ACE:Las Vegas Bad Boys(2)

A text here and there, an update on what city she’s in—that’s all she’s given me over the past four years.

That’s why I’m hanging on so tight. That’s why I’m here to help her when she wakes up from the coma. The fact that she had my number in her phone as her Emergency Contact means something, right?

I want a family. I want people in my corner. I’m just tired of barking up the wrong-ass tree.

My sister is my only chance at a family.

And hard as it is to swallow, it looks like grad school is going to have to wait. It’s going to take forever to get the money to pay for both Janie’s care and school.

Especially at the rate things are going tonight at the Spades. A guy at the blackjack table takes his gin and soda without giving me a tip—which, okay, I get it. These players owed me nothing.

But I am beyond ready to catch a break. The best thing about showing up to work today was when Claire, another waitress who’s been here a lot longer than me, offered me her waitressing spot at some private poker table tonight.

She has a date—and now I have an extra shift.

Win-win.

I mean, except I can’t even remember the last time I had a date. The last time I had anything for me. I’ve been in Vegas for two months for Janie, and I certainly haven’t gotten any action at the hospital.

And before then I was in school and working … always working.

I need a freaking day off … from everything.

I’m walking toward the kitchen to reload my empty tray one last time, before I switch gears for the poker event, when a man stops me.

More like, we stop one another.

Because damn. One look at him and I can’t take a step forward. He clichés the fuck out of me—he stops me in my tracks just as I’m a foot from passing him.

His eyes are a smoldering green, like an evergreen tree deep in the forests of my hometown. He leans against a wall, with an empty tumbler in hand, and he smiles a slow, self-assured smile.

A smile with a mouth that looks like sex, smells like sex, and I’m guessing could lick like sex.

What the hell, Emmy?

I am not having sex with guys I “meet” here. That is rule #1.

I need to get my mind out of the sex-gutter, whatever that is. I need to focus on this job. On making cash. On getting my sister’s bills paid and getting her back on her own two feet.

I need to keep. walking. forward.

But before I can take another step, he speaks. His voice is as lush as his eyes.

“You ready to take a break?” he asks, standing up straighter now.

I’m above-average height, about 5’9”, but with these damn heels, I’m tall.

He’s taller. He looks at me, pushing his dark hair from his eyes. The pinstripe suit he wears screams designer and I notice a gorgeous gold Rolex heavy on his wrist as he crosses his arms. But he isn’t all nice and neat. I see a tattoo inching up his neck, but I can’t tell what it is.

In a flash I can see he’s working hard to look the part of a high-roller. His eyes and voice tell me there’s more to him than all that high-end bullshit I don’t give a crap about.

“Do I know you?” I know my tone is harsh, but the day has been long. My feet hurt from these damn shoes. It doesn’t matter that he is sexy as hell.

And damn, he is sexy as hell. I mean, his shoulders are broad and there’s enough of a five o’clock shadow on his face that I could imagine nuzzling against it…nuzzling my thighs against it.

God! Why the fuck am I thinking about pressing my lady parts against this dude’s face? Get a grip, Emmy.

“We haven’t met, but I’m prepared to get very familiar with you.” He cocks both an eyebrow and his head toward the other end of the hall.

I don’t even know where that leads. Well, I know where he thinks it might lead.

“Uh, I don’t screw strangers. And certainly not while I’m on the clock. I don’t think the owner of this place would like his employees fucking casino junkies. Just saying.”

“I don’t think your boss would mind.” He smirks, ever so slightly, and I hate that. Hate when guys think they know better than I do. I know how much this job means—the fact that I landed a gig at the most exclusive casino in Vegas is no small thing.

I’m proud I got this job and I’m not going to lose it over some horny guy in a nice suit.

Not that I wouldn’t have liked to enjoy this guy in his nice suit. His biceps pull at his jacket seams and I want to rip it off him. See those chiseled muscles for myself. But not on the clock. Not like this.

“I gotta go,” I say. “I’m gonna be late for my next shift if I don’t leave now. Okay?”

“Hey, you take your work seriously, not going to fight you on that,” he says, raising his hands in defeat, a smile pressing across his face again, like he knows something I don’t. “But before you go, what’s your name?”