Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
He deals. "Would you look at that. Twenty-one. You win."
"Just like that?" she asks.
He nods. "Just like that."
She looks to me. "This is kinda fun."
It is, watching her. There's some sense I don't recognize. Not pride, exactly. Not amusement either.
The joy of seeing someone I care about having a great time, even if it's at my expense. More so because it's my expense.
And another layer to it—
A desire to expand her horizons elsewhere.
I try to ignore that impulse.
Daphne stays oblivious to my dirty thoughts. Or maybe it's apathy. She asks the dealer for Las Vegas recommendations as she plays.
He suggests a number of nightclubs and strip clubs, practically drooling at the mental image of Daphne in a tawdry strip club.
Or maybe that's me.
No, it's both of us.
She's lucky. She's up two hundred dollars when she calls it. She smiles at my loss and says goodbye to the dealer, who leaves her with a card for a free drink at the hotel's nightclub, LAX.
After we cash our chips, she holds up the card. "Is this our next stop?" She smiles at the absurdity of a nightclub themed after an airport. After the worst airport on the West Coast.
Why would anyone find that fun? "It's not open."
"Ah, that's good. You don't think LAX is fun yet. There's hope for you."
"I don't yet consider business trips fun?"
"Or do you?" She smiles, teasing.
My lips curl into a smile too. I like her teasing me. I like it too much.
We are on the same page here.
My shoulders fall in relief.
Daphne leads me to the club. At the moment, it's just a sign and a dark room. None of the joy people associate with a night out or the horror people associate with the Los Angeles airport. "If we really hit rock bottom, we can use this tonight." She slips the card into her pocket. "Until then, we've got another hour, and it's your turn."
So it is. I look her in the eyes, and I ask the question. "Daphne Webb, truth or dare?"
Chapter Nine
Jackson
Daphne smiles. "Oh, that's easy. Dare." She motions let me have it. "Do your worst."
With limited time comes limited options. That means I need to make a choice. I can't tour the Strip and blow Daphne's mind.
Immediately, that image fills my head.
Daphne bent over the massive hotel bed, her tank top pressed to her neck, her shorts rolled to her knees, her back arching as she begs me to fuck her.
Where the fuck did this come from?
I'm not sixteen anymore. I don't lose myself in erotic fantasies.
I'm not horny twenty-four seven.
It's the desert air.
The stale, casino air.
The thrill of gambling.
Even if I found the blackjack game uninspiring.
Maybe the cultural idea of Las Vegas is infecting my mind. Even here, in the path between the Luxor and Excalibur, even though it looks like an airport.
The sun shines through the windows.
The black glass of the Luxor and the gold of the Mandalay Bay glow in the rearview.
Daphne follows me with curious eyes, assuming I know where we're going.
I don't.
I do okay on the fly, but I do better with careful planning. A list of the best bars, top attractions, most exciting shows.
We only have an hour. I have this plan to visit the Strip.
Which means I need to find a spot soon. We're in Las Vegas. There are three main reasons why people come here. Gambling. Booze. Sex.
We tried the first.
The last is out.
That leaves alcohol.
A sensitive issue with her family situation, but, hey, when in Rome…
Ah. That's it.
"It's a surprise," I say. "This way."
Interest fills her eyes. Interest that makes my blood run south. But it's not about the two of us taking off our clothes.
Not directly, anyway.
I lead Daphne through the shops, the Excalibur, the walkway to the New York, New York.
And here I thought my annoying coworkers "bonding trips" to Las Vegas were a waste of time. They're finally useful.
He always tried to go somewhere "lit."
This isn't my idea of fun, but hey, it works.
The sunny path is busy, with tourists and cars below, and the heat is overwhelming. Thankfully, it's short. We dark into the dark, air-conditioned hotel quickly.
Ah, the charms of the fake New York City. Pretzels and hot dogs and I Love New York shirts.
And the bar from a movie set in New York.
Coyote Ugly.
I motion to the establishment.
She shoots me that trademark Daphne Webb side-eye. "Okay, Mr. Steele. What's the dare? Are you sure you want to do it here, and not at some classy cocktail bar at the Wynn?"
No. I'm not sure about any of this. But I want to play this game with her. I motion to the slushee machine of cocktails and the list of shots next to it.
Daphne follows my gaze. "Pick your poison."
"Any shot you want," I say. "As long as it's a body shot."