P.I.T.A. (L.A. Liaisons #3)(3)

There. Better.

When I opened my eyes and it became clear Dawson wasn't stopping anytime soon, I sighed and then flipped off a few more people we passed. 'Cause why the hell not.

Once we passed the first of the slot machines, I lifted up slightly and called over my shoulder, "You can put me down now."

"We're still within ten thousand feet of your parents, so I'm not taking my chances."



       
         
       
        

"I'm gonna vomit down your Lanvin suit."

"Yeah, okay, this is far enough." Dawson bent down, and as I slid off his shoulder, he held my waist firm. I gripped his arms as the room swayed, struggling to get my bearings.

He cupped my chin and tilted my head up, and then his eyes searched mine. "Are you okay?"

"Um … " A response was on the tip of my tongue, but nothing came out. What the hell was wrong with me? It was the second time in a matter of minutes that my brain was not communicating with my mouth. I rubbed my temples. "I think … all the blood … rushed to my head."

As soon as I spoke the words, the room stopped moving. But he was close, too close, and I stepped back, out of his arms.

"Sorry about that. I figured it was the fastest way to get you out of there before they shipped you off to a psych ward."

"Promises, promises," I muttered.

Dawson shoved his hands into the pockets of his tailored pants and cocked his head to the side.

"So," he said.

"So."

"Want me to take you upstairs to your room?"

I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing. "Smooth, Romeo. Real smooth."

"I meant so you could lie down, not so I could fuck you. But if you insist-"

He made a move toward me, and I took a step back. "Whoa, whoa, don't get it up over there. First of all, I'm fine, and second, I'm not staying here."

"Let me guess. Staying in the same hotel as your parents is still too close for comfort."

I touched my nose and pointed at him. "Bingo."

"Then we'll go to yours."

"What's this we business?"

"I know how much you've been looking forward to spending a night together like old times, so I'm happy to oblige you. Tonight, anyway."

Stifling a laugh, I began to back away. "No, no. There's no we tonight. There's an I and a you, and both of those are going their separate ways. Bang a bachelorette, remember? I've got my own cock to catch." Turning on my heel, I headed for the closest exit that would take me out to the Strip, but I could feel him trailing me. Whatever. He'd lose interest as soon as some hooched-out sex kitten caught his eye.





CHAPTER TWO

Low on Fucks, High on (a Good) Time





AS I HEADED out of the Bellagio's front exit, the chilly evening air took me by surprise. The sun had gone down in the hours I'd wasted inside, and I cursed the lack of a jacket-it was still hanging over the chair I'd left it on, and there was no way in hell I was going back to the party. 

I kept moving, and every now and again, when we'd get caught in the crowd, Dawson would brush up against my back, letting me know he wasn't going anywhere.

"You're wasting your time following me," I said over my shoulder.

"I'm coming with you. There's a difference."

"That might prove dangerous. I've got my Taser and I'm not afraid to use it."

"Where's it stored, love? In that sexy cleavage of yours, or maybe up underneath this handkerchief you call a skirt-"

Dawson's fingertips trailed up the back of my bare thigh, and I jumped. As I slapped his hand away, my hip grazed the low wall surrounding the Fountains of Bellagio, and he took the opportunity to cage me in against it. His eyes glimmered something dangerous, and I understood then how his game worked. How so many fell under his spell. "This would be a lot easier if you didn't fight it," he said.

Hell-o. His nickname for me was Pita, short for "pain in the ass," which was also a take on my initials, so if that wasn't a reminder that I wasn't the type to lie down and take it, then I wasn't about to sit there and explain it.

"Oh, Dick. Despite what your parents commissioned you to do, I don't need you to be my guardian. In fact, I'd prefer it if you found another skirt to harass."

"I like yours just fine." His lips tilted up into a lazy grin. "So, where were you going?"

"Wherever the wind takes me."

"Okay, clarification: where are you staying?"

