Out of Aces (6 page)

“I want to make love to you.” I squeezed her
hand.

“I want that, too.” Her voice was q
uiet.

“And I know you’re waiting until you’re married. But we’re only eighteen. I can’t wait ten years. I don’t even think I can wait five ye
ars.”

The other thing, which I didn’t say out loud, was that at first I’d thought Irina was all talk, and I just needed to prove myself. It was only recently that I’d realized it wasn’t true. She was dead serious about waiting. Which made me almost serious about the Elvis
idea.

Irina glanced over and caught my eyes. “I don’t want to wait a long time, either. But I’m not ready to get married now. Eighteen seems insane. Twenty-three, ma
ybe.”

I groaned. “See, you can handle this because you’re doing it for something big that you believe in. I’m just doing it because you’re making
me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” She sounded sad. And a little stressed. “I wish it wasn’t just me trying to do this alone. I know it’s hard for you.” She turned away, and I could see her profile: nose small and delicate, light lashes lowered and hiding her
eyes.

I had a scary thought then. Maybe we
weren’t
meant for each other. I loved her like a piece of me. I wanted her forever. But maybe what she needed was a religious guy. Maybe a guy like Micah, who would understand what made her
tick.

Somebody was making noise in the parking lot. Not a fight exactly, but a drunk argument in another language. There were three people in it, all women. Heels clattered on concrete and a door sla
mmed.

Irina hadn’t moved from the position she’d fallen asleep in. She was on her side, leg thrown over my waist, face nestled on my shoulder. Her hair was spread over the pillow like a golden
fan.

I couldn’t keep my eyes closed. They kept springing open as I pictured that computer screen again and again, telling me I’d failed. I stared at the forked line in the ceiling, wide awake like I’d bolted a Red Bull. Irina’s warm weight on me filled me with panic. I was bluffing like mad with the worst hand of cards ever. Somehow I’d managed to pull off a few rounds without anybody finding out. But this couldn’t last. Blind luck never
did.

The GED thing bothered me the most. If she found out
. . .

The talk we’d had earlier played again in my mind. I had been kidding about getting Elvis to marry us. But if she’d said yes, I would have done it. I was always ready to ga
mble.

But that wasn’t going to work forever. I had to get my life together, figure out a plan, because . . . I looked down at Irina’s chest rising and falling. Because I wanted her for
real.

CHAPTER SIX

N
ick was in a wicked mood. He usually stayed in his office, but tonight he was stalking around, barking at the waitresses, watching me till I felt as jumpy as a kid stealing a candy bar. He had these black eyes that could leave bullet holes just looking at you. I wasn’t taking it well, because I was already feeling low that Irina had gone home the night be
fore.

“Ignore him,” said Rob. “He’ll come down harder if you act nerv
ous.”

“Easy for you to say, you three-hundred-pound Irish
man.”

Rob grinned. He enjoyed the fact that he was bigger than everybody else. He was wiping down the bar for the third time (he was OCD like that), when his rag stopped moving and he stared across the club. I followed his eyes to a lady in cowboy gear muscling through the door with a big cardboard box. “It’s going to be a good night,” Rob said hap
pily.

“What are you talking ab
out?”

“Hang on.” Rob let himself through the bar
flap.

It was Saturday, but it was still early and the place was only half-f. I leaned on the bar, keeping an eye on Rob and the lady. She was older, maybe fifty, and stuffed into serious rodeo clothes, which were very trendy in Vegas, at least for a certain crowd. Rob carried the box to his side of the bar, and they stood talking for a mi
nute.

Slam!
I jumped. Nick’s hand had landed on the bar behind me. “I’m paying you to work, and all you can do is stare off into sp
ace?”

“So
rry!”

He shook a paper folder at me. “I’m doing paychecks. You still haven’t turned in your Sheriff’s Card. You want me to get fined? And where’s the copy of your GED? The company has a minimum education policy. The Gaming Control Board sees your résumé, doesn’t see a Sheriff’s Card and a GED, it’s
my
ass on the l
ine.”

“Sorry,” I said again, flushing. That stupid Sheriff’s Card. It was just an ID that said you’d been fingerprinted by LVPD, but I needed to get a fake, because it had a birthdate right on the
top.

