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I very, very slowly lower my victory fists.
The avenging angel flicks champagne off his arms as he stares at me. It’s not quite a glare, but he’s not laughing, either. Droplets cling to the perfectly manicured, just-this-side-of-shadow beard, and the way the light hits him makes them sparkle.
I should be apologizing, but I can’t stop staring at how tragically beautiful he truly is.
I should really be apologizing.
“I-I am…sosorry!” I frantically glance around for napkins and only find a used wad of them on the machine next to mine. Ew, no. “Really, I?—”
“Have no consideration for your surroundings?”
If I thought his face was gorgeous, his deep timbre has officially made my insides melt.
It takes me a moment to register the actual words he said. When they do, they hit deep and I flinch.
I muster an embarrassed little smile. Broken glass crunches under his feet when he steps to the side, and I flinch again.
He towers over me, a good head and a half taller at the very least. Even stained with bubbly, his expensive tuxedo screams “powerful,” and the contours of the body beneath it underscore that word times a hundred. Dark hair falls into his eyes when he looks back at me again, and I suck in a breath at the way his smoky gray eyes seem to glow in the casino’s lighting.
Those eyes flick to the paper clenched in my lowered fist. His brow arches as realization dawns on him. “Jackpot win?”
That vacuum on my lungs threatens to start up again as I slowly nod. “Yeah,” comes out more like a squeak than an actual word.
“Congratulations.” He chuckles. “Now, you can afford a new tux for me.”
I blanch.
“Breathe. I’m kidding.” He accepts a cloth napkin that a stunning woman with dark curls hands him and pats himself down. I instantly recognize her from the town car when I first came in.
Oh, good Lord. I’ve doused her husband in alcohol.
She’s doing her absolute best to hold back the laughter as she nods to someone in the pit and helps my splash zone victim dab off the remaining liquid from his sleeve. I’m actually envious of her. I volunteer myself to be the one to feel his biceps through the fabric.
I give myself a subtle little shake.Focus, Clara.
“Really, is there anything I can do?” I ask. “I feel terrible.”
He waves me off. “Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy the rest of your evening, and try to aim your bubbly next time.” His face grows suddenly serious. “Any more champagne showers in here, and I’ll have to call Security.”
I almost gasp—but then he winks at me.
Then he saunters off, gorgeous wife/girlfriend/escort/whoever trailing close behind him.
She suddenly stops. Turns around. And stares at me.
Her eyes flick to the flashing graphics on the slot machine I’m standing in front of. She glances down at a tablet tucked on her arm, then back up at me.
She looks shocked.
And then the most impish grin I’ve ever seen on a human being spreads across her face.
She wiggles her fingers at me in a playful “goodbye,” and in a strange move, also blows me a kiss. Then she spins on her elegant stilettos and sashays away, albeit not exactly in the same direction as the Champagne Angel. Odd, but who am I to judge couples in Vegas?
Lord knows I’ve got my own relationship problems.
I uncrumple the paper from my death-grip and read the jackpot total again.
And again.
