Page 77 of Bastard Bartender

Chapter Twenty

As a woman who’s been running around the dating scene, I have without a doubt been missing out on the thrill of the Las Vegas Strip.

The lights at Caesars Palace, the roller coaster soaring above New York-New York, and the beaming light of the Luxor are just a few of the sights I inhale as Nic drives us in bumper-to-bumper traffic. I don’t mind a lick of it because I’m loving the views.

He pulls up to the valet of the Paris hotel, where my door is opened and I step out. Nic is quickly at my side and offers me his hand.

“Have I told you how incredibly sexy you look in that dress?” he croons in my ear.

“Only ten times since you picked me up.”

While I dressed, he went home to change as well. When he showed up—wearing dark slacks and a crisp shirt, opened at the collar, with a sports jacket—I was glad I’d chosen to wear my long spaghetti-strapped black dress that hugs my curves and shows every panty line, which means I can’t wear any.

We walk into the casino, and my senses are alive with the lights and the sounds of slot machines going off.

“What’s your game of choice?” he asks, offering me the casino floor for the taking.

“I’ve always wanted to play craps. Do you know how to play?”

“Lucky for you, I do.” He kisses my hand and walks us over to a table with a fifty-dollar minimum.

He places a thousand dollars on the table and asks for chips. I blink at the wad of cash that seems to be way too much for someone with a bartender’s salary to drop like that.

“You don’t have to spend your money. You don’t like to waste it on gambling.”

“I might not like to play, but I do love a good gamble, so if we’re doing this, we’re gonna go big or go home. You ready?” he dares, and I bite my lip.

“Let ’em roll.” I respond with a bit of daring in my voice.

The craps table is the loudest and most exciting place in the casino. There are two dealers, and one has a stick. There’s a lot of blowing, so it only takes Nic and me a moment to start making crude jokes to one another as we place our chips on the pass line.

The shooter rolls the dice. Everyone waits on bated breath as a three and a four land on either dice. Everyone wins, so they roll again. This time, he rolls a two and a four, equaling six, which I quickly find is a good thing.

“That’s the point, so now, we play until a seven is rolled. Place your bet,” Nic instructs with his hand on my backside. He allows me to choose where I want to bet, so I pick two because it reminds me of Lounge 702, and I can’t choose a seven because we’d crap out.

The roll comes, and it’s a two. I jump up and cheer. Actually, the entire table cheers, and hands are quickly moving money around. The next roll is a six, then a four, and then a two. Again. Our table is loud and boisterous, and our chip pile is growing. When another two comes out, Nic kisses me long and hard at the table, and I miss the next roll.

We could have lost all our money, and I wouldn’t have cared. Lucky for us, we’re still in the game. Everyone is laughing, high-fiving, and it’s most definitely livelier than the nearby poker tables. When our hot roller finally craps out, we take our winning chips and start again.

“Your dice, miss.” The dealer ushers me to the end of the table.

I shake my head, not knowing what to do.

“Come on, babe. It’s easy. Just roll until you hit the wall.”

“I can’t. What if I mess up and lose everyone’s money?”

This makes Nic laugh. “That’s the risk. Tell you what. You blow, and I’ll roll.”

My brows rise with the impossible dirty thoughts that come to my mind.

He rewards me with a kiss on the head. “That’s my filthy girl.”

We walk to the end of the table and put our bets on the pass line.

He holds the dice up to my lips, and I blow gently, causing him to let out a low growl before tossing the dice to the end of the craps table. They bounce off the wall.

“Four,” the dealer calls, and we’re back in play.