The Little Black Dress (Love in Las Vegas)

Every day this week, I’ve seen little bits of humanity in him. Kindness to the old ladies Sam told me they call The Granny Patrol. Sincerity when I––accidentally––overheard him telling Scotty how bright and amazing his future will be with Dean in New York. Hell, I even found donation receipts from various homeless shelters listing hundreds of meals he’d donated from the casino’s restaurant and buffet to feed the hungry.

That one made my eyes burn with emotion.

It also made me realize Jared is nowhere near the asshole I thought him to be. Reticent? Sure. Rough around the edges? Definitely. But he’s not all bad.

It also sent me into a shame-spiral of self-evaluation. All the man did was buy a painting at an auction, and I flew off the deep end, yelling at him for stealing it from me, then accosting him the next day in his own casino…while I was intoxicated. Sure, his reactions to my actions were surly, at best, but I started it. All of it.

And I’m woman enough to admit that. To myself, at least.

Pulling out my little black dress, I eye it warily. Before last week, I wouldn’t have hesitated to put it on tonight. It is my lucky dress, after all. Or, at least, it was.

I know I said I was going to burn it after the whole auction debacle and losing my job, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Plus, I got this job wearing it, so maybe the dark power of Friday the thirteenth overrode its luck, just that once.

I pull the protective plastic bag off as I walk to the bed and lay it gently on the mattress. Lucky or not, I look damn good in this dress, and it’s perfect for tonight.

I take a quick shower, careful not to get my hair wet while getting clean and shaving my legs and armpits. I slip on a black satin thong and a matching strapless bra, then rub my favorite lotion into my skin. Curling my long red hair into fat waves, I tie it up in a high ponytail before applying some makeup. Deciding to go glam tonight, I give myself a smoky-eyed look complete with some thick, curling fake eyelashes before painting on bright red lipstick.

Once I pull on the dress and slide into my favorite red heels, I give myself a once-over in the full-length mirror on my wall. I look damn good. Smiling at my reflection, I grab a small red clutch, throw my I.D., my lipstick, and a compact mirror inside, and head out the door.

The car I ordered shows up promptly, and I climb inside with a smile for the driver. I don’t intend to drink very much tonight, but who knows where the night will lead? Maybe I’ll meet someone and go home with him.

Lord knows, it’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man. In my lucky dress and my almost-as-lucky shoes, I’m feeling confident enough to consider the possibility.

When I walk into the restaurant, my eyes scan the crowd. An impressive number of people are here to say goodbye to Scotty and wish him well, which is a testament to how well-liked he is around here. I briefly wonder if I’d ever get to the point where people would see me off like this, then brush the errant thought away. I won’t be here long enough to garner these kinds of friendships.

“Hey there, gorgeous.”

I turn toward the voice to see Sam headed my way, his eyes roving down my body and back up again while he pants like one of those old cartoon characters. His antics make me laugh, and his face softens into a smile.

“Why, thank you, sir,” I say with a coquettish curtsy. “You are a sweet, sweet balm to my ego, Sam Simmons.”

“Like you need reassurance,” he laughs, taking my hand and brushing his lips over my knuckles.

His eyes dart to my right as he does it, but before I can look, he’s pulling me toward the bar while exclaiming we need a drink. I laugh and let him tug me along, eager for a cocktail, myself.

I figured out pretty early in our dealings that Sam is a huge flirt and nothing he says or does should be taken seriously. He makes me laugh, and I enjoy talking to him, but there’s no spark there. He’s honestly just a friend. Nothing more.

At the bar, I order an apple martini. As I take my first sip, I turn around and come face-to-face with Jared. His sudden appearance startles me, and some of the drink burns down the wrong pipe, making me cough violently. Jared takes my martini glass before I spill it, then pats my back awkwardly until the hacking stops.

“You okay, there, beautiful?” Sam asks, his gaze darting between me and Jared as one corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk.

“She’s fine,” Jared grumbles, handing my glass back to me before taking a small step away.

“Thank you,” I say softly, my voice a little hoarse from the coughing.

“Don’t you own any other dresses?” he asks, his gaze raking down the length of me before meeting mine.

“Jared.”

Sam’s reprimand goes unheeded as Jared’s lip curls up into a sneer. “I’ve only known you for a week and this is the third time you’ve worn it.”

So much for him not being an asshole.

I turn my attention to Sam and smile. “Thanks for the drink.”

Then, without a word to Jared, I squeeze around him and head through the crowd to the opposite side of the room in search of Scotty. I feel angry and insulted, but I refuse to let Jared’s bad attitude ruin my night. I’m here to have fun and say goodbye to someone I’ve quickly come to consider a friend.

I remember Scotty’s words from earlier. He’s coming around.

Not.

If I want to have fun tonight, I’m just going to have to stay as far away from Jared as possible. That shouldn’t be too hard, should it?