KING: Las Vegas Bad Boys(7)

I thought I’d want dirty sex, hard and fast, to just get my first time post-baby out of the way. I always thought if I hooked up with a guy it would be against a wall, something rushed and off-the-cuff—but ever since I walked into this suite, it’s felt tender.

Every movement Landon makes feels sincere.

And maybe it’s because he’s just that good of a player.

Or maybe I just needed this time to be sweet and soft. And maybe the universe decided, for once in my fucking life, to give me what I needed.

Landon reaches over to the nightstand for a condom, rips it open. And every inch of my skin drips with longing for him to be inside me. I’ve never felt a man touch me like Landon does now. His fingers run across my breasts, my stomach, before he moves to slide on the protection.

He feels safe. He feels like the only kind of hook-up I could really have.

And, as he unrolls the condom over his thick cock, my phone rings.

The ringtone reserved for my mom—and she only ever calls if it is important.

“Oh, shit,” I say, climbing off him and his perfectly-formed body. I want him so bad, but Sophia is my everything. I reach for the phone in my clutch.

“Hello?” I say.

“So sorry, I hate to call, I know you’re at the wedding, but Sophia’s fever spiked again, sweetie. She’s begging for you.”

Swallowing, I look at Landon, who watches me confused. I’m sure women never stop that ride for a phone call.

But I doubt most women he hooks up with are mothers.

“No, I’m glad you called. I’ll leave now.”

Hanging up, I reach for my underclothes.

“Sorry, Landon, but ... I’ve—”

He sits up, raises his hands for me to stop. “No,” he says. “It’s fine. I don’t need an explanation.”

“But....” I start. The truth is, though, I don’t want to give him an explanation. How could I, when I haven’t even explained my situation to Emmy and Tess? “Okay. Well, thanks. For ... everything.” I know my voice hitches, and for a bizarre second I almost feel like I could cry.

I pick up my clothes from the floor, embarrassment flooding my chest. And I hate that. I shouldn’t be embarrassed that I let myself have this short escape with Landon, and I also shouldn’t feel embarrassed that I need to go home to my daughter.

If my life were different—if I were different—Landon and I would have made love all night, ordered room service and drank fancy French-pressed coffee in the morning, with buttery croissants.

But that isn’t my life. I’m not that girl. I’m a mom, and I need to get home to my daughter.





Chapter Four





Landon



When Claire leaves, I briefly consider calling for one of the escort services that Ace so conveniently has listed in a binder in each room of his hotel.

My cock is fucking stiff like it’s never been before. I’ve haven’t had this much wood without a woman nearby since I first got a hard-on as a thirteen-year-old boy.

I don’t call for an escort, but only because at that moment the only person I want to fuck is Claire. Which is ridiculous. I have no idea who called her to make her pack up and go, and I’m not a nosy sonofabitch on top of everything else.

Besides, I knew before I ever brought Claire up here tonight, that she and I play in different leagues. Run in different crowds. Find entirely different things desirable.

Except, of course, we both seemed to be rather fond of my face between her tanned legs, sucking on her perfect pussy.

But that is neither here nor there at this point. She said she could spare me an hour, and I ended up with less than that. The last thing I’d ever do is ask for a round two when she couldn’t even stay for round one.

Earlier, my ego wasn’t bruised, but right now it feels quite sore. I get up from the bed and take a long cold shower, my mind filled with Claire’s tits and her soft ass and those soulful green eyes.

And I choose to move on. I must. I have plenty of things to contemplate.

Well, that’s a slight exaggeration. I don’t have anything else pressing for my attention, per se. Tomorrow there’s a blackjack tourney. I’ll work out at the gym McQueen’s convinced us all to join. Perhaps I’ll look on the Internet for possibilities for the business park. And I’m sure to ask a woman to dinner. Perhaps take her to a show. I’d say take her back here for a good old-fashioned fuck ... but, for the first time in my life, that doesn’t have any sort of appeal.

Which is concerning.

As I wrap a towel around my waist, turn on ESPN, and flip through the menu for late night room service, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something. Missing some piece of the puzzle. Missing the point, of all of this. Life. Ambition. Goals.