Beautiful Bombshell (11 page)

Bennett sat motionless, his face impassive.

The man turned to me, eyebrows raised as if I was meant to speak for both of us.

“No,” I said, giving my best, relaxed smile. “If we were at my mum’s house we would have been offered chips and Guinness.”

Ignoring my wisecrack, Hammer stepped forward. “What do you think the house does when we get card counters in here?”

“Mate, I wouldn’t know how to count cards even if I was trained by fucking Rain Man. The repercussions are beyond me.”

“You think you’re funny?”

I sat back in my chair, exhaling heavily. This was pants. “I think I’m
baffled
. I lost all my chips. Even if we were counting cards, we’re not exactly good at it, so I can’t quite suss out what we’re doing here.”

“The best counters let themselves lose sometimes. You think by counting you’ll only ever win?”

I sighed, leaning forward, my elbows resting on my knees. This was going nowhere with the continued rhetorical questions. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Hammer looked surprised, straightening. “Go.”

“I’ve never played blackjack in my life before tonight. This one?” I said, nodding to Bennett. “He negotiates drink prices when we’re sitting at a table and they’re
already
free
. He doesn’t fucking
gamble
.”

Snorting, Kim said, “And yet here you are, in a two-deck pitch, you stand on s-seventeen, double after split.”

Bennett leaned forward, genuinely curious. “Was that English?”

For the first time since we walked in here, I saw the corner of Kim’s lips twitch as if repressing a smile. Or a snarl. I couldn’t actually be sure.

“I’m going to give you two choices,” Hammer said. “One, I break your fingers. Or two, I break your face.”

I blinked, feeling a brief moment of pride that I had correctly predicted our punishment. But something felt
off
. Just because I hadn’t played blackjack in Vegas before didn’t mean I had been living under a rock. Finger-and face-breaking seemed a touch off-protocol for a couple of guys suspected of counting cards.

“Let’s see your hands,” Kim said, patting the table.

“You’re delusional,” Bennett replied, laughing incredulously.

“I’ll start with the pinkie,” Hammer said, lips twitching. “No one needs their pinkie.”

“Get stuffed, all right?” I growled, feeling a disorienting mix of impatience and righteous indignation building in my chest. “Forget the accent, I’m a fucking American citizen, you arseholes—I know my rights. If you’re going to start talking about getting violent, get a fucking cop or lawyer in here.”

The door swung open, and bloody
Will
entered,
clapping slowly. Ice trickled into my veins, and I leaned back in my chair with a harsh exhale.

“Oh, you wanker,” I sighed.

“It was perfect!” He smiled at Hammer and Kim, and I groaned, dropping my head onto my arms on the table. I should have known. “You were angry, but convincing,” he said to me. “You might have thrown in an indignant fist slam for full effect, but I really like what you did with the American-citizen bit. Really got me right here.” I looked up just as he tapped his chest, over his heart, eyes soft and praising.

While Hammer and Kim stepped to the side, laughing, Bennett stood, walking over to Will. For a second I wondered if he was going to punch him or maybe just kick Will in the goolies, but then I realized he was smiling. He looked Will in the eye for a count of about three, and then patted his shoulder before simply walking to the door. “Well played,” he murmured before disappearing down the hall.

Hammer and Kim moved to me, hands extended and smiles full and easy now. “Sorry, man,” Hammer said, laughing. “Mr. Johnny French called. Said we needed to help your friend Will even the score. Apparently you deserved some payback for acting like pussy-whipped little babies earlier?” He held his hands up, shrugging in a way that made me wonder whether he was officially associated with the mob. “We just wanted to fuck with you a little.”

“Seemed the easiest way to get you away from the ladies,” Will said, rocking on his heels.

I sighed, rubbing my face and feeling my heart rate slowly return to normal. All said, this was a pretty brilliant prank. “Well, while you had us back here, I’m pretty sure Chloe was out there cleaning up.”

“She did pretty well,” Will agreed. “Few thousand at least.”

“Come on,” Kim said, helping me up and slapping my back. “Go out there and get drunk.”

“I’ll tell you what,” I said, returning his handshake. “I’m staying the fuck away from cards.”

“I’m an American citizen!”
Will yelled, and then collapsed into the couch in hysterics. It was probably the tenth time he’d made this proclamation in the past fifteen minutes.

