Sext God

I squeeze her shoulders, wanting to squeeze her harder, wanting to undress her here, in his abandoned hallway, far away from the thousands of people on the casino floor above us, the thousands of people filing into the amphitheater. It's just the two of us, no one would know.

“I think I can handle it all myself.” I say begrudgingly. “I’ll be up there in a little while. Give Bunny the superstar treatment. Be a big shot.”

She smiles broadly, dimpling her cheeks and pushing up on her toes to kiss me quickly before stepping back into the elevator. She raises one hand and wiggles her fingers.

“Yes…” she says breathlessly as the doors close, “yes, boss.”

Chapter 21

Dahlia

Groups of people file through the lobby, dressed in all kinds of ways. I always thought that casinos were super fancy, like a scene out of a James Bond movie, but a lot of these people look like they're going to watch their kid’s T-ball game or something. Then again, other people look like they're going to church. It's a wide variety of people, with wide variety of means. Some of them look really well-off and ready to drop a thousand dollars like it’s no big deal, and some of them look like they’re just here for the ambience, happy to spend an hour or so playing penny slots.

I spot Bunny through the glass doors as she exits her Uber. She's dressed in a short black shift with a plunging neckline. The rows of bangles stacked up her lower arms glitter as she walks toward me.

“Holy shit, you look amazing,” I tell her honestly. “You didn't have to get dressed up for me.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “I did not get dressed up for you, Dahlia. I just got dress up for… you know. This swanky cosmopolitan lifestyle. It's a thing.”

“You showed up in an Uber,” I remind her. “Not a Rolls Royce.”

“Whatever,” she sighs, tucking her pocketbook under her arm. She sways back and forth, letting her eyes investigate me critically.

“That’s a cute dress,” she remarks.

“It's got pockets.”

“Oh my God, what is it with you and pockets?” she huffs. “Lots of dresses have pockets.”

“No, for your information, most dresses don't have pockets. Pockets mean I can carry stuff and I don't have have to ca

rry a purse. Pockets are good if you need to, you know, be ready for action.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say,” she says. “Like, what kind of action do we need to be ready for? More stalker stuff?”

Pivoting, we start to follow the flow of traffic. I try to keep my voice at a confidential level.

“No, the stalker stuff is… well, it’s not an issue anymore.”

“Oh my God, that’s a relief!” she sighs. “I hope your boyfriend can be a little less overbearing huh? Maybe crack a smile from time to time?”

“Ha! Maybe. That would be nice.”

We walk through the casino, sticking to the main hallway. I squint at the overhead signs that point the way toward the amphitheater where Kirkman is playing so we can get to the VIP room.

The casino floor is extremely noisy, confusing displays of lights, sudden bursts of noise as people yell about their jackpots, and slot machines that make deafening eruptions of sound.

The room is gigantic and lavish. There must be thousands of people in here and it seems to go on forever. The carpet is crazy — I don’t think I have ever seen anything like it before. It has swirling harlequin patterns in reds and golds and black. Huge chandeliers glitter over our heads among hundred of small globes for the security cameras. A waitress offers us a drink and we shake our heads politely and move on.

Between the noise and all the excitement and all the people, coupled with the patterns and the blinking lights, the space is extremely confusing. I don't know how people can work here, having the sensory overload day in and day out.

And yet, I kind of want to see what it's like. I hope we get a chance to try out some of the machines later. I always thought that I might be good at blackjack.

“This place is crazy, huh?” Bunny asks, smiling brightly as her head swivels from side to side. “Is August going to be working all night? Do you want to get a drink or two?”

“No, I should probably take it easy,” I say, raising my voice over the din. “I need to stay alert… you know, for my new job.”

“Your new job?” she repeats. “You got a new job? Dahlia? What is going on?”