Monster in His Eyes
Page 68
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"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?"
"Of course not."
"Then take it."
I take the beer from him and drink, grimacing. It's disgusting, but I take a second swallow and push it back across the table to him before anyone catches me.
The food comes out quickly—a juicy burger on a fresh roll, grease dripping when I bite into it. It's so good I moan, dramatically rolling my eyes in the back of my head. "Now that's a bacon cheeseburger."
Conversation is playful as I stuff myself, whereas he only eats half of his burger, instead filling up on alcohol. I sip enough from his bottles to catch a buzz, my head a little fuzzy and my body light like somehow I've learned to defy gravity and float into the sky.
He's sipping on his fourth beer as I lounge back in my chair, watching him quietly. He's beautiful, in a dark sort of way, the kind of beauty that's natural. He doesn't try, and I think that's what I love most about him—he just is. Naz, with his rough edges and slightly sinister smile, is pure passion and genuine grit, the kind that makes the hair on my arms stand on end while my spine simultaneously tingles. He can be frightening, but he's downright fascinating. I've never been around someone who wields so much influence.
How can someone surrounded by an air of danger make me feel so downright safe?
"You're quiet," he says, raising an eyebrow as he stares back at me. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm just thinking about how beautiful you are," I admit.
He laughs as he sets his beer down, pushing it across the table to me, offering the last little bit. I pick it up, chugging it, grimacing at the warm bitter taste. Naz pulls out his wallet and throws down a wad of cash, not bothering to wait on the bill—our waitress is backed up, so busy we haven't seen her in a while—but it's more than enough to cover what we owe.
He stands up, fixing his tie. I follow his lead, slipping my arm around his as we start for the exit, strolling out onto the casino floor.
"You know how to play blackjack?" he asks.
"No."
"It's pretty basic," he says. "You add up the value of the cards. Closest to twenty-one without going over wins. Got it?"
"Uh, sure," I say, eyeing him peculiarly. I really don't. "Why?"
"Because we're about to go blow a lot of money playing it."
I gape at him, and start to argue that I'm not legally old enough to gamble in Vegas, but yet again it's pointless. He bypasses all the tables around the main floor, taking me to an entire other part of the hotel—a casino within a casino. This place is upscale and exclusive, so much so we have to be escorted in. We're taken to a back room, to some private blackjack tables. As soon as we step inside I recognize a voice, looking around and seeing vaguely familiar faces. Everyone from the plane is here, laughing and carrying on, gambling the night away.
Naz takes a seat at a table beside Raymond. As soon as he sits down, a man working approaches, hesitant, a twinge of fear in his eyes as he stammers. "Mister, uh, Vitale, sir… your friend…"
"Girlfriend," Naz says. The word makes me stall, heart thumping so hard I grow dizzy. Girlfriend. It's the first time he's ever called me anything like that. A strange sort of silence falls over the room, voices hushing. I glance around at the men, seeing their curious gazes. They seem as affected by the word as me. "I'm well aware she's not old enough to place bets, but she's my good luck charm, so if you're going to deny me her presence, then I'll be forced to take my money elsewhere."
"No problem," the man says, backing off at the threat. "We're happy to accommodate you."
I pause behind Naz, nervously following the lead of the others. A few women linger in the room, off to the side. Raymond's blonde stands behind him, rubbing his shoulders attentively, while he seems to barely remember she's there. Naz grabs my arm, though, tugging me to him. I blink a few times, startled, when he pulls me onto his lap. I settle onto the chair with him, leaning back against him, trying to shift around so I don't block him from seeing what he's doing. A few of the guys cast him peculiar looks, but nobody says anything as he's dealt in.
Despite him telling me the rules of the game, I have a hard time keeping up with what's happening. These men are obviously big time, everything moving swiftly, white, yellow, and brown chips tossed around worth thousands of dollars, very little spoken in the way of game playing. They chatter about nonsense, using their hands to signal how they want to play. I watch Naz, trying to count up his cards, but he distracts me, his breath fanning against my cheek, his lips finding my neck periodically between bets.
I don't know how the hell he can concentrate.
Drinks flow to the men. Naz offers me sips of his, and nobody says a word. They play and play, joking around, throwing away thousands of dollars that none of them seem to bat an eyelash at. The night wears on as he whispers to me, asking me what he should do a few times. I know he knows better than me, but I play along, giving him my opinion. He listens every time, laughing when I cost him damn near everything, like that amuses him.