“So,” I began. “You paid those men a hundred dollars to scare the piss out of us. How’d that work out for you?”

Ignoring me, Will pretended to wipe away a tear. “Your patriotic battle cry at the end is going to stay with me for all my days.”

“It was pretty amazing,” Bennett agreed.

We sat around a low glass table in a posh bar at the Bellagio, lounging on soft suede couches and sipping
what felt like our millionth cocktail of the night. My inebriation snuck up on me; until this moment, I hadn’t really felt it. But with my adrenaline slowly slipping from my veins, and knowing the girls were safely somewhere in their beds, my limbs grew heavy with the effects of our adventures, and the accumulated alcohol.

All around us, the bar was quiet; it was well past three in the morning, and most of the people remaining were in the casino, or at one of the more wild bars.

From the corner of my eye, I saw a man approach our table. He wore a tailored suit, an earpiece, and had the distinct look of importance about him; the waiters made room for him, all offered him nervous hellos. Clearly someone of circumstance was headed our way, and since Will was seated at the table with us, I was disinclined to think he was fucking with us again.

“Gentlemen,” the man said, standing at the head of the table. “You must be Bennett, Max, and Will.”

We all nodded, sharing pleasantries.

“The elder Mr. Ryan has joined us in the high rollers room,” he then said. So that’s where Henry had gotten to. “But his phone is dead, and he asked me to come check on you. My name is Michael Hawk, and I’m the vice president of client relations here at the Bellagio.”

I chanced a look at my friends, to see when they
registered that, with some people in his life, this man might be known as Mike Hawk. Will closed his eyes for a beat, swallowed with effort, and then opened them again, containing himself. Bennett nodded, and to my complete fascination, had to bite his top lip to repress any further reaction.

“I wanted to make sure that you were enjoying your night,” Mr. Hawk continued, looking at each of us in turn.

“It’s been fantastic,” I answered, unable to look away from Bennett. I hadn’t seen anything like this from him in at least a decade: his lip shook, he covered it with his finger, and his eyes started to water. Finally, he looked over to me . . . and then he absolutely fucking
broke
.

With a hand splayed over his face, Ben leaned back into the sofa and shook with laughter, just drunk enough, and tired enough, and full up to fucking
here
with the insanity of the night to completely lose his shit over some guy named Mike Hawk standing in front of us. Beside him, Will turned red before bending and covering his face with both hands.

“I’m sorry,” Will gasped from behind his fingers. “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Hawk. It’s just too much.”

Turning back up to the man beside our table, I smiled. “Thanks very much for checking in. Go ahead and let Henry know we’re sorted.”

Mike Hawk wasn’t a tall man, and he didn’t look as hard and intimidating as the casino executives in movies would lead me to expect. He was average height, with a round, friendly face and eyes full of understanding. He gave a little laugh, shaking his head before leaving us with, “Enjoy your stay, gentlemen.”

“I would like to state for the record,” I started once he’d left, “that I am the only fucking bloke at this table who was able to keep his arse together.”

“Mike Hawk!” Bennett practically yelled at me, dropping his hand. His eyes were red from laughing. “How am I supposed to keep it together over that? That’s like meeting a fucking
unicorn
.”

Will leaned over to high-five him, and then sighed, leaning his head back against the back of the couch. “Holy crap that may have been the highlight of the night.”

“The night is young,” Bennett said, recovering with only a slight slur to his words. He glanced at Will’s empty glass. “Have another.”

“No. It’s too late to get me drunk and have your wicked way with me.”

“Garçon!” I yelled, grinning. “A scotch for the curmudgeon. Bring the whole bottle if you would.”

“I told you, Max, I’m not drinking that.” Will turned his face away in mock anger. “It’s too damn late to pretend you love me.”

The waiter slid the glass of scotch in front of Will and, with a quiet clink, set the entire bottle beside it.

Will stared at me, at the bottle, and then shook his head. “No.”

“The thing is,” Will slurred, tossing a sloppy arm around my shoulders. “Women are
tricky
.” He waved the index finger of his free hand in front of my face. “How often do you meet one you can imagine just hanging out with like
this
?” He dragged the
s
out to about five seconds, and then lurched forward, reaching for his glass. It skittered away from his fingertips before he finally captured it with his palm.

