The Resistance(4)

“Congratulations on your success. Well deserved.”

“I’m not sure if a smartass lime deserves the success it’s gotten, but I’ll take it.”

She taps my leg. “You deserve it. It’s funny and quite catchy. Just take the accolades.”

“Thanks.”

Looking over my shoulder, she leans in and whispers, “I’m skipping out of here early, but I’m meeting a few people for dinner tomorrow. If you’re still in Vegas, you should join us.”

“I’d love that. Thanks.”

She stands up and grabs the papers in front of her. “Fantastic. I’ll text you the details tomorrow. I’m so glad we ran into each other.”

“Me too. See you tomorrow.”

I’m left sitting alone. When I look around the room, like Cara, I’m thinking that skipping out early might be the way to go. If I do, I know Tracy will kick my ass, so I decide to suffer and give this party one last chance. But I definitely need a drink and the line for the bar in here is still way too long.

I head for the doors to buy a drink in one of the many hotel bars—any bar without a line. Guy from the bar line jumps in front of me as I try to exit, startling me. “Hey, hey, hey. You’re not leaving already, are you?”

Since my glare and earlier hints didn’t work, I reply, “I’ll be back, no need to worry yourself.”

His head starts bobbing up and down, confidently, and a big Cheshire cat grin covers his face. I start walking again as he keeps talking… again. “Cool. I’ll see you later then.”

I feel no need to respond to the come on, and will try to avoid him when I return. Following the wide-tiled path through the casino, which reminds me of the Yellow Brick Road, guiding me to what feels like Oz, a bar in all its gloriousness with no lines in site. Inside the darkened room, the sounds of the casino fade away as current hits play overhead. Still on a mission for a cocktail, I step up to the bar and wait.





“I’ve enjoyed a drink or two. Alcohol gives you perspective without the lecture.” ~Johnny Outlaw





Leaning his palms on top of the sleek black bar, the bartender smiles, and asks, “What can I get you, beautiful?”

Dressed in a button up and vest, he fits right in with the vibe of the bar. His smile is flirty and I bet his looks work well for him and often, but not on me tonight. After the jackass in the ballroom, I’m in no mood for another BS line, and just order my drink, “An Old-fashioned with extra orange please.”

“Coming right up. But first, I’ll need to see your ID. Please.” He flashes his smile again, bright white teeth, as if that will ease the blow that I’m still being carded at my age.

I reach down to my lap for my purse, then look back up to the bar top, and to the floor under my feet. Shit! I left my purse at the table in the party. Holding my finger up, I start to stand, and say, “I left my purse in one of the ballrooms. I need to go get it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says with a lazy shrug. “It’s cool. I trust you.”

I sit back down and say, “You can charge it to my room.”

“Sure thing.”

“Rules are made to be broken, but laws, breaking laws can get you into a lot of trouble. Hate to be a dick, but I’ll need to see your ID.” Two barstools down from me, the hot guy from the corridor sits smugly with a cocked up eyebrow and a wry grin firmly in place.

Stunned, I tilt my head to the side and ask, “Are you being serious?”

He puts his hand up when the bartender starts to protest. “I’m undercover and if she’s underage, your ass is going to jail.” Turning back to me, he says, “Dead serious.”

“You’re a cop?” I ask, eyeing him again. He’s clearly too hot to be a cop, so I’m taken aback by his tone because he actually seems serious. “You don’t look like a cop.”

“I didn’t say I was a cop. The hotel hired me. Now about that ID…”

I take the time to look him over before I give into his demand. Up close, I can see his shirt is tailored by the way it fits, his hair is messy in that sexy, just rolled out of bed way, and there’s a lightness to his eyes that leaves me wondering if they’re green or blue. It’s hard to tell in this dark bar.

The bottoms of his jeans are a bit frayed, and he’s wearing brown Doc Marten’s—not the boots—naturally distressed, not bought that way.

He’s an arrogant son-of-a-bitch, but I’m starting to think that small dimple in his chin gives him that right. It really is kind of hard to resist, and emphasizes just how intriguing he really is. Not how I usually imagine hotel security.