recognize.
“Bachmans like a little junk food when we’re drinking liquor,” Beckett says, handing me another mini margarita pizza.
Garlic, tomato, basil. Nom. The melty cheese is just what I need to go with the strong drinks we’re having.
I’m left with a happy tummy and messy hands. I glance around for a server. “I need a napkin.”
“Let me help you.” He takes my fingertips between his lips. Holding my eyes, one by one he licks the oil from my fingers.
I moan, my knees going weak at the heady sensation. It feels so good, his tongue swiping against my skin. So dirty and sexy, having him lick my fingers clean like this with people all around us.
Kitty quivers. Bad. My pussy begs with me to make something happy, cut some kind of deal with this man.
