Page 12 of All Bets Are Off

THREE

The Las Vegas strip was one of those places that had taken on a life of its own. You could just say “the strip” and everybody in the city—and well beyond—knew what you were talking about.

It was like Bourbon Street in New Orleans, or Hollywood Boulevard in Los Angeles, or Abbey Road in London. When you said “the strip” people instantly conjured an image in their heads. That image wasn’t always correct, but that part didn’t matter. The strip was an entity … and right now it was giving me a headache of epic proportions.

“You have your ‘I’m about to take a big dump’ face on,” my best friend Tallulah Hayes said as she brought over a fresh drink. She was the head bartender at Purple Zebra Daiquiri Bar at Planet Hollywood. It wasn’t the most high-end bar in the world, but the daiquiris were to die for. Since I’d taken to day drinking in the three days since I’d lost my job, and Tallulah used her employee discount to cover me, it was a win-win situation.

“I don’t have my ‘I’m about to take a big dump’ face on,” I complained. As much as I loved Tallulah, her bluntness often rubbed me the wrong way.

“Yes, you do.” Tallulah was insistent. “Blueberries or corn?”

The question threw me. “I don’t understand the question.”

“Which one did you have? They always force the dump face. I’ve seen it a hundred times.”

I glared at her. “Stop saying ‘dump.’”

She grinned, obviously happy with the reaction she’d elicited. “You’re so funny.”

I sipped my blue daiquiri. It wasn’t blue raspberry—the normal flavor—but a blueberry lemonade. That was vastly preferable. I mean … blue raspberries weren’t even a thing. If I was going to fill myself full of liquor, I wanted organic flavors. There had to be a trade-off of some sort.

“I don’t have to take a dump,” I said. “I’m just … thinking.”

“If you say so.” Tallulah shook her head and topped off my daiquiri. “Your thinking face has a lot in common with your poop face.” She held up her hands when I glared at her. “I’m just making an observation.”

I went back to staring at my daiquiri. My mood had been poor since losing my job. That was to be expected. My response to it was not expected, though. I was a go-getter. The only thing I’d gotten in the past three days, however, was a hangover. Okay, maybe two. I was a lightweight, so three drinks was my limit. It didn’t seem like a productive way to proceed, though.

“I…” Before I could finish what I was going to say, my phone beeped with an incoming text. I immediately reached for it, briefly wondering if Bucky Senior had changed his mind. Deep down, I knew that going back there would be a mistake, but not having a job freaked me out.

The text I found waiting for me from an unknown number shook that idea right out of my head.

Where are you?

I frowned at the text.

“What is it?” Tallulah leaned forward to see what I was looking at. I angled my phone screen so she could get a better look.

“Um … it’s got to be a scammer.”

“It’s a Vegas number.” I pointed toward the 702 code. “Unless they’re spoofing, it’s not someone from Nigeria asking if I want to sponsor a prince.”

Tallulah smirked. “Maybe it’s a wrong number.”

“Maybe.” I cocked my head. “I’ll see who it is.”

Who is this?

Bubbles immediately formed underneath my return text.

Your knight in shining armor.

I snorted at the response.

Oh, yeah? Do you wear armor and everything? My knight in shining armor wears actual armor. He also might wear a sombrero on his penis on tequila nights.

I threw the last part in because I was feeling saucy.

The response was swift.

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