“Just the one,” I admitted. “And even with Sara, it’s different than with you guys. I try to curb the swearing.” I rubbed my jaw, reconsidering. “Sort of.”

“You curbing the swearing is like me curbing the . . .” Will trailed off, thinking. “The something. I’m hungry.” He ran a hand over his face and looked at his watch. Likewise, I checked my phone. It was nearly five thirty in the morning. “Actually, I’m tired. Let’s meet for lunch at noon and start this fucking bachelor party thing over again tomorrow.”

The three of us stood, closed out our tab, and made our way toward the bank of elevators, each of us scrambling
in our pockets to find our room key to show security.

We stood in silence as the doors opened. I was blissfully tipsy and ready for a good snog with my lady upstairs. I almost couldn’t wait to see what we could stir up tomorrow.

Will’s voice broke the silence in the elevator. “Should we be even mildly concerned about Henry down there in the high rollers room?”

I reached into my jacket pocket, pulling out my brother’s credit card—the only one Mina let him leave home with. “I have no idea what he’s playing, but he’ll either keep winning or run out of money and the only card he’ll have in his wallet will be the one that opens his hotel room door.”

“Brilliant,” Max murmured, sleepily leaning into the wall of the elevator car. “I’m fucking knackered.”

Will sighed, watching the numbers climb on the digital display. “You know, for being a couple of neutered assholes, you guys actually managed to make a pretty entertaining night out of it.”

“Nudie club, fake medical emergencies, fan-fucking-tastic dinner, grand theft auto, transvestite escort, Chloe wins a few grand, and we nearly get maimed by some goons,” Max said, standing up straighter. “Not so bad, eh?”

Will turned to stare at him. “Grand theft auto?”

Max rubbed his face, shaking his head. “A story for another—”

Will held up a hand, eyes wide as if he’d already moved on from his first question. “And how could you forget Mike Hawk? I think, especially for the two of you,
Mike Hawk
figured quite prominently in this evening’s activities.” Will hiccupped, weaving slightly as the doors to our floor opened. “I’d say you’re pussy-whipped, but I think it’s even worse than that.”

I watched as Max’s smile went from self-satisfied to mocking. “Will.
Darling
.” He put a heavy hand on Will’s cheek and clucked his tongue. “I can’t wait for that one girl to come in and kick your feet out from under you. You think you have things organized, sorted. You think you’re content with your low-key bachelor apartment, with your triathlons and your work and your scheduled pussy. When
that one girl
comes along, I’m going to say I told you so, and give you no bloody sympathy when you’ve turned into a lovesick strop.” With a light slap to Will’s cheek, he stepped away, laughing as he walked down the hall. “Can’t fucking
wait
for it, mate.”

Will watched Max’s heavy limbs and dragging feet, and then turned to me expectantly as if I would add to the lecture. I shrugged. “Pretty much what he said. When you find that girl, we’ll be happy for you, but mostly we’ll be happy to give you endless shit.”

“This is why you’re my people,” he mumbled, punching
me weakly in the chest before turning the opposite way down the hall.

Bidding Will good night, I walked to my room, wishing I knew where Chloe was staying. Even as exhausted and half drunk as I was, I still would have gone downstairs and climbed in a cab to go anywhere to her.

Just inside my door, I stopped at my closet to hang up my blazer, and froze. Dangling from a wooden hanger was Chloe’s lingerie from the club, the jewel stones of the tiny bra and underwear winking green and white in the dim light coming in the bedroom window.

I moved farther into the room, wanting to confirm what my racing pulse had concluded: she was here, in my bed, waiting for me. Sure enough, a Chloe-shaped lump was sound asleep amid a mountain of blankets and pillows in the middle of the king mattress.

Stripping my clothes off and leaving them in a discarded pile on the floor, I climbed over her, braced on my arms and legs. Not touching her, not yet, just taking her in: a tangle of brown curls against the stark white bed linens, eyes closed but lids fluttering in her dreams, lips wet and red and begging to be kissed. Everything below her neck was covered by her cocoon of blankets, and when I stared down at the steady rhythm of her pulse beneath the delicate skin of her neck, I felt a little predatory. The thrill of being able to do
this—kiss her, wake her up, fuck her—was still as fresh tonight as it was nearly two years ago when, for the first time, we finally had time alone in a hotel.