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Asif to soothe my disappointment, he suggested, “Doyou know where she’s celebratingNewYear’s?Wecan meet her there.”
Ilooked through my texts withSophieabout mentions of herNewYear’splans. “Sheis going toXtasy.It’sa club insideParadiseHotel.”Sophiewas ringing in theNewYearwith some friends and suggested going in with them on the table.Sufficeto say,Ididn’t take her up on the offer.
“Thereyou go.We’llmeet her there before she starts having too much fun.”
“Whatdo we do until then?"
Damonturned toward me and moved closer, our bodies nearly touching.Heleft his suit jacket in the limousine and just wore the fitted white shirt.Heatemanated through the thin material, accompanied by an undercurrent of danger. "Thesame thing," he said suggestively. "Fun."
"Whatdid you have in mind?"
Hebrushed a strand of hair away from my face. "Ihear you're an expert at counting cards."
NotwhatIexpected him to say.
"Alittle gambling never hurt anyone," he added whenIdidn't jump at the suggestion.
"Addictswould argue it hurts a lot of people."
Hissmirk remained intact as he leaned closer, his lips inches away from mine. "Gamblingnever hurtyou."
WhatIshould've asked was how he could've possibly known that.Instead,Imade another round of excuses.Thisman lived inside my brain.
"So?Shouldwe put your gambling skills to the test?"
“Leadthe way.”JustasIsaid it,Irealized something. "MyfakeIDis in my bag in the car."Igrimaced, rememberingDamonwas much older and not prepared to deal with this problem.Anotherarena that wouldn’t be a problem forRose.
"Youdon't need it."Damontook my hand.
“Whereare we going?”
“You’llsee.”
Damonled me to an area separate from the casino floor and spoke to a lady with decorated strings of pearls in her bun.Whateverhe said to her, the eloquence had the woman complying without argument.Sheshowed us to a private room behind a set of closed doors.
Theplace was packed with numerous tables on each side, but the seas parted whenDamonentered.Wequickly found a blackjack table, its shiny surface reflecting the eager faces of the players surrounding it.Damonbartered with the croupier, handing over a wad of cash.Isat beside him at the half-moon table as he set a pile of chips before me.Belatedly,Irealized he had exchanged chips for the both of us.
“Ihave money”
Abusty server in fishnet stockings interjected me, looking like she walked out of a femme-fatale photo shoot.DamonandIsat side by side, but she maneuvered into the minuscule space between our seats, positioning herself so her knockers would inadvertently brush against him. "Drinks?" she purred rather than asked.
Damonasked her to bring their driest bottle of champagne, dry was my favorite as well, and handed over his credit card.
Femme-Fataleflipped her hair and examined the card, the curled auburn strands hitting me in the face.Shehad yet to acknowledge my presence with her back turned to me. "Anythingfor you,Mr.Maxwell."
Iinwardly snorted.Mustbe nice to beDamonfuckingMaxwell.
Thebottle arrived before the dealer finished shuffling the decks.Femme-Fatalepoured the champagne, butDamonpointedly motioned at me when she tried handing him a flute.Atlong last, she was forced to accept my existence and resentfully offered me the glass instead.Isarcastically raised it to her “excellent” service.Theserver wasn’t flustered by my mock solute, offeringDamonthe other flute before placing the half-empty bottle in an ice bucket stand.
“Shedidn't check myID."Istudied the room. “Neitherdid anyone else here.”
Damongave a husky laugh. “Peoplelook the other way in this room because only a select few can afford to enter it."
“Howdo you know about this place?”
“Doesit matter?”Damonraised his glass. “Cheers.”
Ionly drank a select number of times per year.Itwas rare whenIsought a state of relaxation, but who better to partake in it with than my new partner in crime?
