The big screen in front of her flashes with some kind of bonus round, and early risers in the casino begin to stop near her slot machine just to watch the show.
A show that has you completely riveted.
She’s over the top, but I can’t deny her continued excited reactions don’t disappoint. Hell, I’m pretty sure I’m laughing—on the inside, at the very least.
The woman’s mane of curls bounces against her back as she twirls and cheers and even gives high fives to random passersby and casino staff.
“Sir?” The blackjack dealer grabs my attention, and I look back to my table to see he’s waiting on my next move. I assess my cards quickly—a king of hearts and another ten—and then see that a nine shows for the house.
“Stay,” I decide, and the play moves to Remy.
But my eyes veer back to that stupid-ass slot machine where the happiest woman in Vegas is still bouncing around in joy. In the foreground, Ty flits his eyes over to mine and they catch, and then he turns to look where I am.
I barely register the rest of my blackjack hand, let alone my brothers hooting and hollering, only noting that I beat the house when the dealer slides more chips my way.
Knowing full well that, unless you want to lose money, distraction and blackjack don’t mix, I know I need to start the process of exiting the table.
“Dayuuum, she’s pretty,” Ty mutters loudly. I presume he meant to keep that comment to himself, but the amount of booze he’s had is not at all conducive to volume control. Remy’s head turns slowly to match his gaze, and Jude covers his eyes dramatically, crooning, “Oh no, no, no… Me no lookie at the cookie.”
Without warning, Ty jumps up, bumping the table awkwardly, and practically wags his tail as he scoots across the casino floor toward the woman at the buffalo slot machine.
Oh, here we go…
Remy glances at me with a goofy grin, and I nod with a sigh, scooping Jude off his chair as I move from mine and follow Chipper Chuck toward a wild head of curls.
God help me because I can only imagine how this is going to go.
Daisy
I think I’m in love with Vegas.
Sure, I’ve only just arrived in Sin City, haven’t even checked in to my room, but Lady Luck is smiling down on me. Flashing her pearly whites and shaking her tits and telling me I’m the best little slot girl in the whole wide world.
“Buffalo! Bonus round!” my slot machine chants, and I watch the screen flash with excitement as the big wheel spins around and more money is added to my bankroll.
Technically, I’m here for work not pleasure, but holy shit, this is fantastic!
I don’t even like gambling, and I sure as shit don’t know what made me stop at this slot machine before heading up to my room, but damn, I’m glad I did.
The sounds of a running stampede fill my ears when I manage some kind of triple bonus with a screen full of buffalo. Truthfully, I don’t have a clue about this game. I don’t know what any of it means or why I’m winning, but when I look down at my bankroll, I see the numbers keep going up, up, up.
“Woo-hoo!” I cheer and do a little two-step dance beside my chair. When I glance over my shoulder, I force one of the casino staff who’s emptying out the trash cans to give me a high five.
Considering I’m the crazy woman jumping around like a banshee, he mostly looks confused, but eventually, a little grin spreads across his lips.
“Good luck, ma’am,” he says and moves across the casino floor, in the opposite direction from me and my lucky slot machine.
“Holy hell, I can’t believe this,” I whisper to myself and force my ass back into my chair as my bonus spins finish up and my winnings are calculated.
$135.13 Fantastic Win! sits front and center on the screen.
Somehow, after only putting a twenty-dollar bill into this machine, I’m up over a hundred bucks.
Viva Las Vegas, baby!
The rush of adrenaline pumping through my veins makes me understand why people love Vegas so much. I mean, I’ve just barely gotten off my plane from LAX, and I’m an official winner.
But now, the big question remains. Do I stay or do I go?
Do I keep playing? Or do I cash out my winnings and head up to my room to take a shower and a nap before I have to get ready for my work party?
I mean, you did just get off an early morning flight from LAX and probably smell like sweat and stale pretzels…
“Don’t get too cocky,” a man says from over my shoulder, making me whip my head around. He’s cute in a seriously obvious way with his playful light brown-blond hair and big smile, but the glaze in his eyes makes it equally apparent how drunk he is. “Trusts me, Lady Luck loves to hit cocky shits in the balls. I know because I’m one of ’em.”