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Rule one at work is don’t get friendly with the guests, but the effect the man has on me is way more exciting than my stupid job.
Two seconds of staring into those big brown eyes of his, and I can’t even remember my name, let alone where I work.
Or where you live. Keep it real, Kris. Just do your job, get paid, and go home to pay your rent. Remember?
But I can’t remember.
Being within Ethan’s blast radius is like nothing else on earth.
It really does feel like nothing matters anymore except being near him.
Rules or not, and as nervous and shy as he makes me, I’d pretty much do or say anything the man asked of me right now.
I literally mean anything.
The man just oozes strength, charisma, and killer good looks. It really is hard to take my eyes off him, even for one second.
I feel wounded when he asks if I’m single, and I wonder if this is maybe some sort of prank the other staff members have set up.
Handsome rich guy punk’s chubby casino employee, tricking her into thinking he’s actually interested…that sort of thing.
But when he sees my reaction, I can tell he means it when he says he’s curious why a girl like me isn’t out on a Friday night getting spoiled by her man.
Uh…because most men run a mile when they think of me that way.
But Ethan’s different I can just tell. So when they change the croupier, and the owner even turns up, I seize my chance.
Lunging forward, I whisper in his warm, sweet woodsy-smelling ear that I’m single.
Blushing like a schoolgirl when I do, and my heart thumps against my ribs because I’m so nervous.
But it’s the best kind of scared I’ve ever felt.
And looking into his eyes before he has a chance to say anything, I know that he is too.
I also know, or maybe just wish that he wants me to know he’s single too for some reason.
Lots of older guys have propositioned me, just not the kind anyone would feel safe with, let alone chubby nineteen-year-old girls.
But Ethan's not teasing or sleazing. On the contrary, something in his eyes and his smile tells me he’s being totally honest.
He’s just trying to get to know you some, Kris. Enjoy it while it lasts. You’ve only got a few hours, not years, with the guy. Relax! Enjoy!
Like Mr. Levenson calls out once he leaves, I remind myself to enjoy my time near Ethan. And try not to read something into it. Of course, that’s probably just me being a little innocent to the world of high rollers.
He must be some kind of big deal, though. Levenson came all the way up here, right when they switched dealers?
Hmmm. Maybe there is more to Ethan Silverthorne than just money.
And maybe I should mind my own business.
But I can’t.
Not when he looks at me again, his whole body and features relax once it’s just the two of us again.
Oh, and the new dealer.
We don’t have ‘em on the slots floors. And I’m glad. The two I’ve seen tonight look like they’ve got no enthusiasm for anything.
But I guess a poker face is part of the job.
Ethan’s table has a little roulette wheel, and there are squares printed out on the felt with numbers he can bet on, or there are all the card games every dealer knows.
But Ethan has a slight greenhorn look about him when it comes to gambling. And I should know.
I see serious gamblers all day, every day.
The way their eyes move. The little show of panic or triumph when they win or lose.
Ethan plays some hands of blackjack and loses every time. But he doesn’t flinch. Not because he doesn’t know the game and not in the way a regular gambler might. And definitely not like any man who couldn’t afford to lose would.
He’s different from all the others because he doesn’t need to win.
He doesn’t need to feel bad for my sake either, even if he’s losing a year of my current wages every hand.
So why gamble?
A guy like Ethan could be in a thousand different places right now and for a lot less money.
He shrugs a little in my direction, almost looking embarrassed before I realize that he’s not even looking at the cards.
And his look isn’t really embarrassment either.
I feel my breath catch, and I make a noise, seeing the dealer shoot me a suspicious glance.
Anyone caught helping a player is in a world of trouble, but it’s not that making me gasp for air.
My eyes stray, and only for a second. But it’s enough for me to see what Ethan has in those tailored suit pants that hug his muscular legs and butt so well.
I should be looking away. I should be ashamed.
But fuck me, if seeing him sitting there, cool as a cucumber, playing cards with the biggest fucking hard-on I’ve ever seen in my life isn’t the most incredible feeling.
