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Hell’s bells, I had beginner’s luck at more than blowjobs. Look at me, raking in the cash.
Oliver had wandered off with his phone to his ear, but he came back often enough to check on me that I felt warm and protected rather than irritated. A matter of perspective, I realized, but I happened to like it when he seemed caring and involved.
Did I mention I was still drunk? I’d probably see things differently tomorrow.
Racking up the dollah-dollah bills wasn’t hurting my buoyant mood one iota. Who needed liquid courage when the machine was rolling your way?
“Still playing?” Oliver asked sometime later. I had no concept of time. This crap was addictive.
I’d have to investigate casinos in New York. Oooh, Atlantic City.
“Yes,” I mumbled, betting again. “Only a few minutes more. I’m on a winning streak. Can’t move yet.”
Oliver sighed. “Six dollars again?” He cupped my shoulder and leaned in. “Let’s see—holy shit.” He scrubbed the side of his fist over the small number in the corner of the screen as if he couldn’t believe it was real either.
Let’s just say I’d be able to pay for our plane ride home—first class.
“Told you,” I said smugly. “You doubted my prowess.”
“Princess, I don’t doubt your prowess at anything you put your mind to.”
Unthinkingly, I turned my head and kissed his knuckles. That wasn’t even the alcohol spurring me on. I was beginning to truly like the guy.
Amazing how fast things could change.
He curled his fingers into my shoulder before subtly transferring the hold to my throat and tipping back my head. My lips parted, and I forgot all about my winnings as I gazed up into his midnight eyes.
“You keep right on playing as long as you want.” Even as he said it, I sensed an invitation behind his words. A reminder that once I was finished, he would be there, waiting.
Or maybe that was wishful thinking. I tended to do that often. There was a reason my bestie labeled me a hopeless romantic.
“Oh, dammit.” I jerked on the seat and Oliver’s hand fell away. “I told Ally I’d text her after Celine to tell her how it was.” I’d no sooner pulled out my phone than Oliver plucked it away.
“Take this time for you, princess. She’ll be there later.” He pocketed my cell and brushed a careless kiss over my hair that so did not feel like a casual gesture.
I should complain about him taking away my agency. That might have been an ongoing theme. But some part of me felt relieved. I was having fun and didn’t really want to check in right now. I loved Ally, loved talking to her, but I didn’t want to deal with her questions about Oliver again. She’d asked me some earlier, trying to act nonchalant—were we getting along, were we having fun, was he being all Oliver-ish—but that had been pre-blowjob. I really didn’t want to talk about what Oliver and I were or weren’t at the moment. All I wanted was to party on and just be.
So yeah, he’d done me a favor. A small one I’d probably be righteously indignant over later, after I wheeled my money wheelbarrow out of the joint.
I didn’t look up from the machine for who knows how long. Eventually, my excited whoops of joy as I kept right on winning drew a small crowd. Some younger people, some seniors, and one or two men who assumed I needed some help spending
my cash. I did not. I also didn’t need anyone’s assistance in picking my stopping figure. Once I reached the number my dizzy brain had set on after my streak had begun, I ended the game and stood up with my arms above my head like a prizefighter.
“That’s all she wrote! All done here. Thanks for cheering me on, everyone.”
People laughed and slapped hands with me, and then a couple industrious types nearly knocked me over in their haste to fight over my machine. I stepped aside and grinned, about to look for Oliver, when his warmth surrounded me from behind.
“Did I mention you’re magnificent?” His soft voice at my ear was more powerful than any drink I’d consumed. More potent than ten of them in quick succession.
“Not recently you haven’t.” It was a risk to turn and loop my arms around his neck, but I was in a betting mood.
I laughed as he lifted me up and crushed me to his chest. Looming over him, I brushed a hand over that wayward lock of brown hair that always liked to dip into his eyes. Such dark, intense eyes. And I fell under their witchy spell as surely as if he’d commanded me to.
“Congratulations. You’re magnificent.” He angled his mouth to give me a celebratory kiss, probably a chaste one. That was Oliver’s MO.
It wasn’t mine. Not this weekend.
I slanted my lips over his and took greedily, not wasting any time on pretenses. I hadn’t been kissed nearly enough in my life. Certainly not by a man like Oliver, whose skill was practically bathroom fodder in our town.
