Sure Thing

“I can tell you about the dancer of questionable moral character I fucked last night, if you prefer.”

“Jesus, Rhys.” I close my eyes behind my sunglasses and rub my temple, a headache already forming.

“So what happened? Talk it out, buddy. I thought this girl was going to make an honest man out of you.”

“Honesty wasn’t her strong suit, as it turns out.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

He’s silent once again and I’m hopeful that’s the end of his inquisition. It’s not, of course. Because hoping has nil to do with reality.

“So what I’m hearing is that you need more liquor before I get the story.” Rhys taps his fingers against the wheel as we’re stopped at a red light.

“Where should I start, you nosey fucker?”

“The beginning. And stop sighing at me like a little bitch.”

“Fine,” I agree. Then I try to recall where this week went so horribly wrong. “She was hiding something. From the very first night she was hiding something.”

“As were you,” Rhys points out like an annoying prick.

“Whose side are you on?”

“Don’t be such a woman, Jesus. This chick’s really got you wound up tight.”

“You’re right.” The light turns green and we cross Tropicana Avenue. The Vegas Strip is a few streets to the left but impossible to miss. Daisy was impossible to miss too. “Let’s walk the property so I can see what’s been done since my last visit. I’ll tell you the rest when I’ve had another drink.”

We spend the better part of two hours walking around the new hotel. Vegas is the complete opposite of everything I’m used to. Massive and gaudy to my eye, but profitable, and that I can appreciate. The Windsor is set to open in just under a month. At just under two thousand rooms it’s considered small by Vegas standards. A boutique behemoth. What a ridiculous oxymoron.

We picked up the property under two years ago. Another developer had abandoned the project mid-construction, left near completion, but vacant. Viewing the property was eerie. An abandoned ghost town filled with untapped potential. Flash-forward to today and it’s anything but still. Workers everywhere. Casino tables in place. Slot machines being delivered and rolled in as we watch.

Rhys found the property, convinced me and the board of the potential, and here we are. The original plans were reconfigured to fit our vision and our corporate brand. We were able to turn the property around much quicker by renovating what the previous owner had started as opposed to starting again with new construction.

“Well done, Rhys,” I tell him as we make our way to the executive apartments. There’s a separate floor with living quarters for the senior staff of the hotel, should they choose to live on site.

“Thanks.” He runs me through the projected occupancy rate for the remainder of the year. Numbers well within reach. I’ve already run the numbers myself and am projecting this venture will become the highest source of revenue for our company within eighteen months.

But I’m not interested in business at the moment. This trip is superfluous business-wise. I came to drown my sorrows, truth be told. “Show me what Vegas has to distract me.”

Rhys’ eyes light up and he claps me on the back as the lift doors open ahead of us. “I know just the thing.”

Famous last words.

Four-ish drinks later I’m telling him everything. He’s taken me to some bar his buddy owns. In Henderson, for fuck’s sake, but at least it’s not a strip club. He offered, of course he did. He offered hookers too after I passed on the strippers and I wondered if possibly his mum wasn’t right to be worried about him.

“So I go running back to the hotel like a fucking knob,” I tell him. “We missed the farewell dinner due to the accident. It was late by the time Nan was admitted, so I’m rushing back to the hotel. Desperate to see Daisy even though she’s clearly a bit of a nutter.” We’re sitting at the bar and I motion for another drink.

“Clearly.” Rhys is doing his best to keep up with my drunken ramblings. He’s a brilliant friend.

“And the wanker of a driver is going into her room.”

“Ah.” He winces in reaction to my misery.

“Right! The guy she said she’d nothing going on with. Walking into her room at quarter past ten in the evening.”

“Lying whore.” Rhys shakes his head in empathy.

“Don’t call her that.” I scowl at him and pound back the shot in front of me.

“Sorry.” Rhys holds up a hand in apology. “I thought we hated her. Got it. We’re not there yet.”

“Maybe it was the driver she was trying to get back at. By picking me up that night. Do you think?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs, because there’s nothing much else to say, is there?

“I don’t think it was normal behavior for her though. Picking me up in the bar. She was fairly awkward at it.”

I sip at the bourbon I’m consuming between shots and try to run through the events in my head again. My memory is cloudy at present.

“Her pussy was fucking nirvana.” I’m not certain what that has to do with anything but in my drunken state it feels important to mention. “And her mouth, bloody hell.” I drop my head into my hands on the bar top.

“I’m not saying a word,” Rhys mumbles before tipping his own glass to his lips. He tossed his keys to the bartender an hour ago and settled onto the stool for the long haul of watching me get drunk and listening to my rambles.

“I think she misled me.”

“With her magic pussy?”

“Yeah, exactly.” I glance around. “Do they have any food in this bar? I think we should eat.”

“Nah. We’ll have the car swing through In-N-Out Burger on the way back.”

“We don’t have the keys, Rhys. And you can’t drive a Tesla drunk. I know the damn thing drives itself, but that can’t be allowed. If that’s allowed, next thing you know people will be strapping their kids in and sending them to nursery in a car with no driver! Society has gone to hell.” I shake my head and think about waving a fist in the air like an old man. Because I’m fucking old.

“Car service will pick us up,” he replies, holding up his mobile. “When we’re ready.”

“Fuck,” I groan. “I don’t even have a phone. Lost it during the accident. My dick is dry and I’ve got no mobile.” I glance back at the bar and knock back the remainder of my drink in one gulp and stand, albeit shakily.

“Okay, I guess you’re ready now.” Rhys taps a contact on his mobile with one hand and signals the bartender with the other.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Violet

I drop Daisy’s suitcase in her entryway with a sigh of relief. Home, sweet home. Or home, sweet Daisy’s couch in my case. Traveling sucks. Traveling while feeling sorry for yourself sucks even more.

So that’s over.

The trip.

And Jennings.

I want to hate him, but I don’t. I want to be angry at him for showing me something wonderful and then taking it away.

Fine. I’m a little angry. I kick off my shoes and grab a diet soda from the fridge before slumping onto the couch.

It was all a big fat lie anyway.

Because I’m a liar and I got what I deserved, didn’t I? Still, I did my best to tell him the truth. As much as I could.

My feelings were real.

Daisy’s apartment is so quiet I can hear her wall clock ticking. Tick, tick, tick.

He left without so much as a goodbye. I’m sorta numb about that. Like how in the hell does that happen to a girl twice? At least with Mark I was able to call him an asshole to his face. I had to leave Jennings a note, since I couldn’t find him. I asked at the front desk if he’d checked out. They don’t normally share information like that but they knew me as the tour guide. I played it off like I was worried about him getting to the airport and wondered if he’d checked out yet.

Nope. He extended his stay. His and his nan’s.

So on my way to the airport I left a note for him at the front desk. Who even knows if he got it, but I felt good writing it.

Yet as I sit here I’m conflicted. I so badly want to make excuses for him. Understand what happened. Maybe something came up? An emergency? Maybe I misunderstood and I was supposed to meet him somewhere and I’m the one who didn’t show up?

These crazy thoughts are swiftly followed by rational ones. The ones that point out none of that is likely. That he knew which room I was staying in. That he didn’t leave a note for me at the desk. That he never picked up his phone. That he owed me nothing.

I’ve got no right to be upset.

I asked for a one-night stand and I got it. I cringe, remembering that I told him I was counting him as my one-night stand. I’m such an asshole.

I pop open the soda and wiggle the can tab back and forth until it pops off. I’m not sure why I do this. I don’t like drinking out of the can if the tab is missing. It feels weird against my lips, unfamiliar. It shouldn’t make the soda taste any different but it ruins the experience.