Page 17 of Claiming Atlas
He answers on the second ring. “Atlas, my man. So the rumors are true? You’re in town?”
“Looks like it.”
“And the rest of the boys?”
“Nah. They’re almost here though. I hopped a plane. Had to get off that damn bus.”
“Yeah, man, I can get that. What can I get for you tonight? Party favors? Ladies?”
“No party favors for me, man. Trying to cut back on the booger sugar.”
“All right, all right, let’s see...” There’s a long pause and the sound of papers shuffling as Dave likely looks over his roster. “Oh, right on, looks like Cambria is working tonight.”
I close my eyes and try to recall which one that is. “She hot?”
“The hottest.”
“Send her over. I’m at the Rock.”
Dave chuckles. “Paradise Penthouse?”
“Always.”
“Man, you know there are other hotels in Veg—”
I end the call, cutting Dave off before he can finish, but I’ve heard it all before. Everyone’s always coming out here to stay at the newer places, and I’m stuck on my old favorite. But, hey, when you find something you like, you stick with it, yeah? There are plenty of penthouses in Vegas, but this one is mine. I’ve stayed in the Paradise penthouse the last three times we’ve come to town. It feels like home as much as a hotel on the road can feel like something you’ve never truly known.
And no, that apartment in Stanton doesn’t really count, I left that shithole when I was sixteen and never looked back. What even is home anyway?
Here at the Rock, I’ve got a pool table for when I feel like fucking around, a plush bed when I feel likefucking, and my own private pool if I feel like fuckingin water.
I send Dave a quick follow-up text.
Me:Bring champagne
Dave:2 bottles of Dom, coming right up.
Me:Make it 3
I set the phone on the charging pad on the nightstand, then walk to the door of my room and open it to peek my head out. “Red!”
“Yeah, boss?”
“I’m expecting a visitor. Send her in when she gets here.”
“Sure thing,” he calls.
I close the bedroom door and make my way to the giant marble bathroom; time to shower, shit, and shave.
There’s a knock on my door exactly twenty minutes later. I look in the mirror at the three days’ worth of five o’clock shadow. She got here before I could get to the final step in my routine. I nod at my reflection and pucker my lips. I’ll just rock the beard stubble. Fuck it.
I tighten the towel around my waist and shake extra drops of water from my hair, then walk to the door and haul it open.
Her black hair is streaked with blonde, and her skin is naturally tanned. I focus on her face, studying her features. She’s Puerto Rican; I’d bet my life on it. Fuck me... if she has an accent, I’m one lucky little sonofabitch tonight.
She’s dressed in a pale beige sweater dress with a thick weave that perfectly shows the outline of her tits.
Taut nipples strain to poke through the fabric.
