Page 17 of Falling

“What do you want to play first?” I ask.

“Craps, of course.” She greets the server and orders a martini. I request a club soda. One of us needs to make sure we don’t lose all of our money tonight. “Okay, Mr. Winsloe. Let’s see what you’re made of.” Chips are slid across the table as I find a place at the rail. Geneva is immediately invited to roll the dice.

I place my bet, and the dealer calls for the roll. Geneva tosses the dice. It’s not a seven or eleven, but we’re not sunk either. A nine works as long as she rolls it again. She throws the dice again to the end of the table. I actually win some money this time. We continue for a while as my chips grow taller slowly.

She becomes bored soon. I nod to the dealer, who secures my chips until we decide what to play next.

“How much do you think we’re up?” she asks.

“I’d say somewhere around twelve hundred.”

“We’re on a roll then. What should we play next?” She looks around the room. Her eyes settle on something across the room. “How good are you at blackjack?”

“I’ve been known to hold my own.” She smiles at me. Taking my arm, she lets me escort her to the tables. Two chairs are open next to each other. Our chips are split between us.

“Have you played?” I ask while the pit boss trades out the decks. She leans over, her lips brushing my ear.

“I’ve been known to count cards,” she whispers. Sitting up, she winks at me. The cards are dealt as soon as our bets are placed. Geneva immediately splits her pair. Another martini is set on the table at her elbow. If my count is correct, that’s martini number four.

“Play,” she says, nudging me with her body. My mind refocuses on my cards.

“Hit,” I bark.

It doesn’t take me long to bust. Geneva, however, wins. We fall into a steady rhythm of growing one pile of chips and then the other. She can hold her own as well as any player in the room. Another hour passes before we notice.

“Shall we find something else?” I ask.

“We shall.” She stands up from the table. There’s a wobble in her stance this time. “Mr. Winsloe, would you care to escort a lady to the roulette table?”

“I would be honored, Miss Randolph.”

With a laugh, we head to the next table.

seven

GENEVA

Who knewgambling could be this fun? Not only does Peter look good enough to eat in his tux, but we’re winning to boot.

The last time I was in Vegas, my dick of a boyfriend took up with a showgirl. Who does that in real life? Anyway, this is much better. I should stay here and become a professional blackjack player. That’s probably just the martinis talking.

“Are you ready to call it a night?” Peter asks.

“But we’re just getting warmed up.” What is he thinking? The night is still young.

“We’ve been warmed up for hours now. It’s two in the morning.”

“Oh.” I guess I didn’t notice how late it had become. That’s probably also the martinis’ fault. “I guess if you think we should go.” I hop off the stool at the baccarat table. I sway for a minute before Peter wraps a strong arm around my waist.

“I think we should.” He tosses the dealer a chip. Our winnings will be sent to the room later.

Things are a little dizzy as we start from the room. It’s fine though; I’ve never been affected too badly by alcohol. My metabolism burns it off quickly. I imagine it comes from years of martial arts training.

Peter leads us through the casino to the elevator. Weirdly, I think the liquor is hitting harder the farther I walk. It takes me a minute to focus enough to punch the up button. Has he always been this gorgeous? But I remember something about being naked. Doesn’t matter; the elevator door is opening. He helps me inside, and we’re joined by an older couple.

“Have I ever told you how much I want to bite that jaw?” I slur. “I’d bite that ass too if you’d let me.” There’s a snicker behind me.

“Geneva,” he warns. Or is it an invitation? I can’t tell anymore. “Sorry,” he mumbles at whoever is behind me. I spin around so I can see them.

---