Page 16 of Vegas Daddies

Fake crying is a talent that gets individuals far. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, back on the streets when a seventeen-year-old girl fake-sobbed for one hour straight and earned two thousand fucking bucks.

Did she really want to fuck us that bad?

No.

Perhaps there’s a tinge of truth. Shedidthink we were strippers her friend had hired.

“Alright,” announces Match. He straightens out his shirt in the mirror. Turns his head to the side to smooth a hand over black stubble. “Let’s hit the town!”

“WOOO!” Alice grins and bites down on her bottom lip to contain the excitement.

We’d be stupid to turn her down. I plan on spending every minute with this woman until she tells us she needs to return back home. Not just because you only live once, but because you never stumble upon the same person again. Ever.

And there’s not a soul out there like Alice.

Something about her energy drew me in the second she opened her mouth. Her voice…it was so feminine. So soft and innocent and playful, despite her teary mood.

And she was looking atme.

Continuing eye contact even when I looked up at her.

I was the first one to break. Normally it’s the girl who lowers her eyes first. I get a courteous smile and a look away from them, and that’s just about it. The other two are more inviting—and I suppose, more aesthetically pleasing—because they spent their entire childhood in one home, not with hundreds of foster parents who spoke to me like I was a bomb about to explode. It ages a person, being moved into a new place from week to week, and it’s probably why I don’t have as much hair as the other two—the emotional stress that came with never being good enough for a foster family.

But Alice looks at me just the same as the others. Scrolls her eyes up and down my face for the same length of time.

I’ve only ever had one girlfriend, and it was when I was seventeen years old. Her father caught me in the house and gave me two black eyes, so since then I’ve come to the realization that it’s better to stay clear. I’m one up from Lifesaver, though—he’s never been in a relationship. The one-night-stand lifestyle seems to keep him satisfied and smiling. I only really ever share my bed with women now, but their interests don’t go past the length of my cock. It seems to be the only fucking quality I have. Holding a woman in my arms, sex aside, is something my body has always longed for. To be loved, and to be in love. Match had it once, but shut it down to move to Vegas. That, I still can’t get my head around.

“Brander.” Alice runs her tongue over her teeth. “Can I ride with you?”

“Of course, darling. Hop on.”

I switch on the headlights, rev the engine, and we take off onto the open road.

Living in the middle of the desert with no neighbors is peaceful. Besides the Venom Vultures, it’s the only other thing that brings me joy—to be away from the city lights and the stampede of people. City living is all I’ve known for twenty-one years, so I try to avoid entering it as much as possible.

But Alice insisted on the strip.

We ride in one line. The moon spotlights down, and neon city lights flash in the near distance, growing closer by the second. Seeing Vegas from this angle soothes my chest.

At thirteen years old one summer night, I moved into myseventeenthfoster home, another located in West Las Vegas. It was okay. A shared room with one other boy a year younger who used to murmur, “Mommy, come back,” in his sleep.

That first night, I cracked open the window and stared out of it. Junkies filled the streets all throughout the night, handing one another syringes and substances in packages. Cars honked. People screamed. I couldn’t get a wink of sleep, and when I did, it was with one eye open. It was that first night in my seventeenth home when I made a promise to myself.I’m gonna get out of here. I’m gonna live in the desert, and I’m gonna wake up to nothing but the sound of wind blowing free through the great open.

Alice tightens her arms around my waist, and I find myself easing into her.

The city grows closer.

And closer.

Until we’re finally riding through it.

“The Venetian?” proposes Match.

“Yes!” Alice hugs me tighter. “So exciting!”

We walk through the casinos and end up outside in the resort area that’s teeming with people. Alice picks up her skirt, dress as white as her smile, and stands eagerly beside us as we order drinks at the bar.

We corner ourselves into a booth and relax. Palm trees sway in the breeze and overlook pools that glow a bright blue in the night. Each one is full, and women in skimpy bikinis lounge at the side, scouting the surrounding area for men.

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