Page 46 of Unspoken

"Well, are you going to show me where to go?"

"You buy them at the table if you plan on trying your hand at blackjack, poker, or anything of the sort. For the slots, you’d want cash. ATM is right there." He points at the sign above our heads indicating where the ATM is.

Next we go through the motions of obtaining money and hit the slots. I lose all five hundred bucks I invested in my little plan to entertain Logan. An hour later, he’s still frowning and I make a suggestion that he needs a drink.

"I'm working," Logan protests, as I’m steering him toward the bar.

"No, you’re not," I say, waving over a bartender. "I officially relieve you of your duties for the rest of the shift."

"It doesn’t work like that, Sasha," he insists, arms crossed on his chest.

"It does if I say it does." I grab the shot I ordered for him and push a glass into his hand.

The physical contact is immediate where our skin touches. Logan’s jaw tightens but he accepts my offering.

"Consider it medicinal," I quip, giving him an elbow nudge. "And since you're now off the clock, it’s time to loosen up, mate."

I can see the conflict on his face—the trained protector wrestling with the man who needs to forget, just for a moment. But eventually, he takes a sip, and I count it as a tiny victory.

"Come on, let's give these slots another whirl," I suggest, my tone light, teasing, as I guide him through the labyrinth of flashing machines. If it takes me another five hundred bucks to make him smile, I’m going to keep spending. Hell, I think setting limits is not even necessary. It’s Vlad’s bloody money after all. If he can afford to have a garage full of collectible cars, he won’t notice today’s withdrawals.

"Is this your idea of fun?" Logan asks me thirty minutes later when I’ve spent all my cash playing some cheesy Mega Fortune machine. But there's a hint of amusement finally creeping into his voice.

"Absolutely." My reply is cheeky. I catch a glimpse of a smile across his lips as he watches me slide the last hundred-dollar bill into a machine and pull the lever with a dramatic flourish.

"Look at that—jackpot," I exclaim as bells ring out and lights flash. "Lady Luck must be on our side today."

"Or she's just taunting us," Logan counters, but he's smiling at me now, and that's what matters.

We hop from casino to casino, the hours slipping by unnoticed. Each time Logan starts to retreat back into his shell, I coax him out again with a joke, a touch, a look. His resistance wanes with every drink, every win, every shared laugh.

"See, you can have fun," I tease him at the blackjack table, leaning in close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body.

"Maybe," he concedes, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "But don't think I'm going to start dancing on tables."

"Pity," I shoot back, and there's an electricity between us that feels dangerous, thrilling.

"Maybe another time," Logan says, and his words send a shiver down my spine—not from fear, but from something entirely different.

"Promise?" I challenge, locking eyes with him.

"Maybe," he replies again, and it's not a no.

"Gentlemen?" the dealer calls and suddenly we're lurching back to reality. And the reality is Logan showing me how to play blackjack. He’s bloody good at it too judging by the reactions of the other patrons at the table, and I’m a bit jealous.

Time melts around us, hours stretching into one another in lazy succession while we nurse our drinks and buy junk food from the stalls.

I know I’m playing a dangerous game here. I know I should dial it down, stop being all flirty. Keep a lid on my secret. But the fact that Logan likes both women and men and is so calm about it does something to my brain. It’s almost like I can’t control myself anymore in his presence. My body and my mind aren’t communicating.

And it’s bad.

Very bad.

As the colorful glow of the Strip begins to merge with twilight, Logan and I step through the casino's glass doors, into the cool embrace of the drizzling rain. It's been such a laugh, the sort that makes your belly muscles sore. But as the damp night air hits us, his chuckle fades into a silence that's thick with something unspoken.

"Bit of a wet one, isn't it?" I say, glancing at the sky, trying to keep the mood light. "Reminds me of London."

"Never been to London," he murmurs, hands in his pockets, eyes on the ground.

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