Monster in His Eyes(42)

"Okay," I say, glancing around the room, my eyes falling on the garment bag. "Should I wear the dress?"

"No, save that for tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow?"

My question prompts him to smile as he steps toward me, cupping my  cheek, brushing his thumb across my lips. "Why don't we focus on tonight  before you start worrying about tomorrow? We waste too much time  looking for the next thing and not appreciating what we have right now …   and right now, what we have, is endless opportunities. The sky isn't the  limit in my world, Karissa. There is no limit. You want it? You got it.  Whatever it is."

"Anything?"

"Anything," he swears. "Just name it."

"A bacon cheeseburger."

He laughs. "A bacon cheeseburger?"

"Yes."

"Okay then." Leaning forward, he kisses me before turning away. "Shower, and we'll hit the town for bacon cheeseburgers."

Naz leaves, and I scour through my bag, cringing. Had I known we were  going to Vegas, I would've borrowed some of Melody's clothes. I end up  settling for black pants and a pink top, nothing unusual for me, but at  least it isn't jeans.

I head into the bathroom and strip out of my clothes, turning the shower  on warm. I step into the glass box, letting out a deep sigh of  contentment. Water blasts me from all angles, the pulsing spray feeling  like a massage.

I lather up from head-to-toe with the sweetest smelling soap. Closing my  eyes, I stand there, letting the water cascade around me as it rinses  away the bubbles, steam building up and fogging the glass. After a  minute I reopen my eyes and glance around, freezing when I catch sight  of something down on the landing.

Naz is standing there, staring up at me.

A shiver ripples down my spine. I can feel his gaze. I probably should  be unnerved by the fact that he's watching me, but I feel a tinge of  excitement. Maybe I do like the idea of being caught.

Hesitating, contemplating, I step closer to the glass wall and peer down  at him as I run my hands up my stomach and to my chest, palming my  breasts. A smile slowly spreads across Naz's face as he shakes his head  and walks away.

I turn back to the water and finish my shower, stepping out when I'm  squeaky clean. I get ready, putting on my clothes and adding a dash of  makeup, doing my best to fix my hair, when I hear movement on the floor  below again. Naz returns, stepping into the bathroom as I apply  lip-gloss in the mirror. He strolls over, pausing behind me, his hand on  my hip as he leans down and kisses my neck. "You're a vixen."

"And you're a voyeur."

He laughs. "Guilty."

He's already ready, of course, not needing to change, looking and  smelling just as fresh as he had when he picked me up from the dorms. I  don't know how the man does it, always looking as put together as a work  of art. I slip on my shoes and take his hand as he leads me from the  suite.

A man stands outside our door. Naz nods as we stride by but says  nothing. I glance at him curiously, even more surprised to have another  waiting by the elevators for us. The man presses the button and the door  automatically opens. Without having to utter a word, the man steps onto  the elevator with us and presses the button for the ground floor. As  soon as we reach it, Naz nods again.

We start to walk away, heading into the bustling casino, when I turn to Naz. "It's kind of weird how they cater to you."

He looks amused by my assessment. "Their service is top-notch. Anything you ask for, they'll make it happen."

"Anything?"

"Yes, anything," he says. "Even bacon cheeseburgers."

He takes me straight to a restaurant …  an upscale world-renowned sort of  place with a name I can't pronounce run by a man with an accent I assume  to be French. All it takes is Naz saying his last name, Vitale, and  we're taken right inside, led straight to a small empty table in the  back, just as a waiter descends upon it, carrying plates of food. My  brow furrows as I slide into the seat Naz pulls out, stunned when a  burger is set in front of me.                       
       
           



       

I gape at Naz when he settles into his seat, a plate identical to my own in front of him. "You called ahead?"

"I mentioned to the concierge that you wanted a bacon cheeseburger," he replies, "so he made it happen."

It's unfathomable to me, being waited on hand-and-foot, but I say nothing as the waiter brings us drinks-the non-alcoholic kind.

