Page 27 of Lady Luck

He either hadn’t heard me or didn’t believe me.

Or I’d just misheard him and come to the wrong conclusion and then had confused him.

That wouldn’t shock me.

Our pace finally slowed when the opening of the sky bridge that connected the two sides of Fortuna came into view. He let out an audible breath and patted my arm before stepping away. My arm dropped to my side almost reluctantly as I mourned the loss of the singular purpose of our movement.

There was a lot to process about the evening, and if we stopped moving, my brain would force me to start dealing—something I did not want to do. Starting with AJ pushing a confused Paul out of the way and taking over as dealer at the Big Wheel and ending with the turn of the crowd’s energy toward outright hostility.

Which did shock me.

Focusing on this stranger—or my… escort?—was a much better option than thinking.

He’d seemed progressively more unenthusiastic in his decision to intervene the further we got from the casino to the point where I hadn’t even chanced a real look at him, afraid that he would be so put out that I’d be inclined to cut him loose.

And I really didn’t want to be alone. Not right now.

Not ever.

He walked to the floor-to-ceiling bridge windows, bent his arm against the windowpane, and leaned his head against it with one hand balled into a fist and the other tucked into his jacket pocket.

That didn’t bode well, and in my rising panic to soothe his mood, I blurted, “I don’t even know your name. You’re related to Liem?”

His shoulders tightened under the black jean jacket he wore as he held me in suspense for several moments before finally replying, “Yes. My brother. My… pfffff, yes. He’s my brother. He should be here soon.”

Wow, his voice. Deep, melodic, and beautiful, even edged with exasperation. And somehow familiar enough to prod at the edges of my memory.

If I’d heard his voice that clearly in the casino it might’ve been reason enough to follow him anywhere. But as the rumble of his voice faded, I willed my fascination with the sound to dissolve with it. No good would come from fixating.

Silence fell between us, the street traffic outside and below the bridge providing a steady backing track for our awkwardness. A strong AC current was blowing through the bridge, making my willowy skirt flutter, and I rubbed my arms to ward off the chill. I stared at my gladiator sandals in bemusement at my situation and contemplated the best route back to the locker room for a change of clothes and my phone when a motion in front of my face caught my attention. My gaze snapped up to see Liem’s brother—still didn’t know his name—holding his jacket out to me.

“Vinh Lott. Brother of the birthday boy, Liem Lott,” he said, gently waving the jacket at me while keeping his gaze fixed at a spot over my shoulder.

I was having a really difficult time discerning if he was acting this way because he was worried for himself, concerned for his brother, or if he was just… an awkward guy. Though that didn’t seem right. He struck me as being a lot more low-key than his brother, so it was possible that standing in a hallway with someone dressed as a Roman goddess made him uncomfortable. Either way, I definitely wasn’t going to argue with him, so I accepted the jacket and shrugged it on.

And just like that, I worshiped two idols. And both were articles of clothing from the Lott brothers.

He turned back to the windows with both of his hands tucked into his pants pockets, his body slightly angled toward the hallway opening, and his gaze fixed on the traffic below as it crossed under the bridge. The red lights from the nighttime traffic merged with the blue hues of the windows, burnishing his profile in a purple glow.

It did nothing to detract from his striking features.

I pulled the jacket tighter around me, sinking into the lingering warmth and capitalizing on the opportunity to get a better look at him.

Messy ink-black hair fell over a permanently arched brow, giving the impression that he viewed the world, and everyone in it, as an exasperating challenge. He was tall, maybe just a bit over six feet, with a strong, lean frame—something I’d already known about Vinh Lott even before I knew his name, thanks to our close proximity on the way here. I eagerly took in the black pocket T-shirt that stretched across his chest before I traced the curve of his muscled bicep, only stopping at his elbow, and taking a moment to make sure what I saw wasn’t a trick of the oscillating lights from the traffic below.

Scars.

Burn scars painted his skin from his elbow all the way down to his wrist.

My gaze flicked to his face, and my heart stuttered because of course now he was looking at me and had undoubtedly seen the way I’d paused on the scars. My stomach dropped at the realization of how rude, how brazen I’d been, staring at something that had only been revealed because he had given me his jacket. If he’d glanced my way just a few moments sooner he would have caught me studying his face, but I really wasn’t sure how much better that would’ve been.

I knew better. I really did.

Hadn’t I just spent an entire evening blindfolded, giving strangers passive consent to look at me?

Damn, I deserved to bathe in this discomfort.

I lifted my chin and met his eyes, primed to apologize. His deep dark-as-coal brown eyes met mine with quiet confidence that whispered a dare. Ask.

---