Double Blind (53 page)

Randy tried to make his shrug casual. “Yeah, but who knows how long that’s going to last? You and Mitch, now, I’m counting on to visit me in the retirement home. Well, Mitch will be next door. You, sweet young thing, had better bring us contraband.”

“Hey.” Sam drew back, giving Randy a stern look. “I thought you and Ethan were serious! What happened? What did you do?”

“Why the hell are you assuming it’s me?” Randy demanded. “Anyway, nothing’s happened. But you know it will.”

He fucking hated how much it hurt to admit that.

“I’m just being practical,” he added, but damn it, no words could wipe that dull ache away. Fucking hell.

“You’re being stupid,” Sam said. “Randy—my God, the man is head over heels for you! You
both
are head over heels.”

“Look,” Randy said tersely, “not everybody gets what you and Mitch have. Not everybody is so lucky. And I in particular
never
get lucky like that. It’s just a ride, Peaches. It’s a good ride, but it’s going to end. I’m not going to pretend differently and get all chewed up.”

“There’s no kill switch on a heart, Randy,” Sam scolded.

Don’t I fucking know it.
“That’s sweet, Peaches,” he bit off. “We’ll have them put that on the next Harley catalog cover.”

Two years ago that would have made Sam falter and blush. The kid
had
grown up, goddamn it, because he just folded his arms and regarded Randy coolly. “Randy, if that’s what you’re telling yourself, even if you don’t let him know that this is how you view him, you’re going to screw it up. Ethan loves you. I swear he does.”

For now.
“Sam, he’s a fucking investment broker. Look at him at that casino. Crabtree really knew what he was doing, plucking him up to run it. And when this game is done, he’ll move on to something bigger. Better. Brighter. He’s not going to stick around Vegas. He’s sure as hell not going to shack up permanently with a prop player-slash-rig mechanic, I’ll tell you that.”

Sam was looking at him like he was as stupid as a block of concrete. “Randy, he
adopted two cats
and
brought them to your house.
And he clicker trained them so they wouldn’t scratch your furniture and mess up your place! He goes to the
grocery store!
He’s figured out what food you like just by studying the cupboards, and he knows to save one jar of peanut butter just for you because you eat out of it with a spoon.”

“He’s just considerate.” Randy kicked at the dirt and watched the dust fly. “That’s Slick for you. He’s a nice, considerate guy.”

“He
knows
you, Randy, sometimes better than me. He loves you. I swear he does.” Sam sighed. “Don’t fuck that up, Randy.”

“Look,” Randy snapped. “Are you about done? Because you can either use the hour I have before work to get a bike lesson, or you can give me some candy-ass lecture. Which do you want? Because if we’re going to cry about our feelings, I want to go home and get my blankie.”

Even that didn’t get Sam. He just shook his head and flattened his lips. “I guess I’ll just be glad Mitch wasn’t such a dipshit about the two of us. I’m glad
he
isn’t scared I’m going to leave him.”

Randy snorted. “You don’t think he’s scared of that? Shit, Peaches, he’s fucking petrified of it. You’re a lot younger than he is. I’ve seen his face when you guys are out, when you check out other guys even just for playing around, and yes, he’s scared. Just like you’re scared he’s going to die on you. Everybody’s fucking scared, Sam. Everybody’s scared of something.”

“Yeah?” Sam said, getting pissed now.
Fucking finally.
But he didn’t give up, just pointed to the bike, and to the road. “I face my fears, Randy. I go to therapy on my own now. I learned to drive a stick shift, and now I’m learning to ride a motorcycle. I go up to the Stratosphere tower with you whenever you ask. And that night the two of you got high, I didn’t even check my phone for a text. It was just waiting for me when I woke up. I’m facing my fears. So is Mitch. And I think Ethan is too. What are
you
doing, Randy?”

Oh, it was a nice, hard blow, four times harder than the paddle. And it only pissed him off the more that he knew he probably needed this one more than he’d needed the other.

Fuck. This.

“I’m giving you a goddamn motorcycle lesson, that’s what I’m doing.” He glared and pointed at the left handlebar. “That’s the choke slider. Turn it, then kick the pedal back for first, two forward for second, and on up one at a time all the way to fifth gear.”

Sam blinked, fumbling around for the controls. “Wait—this? This here? The foot thing? Two what?”

“It’s just like the stick shift and clutch in a car, except you use your hand and your foot both,” Randy said, relaxing a little now that they were back to the bike again.

But not enough. He wasn’t relaxing enough, not even half an hour later when Sam was coming back around from his first successful lap, beaming.

What are you doing, Randy?
The question kept echoing in his head.

And the fuck of it was, he didn’t know. He didn’t have a fucking clue what he was doing. And any day now, it was going to bite him in the ass.

Just enjoy the ride while it lasts
, he tried to tell himself.
Just enjoy the ride.

“Let’s do it again,” he told Sam, and tried even harder, this time, to forget.

