My legs wrap around him, his hands push back my hair softly, and we roll over, so I'm on top of him. Our eyes meet; time seems to pause. I'm breathing hard and heavy, anticipating what comes next, him entering me with his thickness, his completely capable body melding against mine.
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.
The other thing I can't seem to shake is that in those minutes when Claire straddled me, when she looked into my eyes with devotion, seeming to offer me everything she had to give in that moment, I felt whole.
Claire
I get an Uber and arrive home within thirty minutes. Properly disheveled, but not at all properly screwed.
And I'm disappointed in myself for giving in to Landon. I never give in to men at the casino. But at Emmy's wedding ... for a moment, Landon seemed different.
Which is dumb. Landon is like nearly everyone else, living in Vegas for money and sex and booze. But not me. I'm in Vegas for my daughter, to try and build a life for my little family.
I turn the key in Mom's condo door and slip inside. I hear Sophia's small cry right away, and I feel like shit for staying out so late.
"Sweetpea?" I call to Sophia, walking into the room she and I share at the back of the two-bedroom apartment. "Hey, love," I say, looking down at my little girl.
Mom gives me a sympathetic shrug.
"Sorry, I know you were having fun," Moms says, standing from where she was sitting on the edge of the bed Sophia and I share. "But Sophia just wants you. I gave her some more Tylenol, and a cool bath, I think right now the best cure is her mama."
"Thanks, Mom," I say, pulling Sophia into my arms.
"I missed you, Mama," she says, her little arms tight around my neck, her legs wrapped around my waist. In an instant, she is home.
"I'm here. And Gram took good care of you, didn't she?"
"Course she did." I feel Sophia's smile against my neck as she nuzzles closer.
"Thanks for everything
Mom shuts off the light to my room and I kick off my heels, pulling the duvet over Sophia and me. We sink into our bed with me still in my pink chiffon bridesmaid dress. Ace and Emmy's wedding, their life at the Spades Royalle, and my time in Landon's suite all seem like a dream. It always seems like that when I go down to the strip to work-all bright lights and glamour and glitz.
I don't want or need a South Pacific honeymoon and the fourteen-jillion-carat engagement ring on Emmy's finger. I don't need a diamond tycoon's son or a Grammy-nominated lover. I just want something more.
And that makes me feel like a terrible mother and a terrible daughter. I like my life on the strip. And I like my life in this apartment. I just don't know how to bring them together.
I wonder if my life will always be here and there. Disjointed. Disconnected. Detached.
I wonder if my life will ever feel whole.
Cradled in my arms, Sophia is able to drift into sleep, her fever already fading with the healing power of being in the arms of someone who makes everything feel safe.
I close my eyes, wishing someone held me who could make me feel that way, too.
And, strangely, feeling like I had been held that way, for a sliver of a moment, when Landon hovered on top of me, looking in my eyes, seeing me in a way I didn't understand.
Chapter Five
Landon
It's been a solid two weeks since Ace's wedding, and I haven't seen Claire once. Not that I ever see her on the casino floor-her shifts are usually daytime, and I'm usually still sleeping at that hour.
Which is probably for the best. An awkward post-almost-rendezvous run-in isn't something I necessarily want to have. I know once Ace and Emmy get back in town it will be inevitable, but what can I say? Avoiding confrontation is a fucking cornerstone of my goddamned existence.
I've just pulled up to the gym when the phone rings. My father.
Bloody fantastic.
"Hello?" I say into the now-parked car, Bluetooth activated.
"Landon, my boy, you sound exasperated. Surely you're pleased to hear from your father."
"Is everything alright?" I ask, not really interested in the never-ending small-talk-chatter my parents expertly engage in. Some English families are thrifty and sparse with conversation. My parents are not.
I don't hold much against them, but their never-ending desire for me to join my brother Geoffrey as a productive member of English society, join in the cricket league in Hertfordshire, and stroll around in wellies with a bloody retriever fetching a ball before we break for a bit and shoot for sport makes me a bit ill. My father's dream for me is a bit much.