“Don’t apologize, fix it.” But then Nick stopped glaring at me and turned toward the entrance. I looked after him. Four girls in tiny red dresses and Santa hats were coming through the door. The one in front was a knockout. Dark tan, long black hair, blue eyes, and about twenty pounds of silicone—but the surgeon did a good
job.

“We have a Bacardi promotion tonight,” Nick said without turning his head. “Sell them bottles at cost, and they’ll take care of the r
est.”

“Sure, okay.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the black-haired girl. She had “Bacardi” written in silver glitter across her chest. Her heels were six-inch nee
dles.

“I’ll give you one more minute to act like a horny teenager. Then I want you back to work.” Nick walked
away.

The word
teenager
made me snap out of it and start stacking gla
sses.

The music went down, and DJ Blaze’s voice came over the sound system. “Hush, I want you to give a big welcome to the
Bacardi girls
!” I clapped. Every guy in there clapped. The women, not so much. “They’re here to make friends and spread the holiday spirit, so I want you to show them a good time!” DJ Blaze transitioned into some beats and—what was Rob doing? He had lifted the flap to let the girls behind the
bar!

I went over there at light speed. The black-haired one was even better up c
lose.

“This is Gabe. He takes care of that end of the bar,” Rob introduced me. “Gabe, this is Lydia, Chanel, Erin, and . . . What’s your name, sweetie? I don’t think you were here last t
ime.”

“Becca,” said the black-haired girl. She smiled at me, and I smiled
back.

Chanel, a blonde, took charge. She grabbed one of our bottle openers and slit the cardboard box. “Becca, you do inventory,” she ordered, opening the flaps. “There should be fifty T-shirts and thirty shot glasses in here. Lydia and Erin, take the floor. I’ll handle the VIPs. The goal is thirty bottles sold and all the swag distributed.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and marched back out. I could see her in a business suit in some other
life.

“You want help counting that?” I offered Becca. “Here, I’ll do the shirts.” I grabbed an arm
load.

“Thanks.” She smiled again. Meanwhile, Rob was pouring s
hots.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” he said when we were done with inventory. He handed Becca a tray. “Kill ’em dead.” She gave us a flirty look over her shoulder as she left the
bar.

“Those ladies are getting paid,” Rob commented after she left. “They’ll clear five hundred apiece in two hours, e
asy.”

“They deserve it,” I said. I went back to my end of the bar, and I admit it, I was a little distracted. People will do just about anything for a T-shirt. The best was when Chanel took the mic and got a contest going on the dance floor. She used a dumb, cutesy voice, nothing like how she’d sounded behind the bar. “Whichever guy dances the sexiest gets a shirt! I’m the ju
dge!”

You should have seen the drunk fools go. The dude who won was dancing like a windup hump
-toy.

“Okaaay . . . let’s see somebody do a good Elvis impression!” Well, there was a professional Elvis impersonator there, so that was
easy.

“Just the ladies now,” Chanel called. Really, people will do anything for a T-s
hirt.

I was watching the comedy on the dance floor, when suddenly Becca was leaning on my bar. “Can I get some wa
ter?”

I gave her a bottled water. “You selling as much as you ho
ped?”

“Yeah, Chanel’s really good. Everybody makes money when she’s work
ing.”

“That’s cool. You like working for Baca
rdi?”

“I don’t work for Bacardi. We’re with a promotions agency, and we work for whatever company hires us for an event. Like, I have a Kahlua outfit in my car from last ni
ght.”

“Yeah? What’s it look like?” I a
sked.

“Um, I guess it’s a really tiny pair of shorts. And a bikini top.” She was smiling a li
ttle.

“I bet you looked great in it.”
Shut up, fool. You have a girlfr
iend.

“Well, I don’t know about that.” Her eyes locked on mine. Up close under the bar light, I could see it was all fake: her hair was too black, her tan too dark, her eyes too blue, her chest too huge . . . but I totally wanted her. “Hey, you know the Double Down?” she asked, playing with the cap on her water. “Lydia and I are going there after this is o
ver.”

“Yeah?” I
said.

“You should come.” She touched my wrist and let her hand rest there for a moment. Long, smooth nails. Tan, pretty h
ands.

I yanked my arm away. “I have to go on break,” I blurted out, and I practically ran out of t
here.

