Page 25 of Love Thief

“Err.”

“We’re in the party, we’re VIPs,” Grace puts in before I can get a word out.

“Yes, but is she with him?” she points to me, “cos it seems like you are. Just so you know, he fucked every waitress in this hotel when he came through a couple of months ago on his tour. All the new ones, anyway. He’d already been through the others the time before that.” Her tone remains the same, it’s as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

I take in the woman in front of me. She doesn’t have a waitress uniform on. But she’s carrying a hell of a lot of attitude.

“Oh, well, thanks for the information,” I say, at a bit of a loss as a lump starts to build in my throat.

“You seem a nice person,” she continues, “just didn’t want you to not know who you’re dealing with. He’s also fucked most of the hotel staff as well. That piercing gets around.”

I look at Grace, completely stunned.

Grace doesn’t even try to hide her glare, or the bitchiness in her tone, as she asks, “Which were you, hotel or waitress?”

I close my eyes. I really don’t want to know, or get into a fight over it. My stomach has twisted, and I feel a bit nauseous.

“Hotel receptionist. Our whole team went to their room, one of the best nights of our lives. We all won’t forget it in a hurry.” She grins at me. Again not in a nasty way, almost as if she thinks I’m some kindred spirit.

“So not just Marcus, then?” Grace is trying to defend the indefensible.

The girl laughs. “Think that if you want, the man has stamina.” She turns back to me. “But you look good together. He looks really good. Much better than when he came through last time. You’re obviously doing something better than all of us.”

She gestures to herself and Grace, who, if looks could kill, would see this—young, pretty twenty-something, lovely hair and nails rocking the dress she has on—woman dead as a doornail, a stone cold corpse at her feet.

“Although to be fair to myself, we were all totally plastered or high. It was a whirlwind visit, something for us to dine out on for years to come.” She smirks.

My eyes pop open in amazement at her compliments. Even if they are interspersed with information I don’t really want or need. I’m just hoping she’s going to disappear in some sort of Vegas magic show, but, no, she’s still standing there.

I touch Grace’s shoulder. “Let’s go. Thank you though, for the information, and err encouragement.” I push a fake smile on my face, and move towards the exit.

“Have you seen him more than once?” she suddenly asks me. Clearly mulling over her magnificent night.

“Of course we have, we’re with him,” Grace jabs back before I can get us both out the door.

“Wow you must be good then.” She’s totally focused on me, relegating Grace to a bit player in this drama. “He never sees anyone twice, let alone fucks them more than once. I’m impressed. You go, girl. Rope that sucker into submission. I’ll be cheering you on. So will half of Vegas. If not America. Marcus Russell, in love. What a sight that will be.” She smiles genuinely at me.

“Wait til my friend hears. She thought he was going to call her, but he never did, of course. She pined for over a month. She was crazy over him. She'll even be pleased for you. Tame him, girl. Use him up and spit him out. But maybe leave a bit for the rest of us when you’re done. I’d happily take your cast-offs.”

I’m opening and closing my mouth like a guppy fish. I think she’s going for solidarity, and you know what, I’ll take it. I grin back at her. “I’ll do just that, and think of you when I shove him out the door. In pieces. Small ones.”

She laughs heartily, and when she looks into my face, I feel a weird connection to her. Like she’s actually seeing me, not Marcus Russell’s flavour of the night. Is this Vegas, baby? What it does to everyone? You meet new friends, who give you back-handed compliments, in toilets. Crazy. In any other circumstance, I’d have asked her to join us. She seems like fun.

Grace has clearly misinterpreted this girl's intentions. The receptionist is definitely going for girl power, the sisterhood. Not jealous at all that I appear to be taming the beast. But Grace pushes her chest out, and seems ready to unleash full venom.

“We don’t go for anyone's cast-offs,” she sneers. “We’re at the top of the tree. We get rockstars everyday of the week.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder, clearly annoyed. “And as for your friend,” she’s making it obvious she’s not buying that story, “she obviously can’t hold him. Not like us.”

I’m not sure when ‘I’ turned into ‘us’, but I appreciate the effort—if not totally misguidedly—Grace is making with this girl. As I actually believe her about the friend.

I know the power he wields. He’d drag Astraea the greek goddess of purity into debauchery in a nanosecond. We mere mortals do not stand a chance. We’re cannon fodder on a battlefield where we don't really understand the rules, let alone the game.

“Grace, it’s fine, she never meant that.”

I’m trying to placate an extremely annoyed Grace, whilst smiling at the receptionist, when two more women come in. And of course they’re also talking about Marcus. It crosses my mind if these two will be friendly like the receptionist, encouraging. They zero in on me, talking over each other to get my attention.

“You’re the current girl with Marcus Russell. Can you get us to their table? He was totally just eye fucking me. I flashed him, and he blew me a kiss.”

Apparently not. They ignore Grace, who’s standing right next to me, still fuming over the hotel receptionist’s suggesting we go for ‘cast-offs’. I screw my eyes shut and hope my hearing starts to fail.

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