I pick up the burger to take a bite. It's got a peculiar flavor to it,  bitter like balsamic vinegar, and is topped with some kind of green that  reminds me of spinach. I chew the bite slowly as I pull off the top bun  and scrape off all the leafy shit. My gaze shifts around the table as I  frown.

"What's wrong?" Naz asks. I meet his gaze, seeing he's watching me as he  takes a bite. He seems to like it, considering he takes a second bite  right away.

"There's no ketchup on the table."

"There usually isn't in a place like this."

"This is why I like places not like this," I mutter, "because they have ketchup on the table."

He motions for the waiter, who makes his way over to us. Naz tells him  to bring us some ketchup and the man nods, scurrying off to return a  moment later with a little dipping bowl filled with what I guess they  assume to be ketchup, but it looks a hell of a lot like stewed tomatoes  with how chunky it is. I dip my finger in to taste it, cringing. There's  that balsamic vinegar flavor again.

"What's wrong?" Naz asks again. His voice has a slight impatient tone to  it. I shake my head, pushing the ketchup aside, and put the bun back on  to take another bite. I can feel Naz's eyes, his question lingering  over the table, my brushing it off not good enough for him. "Karissa,  what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say, offering a tentative smile. "It's fine."

"You're not using your ketchup."

"Yeah, uh …  if you can call it that."

He reaches over and picks up the bowl, doing just what I did-dipping his  finger in to taste it. He makes no face, no sound, but as the waiter  walks by our table he reaches out and thrusts it at him.

The waiter stalls, wide-eyed, and takes the bowl. "Problem, sir?"

"Ketchup," Naz says, his voice even. "I asked for ketchup."

"Yeah, this is-"

"Not ketchup," Naz says, finishing his sentence. "Heinz 57 is ketchup.  That's not ketchup. I don't know what the hell it is, but I asked for  ketchup, so I expect to receive ketchup."

The waiter scurries off once more as I gape at Naz. He continues to eat,  unaffected, as the waiter returns within moments with a new bowl of  what is undoubtedly ketchup this time. I thank him, staring at the bowl,  hesitating, as Naz lets out an exasperated sigh. "Now what's wrong?"

"It's just that, if ever someone were to poison your food, this might be the moment," I say, staring at the ketchup.

"You think it's poisoned?"

"Or at the very least spit in."

I'm worried I'm aggravating him, not trying to be difficult. I pick up  my burger to take another bite, resigned to just forcing it down because  I'm too hungry for this shit, when Naz lets out a laugh-loud and  genuine. He pushes his chair back to stand up, holding his hand out to  me. "Come on."

I glance at his hand before meeting his eyes. "Where are we going?"

"To get you what you really want."

I put my burger down and take his hand, following him out of the  restaurant, past our confused-looking waiter by the door. We stroll  around, passing dozens of restaurants, some bearing the name of  celebrity chefs, before Naz pulls me into a busy sports bar.

This place is a world of difference from the other, like night and day.  The bar is barely confined chaos, loud and bright, with people wearing  jeans and ball caps, drinking beer and yelling at the TV. The smell of  greasy food wafts through the air, making my stomach growl.

Naz grabs a table dead center of the room, where a waitress appears with  menus. I order a Coke, practically bouncing in my seat, as Naz hands  the menus right back. "A beer. I don't care what, just make it in a  bottle and keep the top on. And two bacon cheeseburgers."

The woman scribbles it down and departs with a smile.

When our drinks arrive, I sip on my Coke as he pulls out his keys, using  a bottle opener to pop the top on his beer. He takes a swallow. His  face contorts with disgust, his expression making me laugh. "Not good?"

"Beer never is," he says, holding his bottle out to me, offering some.

I hesitate. "Are you sure?"

"It's your birthday."

"Tomorrow."

"Close enough."

"I still won't be twenty-one."

His lips curve with amusement as he holds it closer to me. "I feel like  we've had this conversation before. Is my little jailbird having second  thoughts about sinning in Sin City with me?"