He was nuts if he thought I was gonna willingly hand over that info. Dawson and I had a relationship that spanned back since we were kids living next door to each other, and though we'd been best friends back then, things between us had been strained for years. The past couple, in particular, had him showing up at the most random times exactly where I was. My friends had always teased that there was something more there between us, but they were wrong. It was more of a one-upping type of relationship-as in, who was the more in-demand singleton, and who could score the bigger fish in the large pond of L.A.'s eligible bachelors and bachelorettes. I'd like to say my conquests far exceeded his, but truth be told, we were probably neck and neck. And didn't that just aggravate the shit out of me.

I crossed my arms and stared at him, unwilling to tell him what he wanted to know, but Dawson stared right back, waiting me out.

Ohhhh, not this game. I'd win every time.

A minute passed, then two, but I stood my ground, even as the wind blew up my skirt and I began to shiver from the cold. Hypothermia wasn't a great look on me, but my pride was worth more, so I would stand there even when I turned the color of a Smurf.

Another minute passed, and when it was clear I wouldn't budge, Dawson sighed.

"All right, come on." He grabbed my hand in a grip that wouldn't let go, and headed back down the sidewalk as I reluctantly let him drag me along. Once we hit the crowd making their way up and down Las Vegas Boulevard, he made a right.

He's not going to leave me alone tonight, is he …  "Where are we going?" I asked, but it was a wasted question. He led us into the Cosmopolitan entrance and headed straight for the Chandelier bar, a three-level monstrosity that was encased in beaded curtains of crystal.

Thank fuck. I'd never have admitted it to him, but another couple of minutes and icicles would've formed in my nose.

When we'd commandeered a couple of barstools, Dawson quickly scanned the menu laid out on the bar, and then said, "She'll have the Monkey's Uncle, and I'll have the Montague."



       
         
       
        

"Hey, I can order my own damn drink," I said.

Dawson cocked his head to the side as he and the bartender watched and waited while I perused the menu. And … shit. I was a sucker for anything with Nutella.

"I'll have the Monkey's Uncle," I mumbled, and Dawson smiled victoriously.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, get that smug look off your face. It just means I've become too predictable and need to switch things up. But … tomorrow."

"Pita, the last thing anyone would ever call you is predictable. No need to change your alcohol preferences just to spite me."

"That's exactly why I should do it."

"That hurts. And here I thought we'd bond tonight."

"As long as by bonding, you don't mean horizontally."

He waggled his eyebrows. "Always a first time for everything."

"Jesus."

As our drinks were set in front of us, Dawson slid his card across the bar, and I didn't put up a protest. If he was forcing himself on me like a leech, it might as well be on his dime, am I right?

My hands were still numb from the cold, and I rubbed them together like two sticks trying to start a fire, and when that didn't work fast enough, I blew out hot breaths of air onto them. The downside to dressing to attract the opposite sex was that there was a very real possibility you might freeze to death before you got them into your bed.

"Let me," Dawson said, and before I could ask what he meant, he'd taken his jacket off and placed it around my shoulders. The warmth of it had the trembling in my arms immediately slowing to a stop, my body relaxing, and when he sat back down, he took both of my hands in his. My first instinct had been to pull away, and I did, but Dawson's fingers tightened around mine, refusing to let go.

"Don't be a stubborn ass," he said, rubbing my hands between his large ones. "Get warm and then you can go back to telling me to get lost."

I frowned, but couldn't deny that it felt good. The heat, of course, not the feel of his hands on mine.

"How are you so warm? You're not a shifter, are you?" I asked, thinking back to a scene from a movie Shayne had made me see with her where a werewolf guy kept this human girl warm in front of her vampire boyfriend. Titillating stuff.

"A what?"

"Never mind." The feeling was coming back into my fingers, and this time when I pulled away, he let me. "Thanks, I think I'm good now."

"Keep that," he said when I reached up to pull his jacket off.

"I don't think so."

"Would you rather sit there and freeze?" 

"Yes."