Page 2 of Hard Luck (Blackstone House)

Playing poker, can pick you up after?

Me

Are you winning?

Sin

Of course.

Me

Don’t worry, I’ll take a cab.

But not from Cole’s place. I always liked to cover my tracks. People said I was paranoid, which was true, but just because I was paranoid didn’t mean nobody was out to get me.

Usually, I didn’t shit in my own backyard, or fuck people from it either. I preferred a clean break. But pickings had been slim today at the Black Diamond—the options included a selection of drunk idiots from a bachelor party who probably wouldn’t be able to get it up, an array of sweaty executives, and a cowboy named Boyd who kept calling me “little lady.” Cole had been sitting at the bar on his own, occasionally looking around but mostly staring into his drink as if it held the answers to life. I could assure him that wasn’t the case. Anyhow, he didn’t belong. He showed no signs of gambling, he wasn’t spending as if he had an expense account, and he didn’t talk to anyone. The Black Diamond was the fanciest joint on the Strip. If he wanted to have a deep and meaningful conversation with a Jack and Coke, there were cheaper places he could have done that.

I’d sipped a cocktail as I wrote his life story in my head. Maybe he’d wiped out at the poker table? Or had he come to Vegas to get married, only to be ditched at the altar by acheating fiancée? In my experience, either scenario could make a man open to a hookup, although the last jilted husband I’d fucked had started crying afterward, and did I really want to deal with that again?

I flipped my lucky coin, the silver dollar that came from the father I’d never met. Heads, I’d move on. Tails, I’d talk to the guy at the bar.

Lady Liberty looked up at me.

And suddenly, the coin didn’t matter anymore because the guy rolled up the sleeves on his button-down shirt, and holy forearm porn…

I slid onto the stool next to him. “Difficult day?”

The stranger slowly turned to study me with eyes the colour of the ocean, and I returned the favour. He was big. Not so big that he’d present a challenge in a fight, but six feet of sinew and muscle that hadn’t come from a gym. The tan suggested he spent time outdoors. The creases on his face said the same—the crinkles around his eyes from smiling and the worry lines that traced across his forehead. His dark hair showed the occasional strand of silver, even though I put his age within a year or two of mine.

This was no frat boy.

“I’m not a man who pays for sex,” he said.

“Good, because I’m not a woman who charges for it.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fuck. I’m sorry. The make-up, the dress… I just figured.”

“I’m here for a wedding.”

“But you don’t want to be?” he guessed.

“It’s complicated. What brings you to this fine establishment?”

“Curiosity. I heard it was the best hotel on the Strip.”

“That’s probably true. Are you staying here?”

He shook his head ruefully. “My budget doesn’t run to the room rate.”

Plan A flew out the window, but we could still have some fun. “Did you check out the club on the roof?”

“Heard tonight’s event is ticket-only.”

I ran a finger up his arm. “Then we’ll have to sneak in.”

“Security is meant to be good here.”

“Fifty bucks says we can get past.” I threw in a giggle so I didn’t sound too competent. “Me and my friends do it all the time.”

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