Two
weeks.

It was two weeks until Butterfly Nights, and Ethan still didn’t know who their headlining act would be. Two weeks until the show poker game, and he knew he’d never be ready to take Crabtree on. Sam was starting to beat him now, he was so nervous. He was losing it—not just his edge, but maybe even part of his mind. This had been a dumb, dumb idea, taking the casino on. It was going to bite him in the ass. Hard.

It might even kill him.

Fifteen days earlier, that had been his aim: to die. Now it was the only thing he knew he didn’t want. He was afraid, very afraid, that it was the only sure thing he had going.

Sam picked up on it when he stopped by after work to see how things were going. Sam always stopped by, more and more cheerful every day. He was only going to therapy once a week now, but he seemed more confident and less prone to panic attack. He even talked to the hospital about starting early and had begun his orientation at oncology. He was as sunny as his nickname promised almost all the time. And more and more it was Sam managing Ethan and Randy, and not just in bedroom games. Which was probably why when Sam came into his office wearing his lime-green scrubs and a bright smile, Ethan didn’t even try to fake it; he just looked at Sam with all the weariness and terror he felt and telegraphed,
Help me.

Dropping his duffel in the corner, Sam hurried forward. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this,” Ethan whispered, and shook his head as he stared down at the open ledger. “I don’t know why I ever thought I could. And I don’t know how to get out of it.”

“Hey.” Sam put a hand on his shoulder and began to massage gently. “
Hey.
It’s going to be great. I got a text from Caryle just before I left work, and she said she’s coming over with the costumes to show us. As soon as she gets a model, she says she’s going to do a new round of advertising.”

“
What for?
What are they coming
for
? We have no headliner. Just some lackluster buzz and some poker tournament I don’t even fully understand but am on the hook to Billy Junior for.” Ethan buried his hands in his hair. “I can’t do this.
I can’t do this.
”

Sam’s hand tightened on his shoulder again, then relaxed. “Hey,” he said, his tone gentling. “I need to hit the bathroom quick, and then we’ll go downstairs and play some craps, okay?”

Ethan didn’t want to play craps. He wanted to crawl into the secret closet and wall himself in. “Fine,” he said instead.

Fifteen minutes later they were at the table just to the left of the demon statue, and Ethan stared into its unseeing golden eyes as Sam rolled the dice. It was weird, how some days the demon looked friendly and some days it looked sexy and some days looked so scary he didn’t know how he’d ever thought it was anything but the most menacing thing he’d ever seen. It looked like that now. It mocked him, leering, water pouring out of its nostrils as it towered several heads taller than him, gleaming gold and glinting in the soft casino light.

Why had he ever thought he could contain this? Why had he thought he could run a casino? He wasn’t even the manager! He had ten million dollars in the bank, all of it put there by a mob man. Sarah had pulled him aside the other day and coached him as to how to respond to that, should the Nevada Gaming Commission ask, and he was told to say a private investment he’d made had turned up surprisingly beneficial, which was why he’d quit his job. When Ethan had explained this wasn’t true and could easily be proven, Sarah had simply replied that the proof was being arranged, and not to worry. If the Gaming Commission wanted details, he was to send them to her and she would take care of it.

This wasn’t even his game anymore. It never was. He was just a fool all over again, this time for Crabtree.

A group of college girls were standing off to the side of the statue, giggling, reaching around the sprays of water to rub his exposed organ. Ethan watched them, noticing how they blushed when they first reached, but once they took the fat golden cock into their hands, their faces twisted into a quiet sort of triumph. When they walked away, they looked bolder and more confident. Sarah had given him a print-out showing that guests who rubbed the demon dick stayed in the casino an average of two hours longer than the other guests, and they tended to spend at least half again as much money as their non-dick peers. They also won more, but because the house always wins, they collectively lost more too.

Was that all this was? Was he just rubbing a stupid golden phallus, thinking he was doing something wicked, giving himself a false sense of security, but he was really just playing stooge for the house?

A hand on his back startled him, but when it slid down and around to his hip in a familiar way, he knew Randy was standing there even before he turned to face him. He didn’t say anything, just looked at him.

Randy gave him a wry smile and said quietly, “Hey, Slick.”

Ethan stared at him.
I can’t do this, Randy
, he wanted to say, but couldn’t, just looked at him, afraid if he spoke that the chaos inside him would come tumbling out.

Randy patted his ass, then hooked his finger in a belt loop. “Come on, baby. I have something for you.”

They started for the stairs. Ethan realized he’d abandoned Sam, but Randy just shook his head and tugged again.

“No,” he said. “Peaches is the one who called me. Come on, baby. Come on.”

Now they’re both coddling you,
Ethan scolded himself, and descended to a new mental low.

Ethan stopped as they passed the demon statue. He stared up at it, then looked down at the gleaming cock. It already looked more polished than the rest of the statue, partly because the staff rubbed it too. They were buying it along with everyone else, Ethan realized.