Page 2 of Flexible Standards

Once out of sight, I bypass the loo and sneak out of the bar to the casino next door. With David preoccupied, I doubt he’ll mind if I bow out for the evening. Snaking through the slot machines, I approach the closest bar and take a seat. One of my favourite bartenders, Tyler, spots me, and a curt nod is all it takes before a gin and tonic is set in front of me.

The woman to my right is reading on her ereader, and I huff a small laugh at the disparity with her attire—she’s wearing a short, silver dress and red heels. Not someone I would expect to be reading at a bar. Feeling a bit nosey, I take a peek and spot a bit of dialogue in the book:

“You’re mine for the night, my Becca. If I say you have to wait, you’re gonna be a good fucking girl and wait.”

I sip my drink and continue reading over her shoulder for a few minutes. It’s been a while since I’ve read smut in a novel, but I’m invested in the story. She moves to the next page and we both gasp at an intriguing limousine scene where the man is feasting on her cunt. Unfortunately, I’ve accidentally given myself away.

The woman slaps the ereader onto the bar face down, a blush creeping up her neck to her cheeks. I finally get a good look at her and… fuck me, she’s gorgeous. Her hair tied up in a tight bun, understated makeup, and purple, plastic-rimmed glasses—definitely giving me a sexy librarian vibe.

For the first time all day, a genuine smile paints my face as I apologise, “Sorry, do you mind if I finish that scene?” I gesture to her device.

“Oh, uh… sure.” She sheepishly but willingly lifts it and slides it over to me. “Just bookmark where I’m at first?”

“Of course. I’m not a monster,” I chuckle and a smirk that I can’t help tugs at my lips.

“What am I going to read now?” she teases, and without hesitation, I pull out my phone and tap on my reading app.

“Whatever you like?” Taking my phone, she eyes me with suspicion and scrolls through my downloaded books.

Once she’s settled on a title, I click the little symbol in the corner to flag her book for her and continue reading on. I glance over, and she nervously adjusts herself on her seat and drinks what appears to be a vodka soda or gin and tonic in three gulps, setting it down daintily on the paper napkin. Before she can, I lift my hand to order her another, not tearing my eyes away from the ereader. Tyler brings over a gin and tonic for me, and I finally look up. “Sorry, mate, I meant for her.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I insist.”

“Thank you,” she says softly, returning her attention to the story on my phone. Tyler brings her another drink while I finish the scene, which she sips much slower. I’d love to continue the book, but the need to get to know her is significantly stronger than knowing what happens in the second half of the story. I hand the device back to her, and she slides my phone over to me. Repositioning her glasses, she quickly looks ahead and draws her lips into her mouth for a moment, wetting them. “No spoilers, please.”

“I would never,” I playfully reply. She looks back to me and I catch her taking in my appearance. I can’t help but ask, “Here on vacation?” My hope being that she lives here and is not another tourist.

“No…” She winces with a small grimace. “I mean, yes.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Which is it?”

“No,” she concedes with a sigh. “I just moved here. It’s easier to tell everyone I’m visiting. What about you?”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Same as you, though I’ve lived here for six years.”

“An Englishman who reads smut and lives in Vegas… I don’t think that’s on my bachelorette bingo,” she giggles.

“You should know better than to judge a book by its cover. I’ll have you know, I’m full of surprises.”

She smiles, and it’s one that meets her chestnut-brown eyes. I'm like a moth to a flame, unable to look away. “You have me there. What do you read besides fantasy and romantic comedies?”

I glance at her ereader. “I’d hardly call that a romantic comedy.”

“Are you book-shaming me?” she asks with an exaggerated gasp.

“Not at all. You could be reading paranormal erotica, a mafia romance, or even a nonfiction title, and I wouldn’t judge.” She shudders at the last suggestion. “Now who’s judging?”

“I would never,” she feigns insult. She clutches her chest, my eyes falling to her hand, but snapping back up to her eyes just as quickly.

“So, you’re here for a hen do?”

“A hen what?”

“Hen do… Bachelorette party. Your friend is getting married, yes?” She nods, and I follow up, “Where’s your badge or sash?”

She shrugs. “I tossed that hours ago.”

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