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?"
"Of course not."
"Then take it."
I take the beer from him and drink, grimacing. It's disgusting, but I take a second swallow and push it back across the table to him before anyone catches me.
The food comes out quickly—a juicy burger on a fresh roll, grease dripping when I bite into it. It's so good I moan, dramatically rolling my eyes in the back of my head. "Now that's a bacon cheeseburger."
Conversation is playful as I stuff myself, whereas he only eats half of his burger, instead filling up on alcohol. I sip enough from his bottles to catch a buzz, my head a little fuzzy and my body light like somehow I've learned to defy gravity and float into the sky.
He's sipping on his fourth beer as I lounge back in my chair, watching him quietly. He's beautiful, in a dark sort of way, the kind of beauty that's natural. He doesn't try, and I think that's what I love most about him—he just is. Naz, with his rough edges and slightly sinister smile, is pure passion and genuine grit, the kind that makes the hair on my arms stand on end while my spine simultaneously tingles. He can be frightening, but he's downright fascinating. I've never been around someone who wields so much influence.
How can someone surrounded by an air of danger make me feel so downright safe?
"You're quiet," he says, raising an eyebrow as he stares back at me. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm just thinking about how beautiful you are," I admit.
He laughs as he sets his beer down, pushing it across the table to me, offering the last little bit. I pick it up, chugging it, grimacing at the warm bitter taste. Naz pulls out his wallet and throws down a wad of cash, not bothering to wait on the bill—our waitress is backed up, so busy we haven't seen her in a while—but it's more than enough to cover what we owe.
He stands up, fixing his tie. I follow his lead, slipping my arm around his as we start for the exit, strolling out onto the casino floor.
"You know how to play blackjack?" he asks.
"No."
"It's pretty basic," he says. "You add up the value of the cards. Closest to twenty-one without going over wins. Got it?"
"Uh, sure," I say, eyeing him peculiarly. I really don't. "Why?"
"Because we're about to go blow a lot of money playing it."
I gape at him, and start to argue that I'm not legally old enough to gamble in Vegas, but yet again it's pointless. He bypasses all the tables around the main floor, taking me to an entire other part of the hotel—a casino within a casino. This place is upscale and exclusive, so much so we have to be escorted in. We're taken to a back room, to some private blackjack tables. As soon as we step inside I recognize a voice, looking around and seeing vaguely familiar faces. Everyone from the plane is here, laughing and carrying on, gambling the night away.
Naz takes a seat at a table beside Raymond. As soon as he sits down, a man working approaches, hesitant, a twinge of fear in his eyes as he stammers. "Mister, uh, Vitale, sir… your friend…"
"Girlfriend," Naz says. The word makes me stall, heart thumping so hard I grow dizzy. Girlfriend. It's the first time he's ever called me anything like that. A strange sort of silence falls over the room, voices hushing. I glance around at the men, seeing their curious gazes. They seem as affected by the word as me. "I'm well aware she's not old enough to place bets, but she's my good luck charm, so if you're going to deny me her presence, then I'll be forced to take my money elsewhere."
"No problem," the man says, backing off at the threat. "We're happy to accommodate you."
I pause behind Naz, nervously following the lead of the others. A few women linger in the room, off to the side. Raymond's blonde stands behind him, rubbing his shoulders attentively, while he seems to barely remember she's there. Naz grabs my arm, though, tugging me to him. I blink a few times, startled, when he pulls me onto his lap. I settle onto the chair with him, leaning back against him, trying to shift around so I don't block him from seeing what he's doing. A few of the guys cast him peculiar looks, but nobody says anything as he's dealt in.
Despite him telling me the rules of the game, I have a hard time keeping up with what's happening. These men are obviously big time, everything moving swiftly, white, yellow, and brown chips tossed around worth thousands of dollars, very little spoken in the way of game playing. They chatter about nonsense, using their hands to signal how they want to play. I watch Naz, trying to count up his cards, but he distracts me, his breath fanning against my cheek, his lips finding my neck periodically between bets.
I don't know how the hell he can concentrate.
Drinks flow to the men. Naz offers me sips of his, and nobody says a word. They play and play, joking around, throwing away thousands of dollars that none of them seem to bat an eyelash at. The night wears on as he whispers to me, asking me what he should do a few times. I know he knows better than me, but I play along, giving him my opinion. He listens every time, laughing when I cost him damn near everything, like that amuses him.