Rob gave me a weird look as I said, “Behind,” and rushed past. “Going on break,” I threw over my shoulder. It was no big deal; it was still early—he could handle the bar him
self.

Instead of going to the break room, I pushed out the front door into the parking lot. I needed to clear my head, get some air, think hard before I decided to cheat. It was cold and clear, a typical desert night. The Vegas lights were bright enough to pass for stars. I walked between the parked cars, shivering a li
ttle.

I had picked the hardest girl to try to be loyal to. I kept telling myself I just had to hold on until we were twenty-three or whatever she said, get married, and I’d have sex for the rest of my life with the woman I loved. But right now, I was thinking,
I’m eighteen. What am I talking a
bout?

I looked back at the club. I wanted to be a good guy who could treat a girl right, not step on her like every guy always did to my mom. But I was missing some insane opportuni
ties.

I yanked my phone out of my pocket and dialed I
rina.

“Hi, baby.” Irina sounded sleepy. “I thought you were working toni
ght.”

“I am. I’m on break. I just wanted to hear your voice. I miss you.” I think I sounded despe
rate.

“That’s sweet. I miss you,
too.”

“How was your fli
ght?”

“Fast. Easy.” She yawned and I could hear her rustling around. “Is it busy toni
ght?”

“Yeah. The Bacardi girls came, and they’re doing a promotion.” I wanted to tell her everything, tell her every detail so she could talk me out of my tree. She was my best friend
and
my girlfriend, and sometimes that complicated th
ings.

“The Bacardi girls?” Suddenly she sounded wide awake. “What’re they l
ike?”

“They go around giving away T-shirts and key chains. You k
now.”

“Are they c
ute?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, that’s their job.” Right away I knew I shouldn’t have said
that.

“Like how c
ute?”

“Not as beautiful as
you.”

“You’re just saying t
hat.”

“No, seriously. They’re f
ake.”

“Guys seem to like t
hat.”

I gro
aned.

There was a little silence. Then Irina asked, “You said fake. Does that mean . . . What do you think about breast impla
nts?”

“I’m not answering t
hat.”

“So you like t
hem?”

“I never said t
hat!”

“But you never said you
don’t
, so that means you
do
. Tell me the tr
uth.”

I was quiet for a second, trying to get a strategy together. Irina could talk me into a corner every time. But part of me was thinking,
She wants the truth? Fine.
“Yeah,” I said. “Sometimes they look good, o
kay?”

There was a tiny sniff on the other
end.

“Are you
cry
ing
?”

“No! You think I’m going to cry because you like big, ugly, fake balloon bo
obs?”

“Okay, calm d
own.”

“I have to go anyway. Micah’s picking me up early for chu
rch.”

There was a beat while I processed that. “He’s
w
hat
?”

“He said he wants to see what my church is like. So I said he could come tomor
row.”

“Wait, hold on. You’re kidding me. He wants to go to
church
with
you?”

“He’s interested in Orthodoxy. I guess he’s some kind of Protest
ant.”

I felt like screaming. But I tried to stay calm. “People aren’t just suddenly interested in other religions. If he’s so Protestant, why isn’t he going to his own church? He’s trying to get with you! I
told
you!”

Irina sighed. “Gabe, please. Can we not fight about t
his?”

“We’re not fighting! I’m just trying to tell you what he’s up
to!”

“Look, I just flew out to see you. What else do I need to do to prove that I’m
in t
his
?”

“Do you have a picture of him on your phone?” I dema
nded.

“
Why?”

“Just, do you have a picture? You’re always hanging out with him and that other guy, Seth. Don’t you ever take pictu
res?”

“Well, I don’t know. I’m sure I have a few on th
ere.”

“Text me one,” I
said.

“You’re acting ins
ane.”

“Please? Just text it to me. I’ll feel better and I won’t bug you.”
If he’s ugly,
I added in my
head.

“Okay, hang on, it’s com
ing.”

A text came through . . . and oh, no. I held up my phone. No way. The guy looked like a Hardy Boy. Blond, muscled, all-American, date rapist, frat boy, bench-pressing son of a— “Is he a
linebacker
or something?” I dema
nded.

“Not anymore.” Irina sounded confused. “And I think he played quarterb
ack.”

I smacked my forehead with my palm. “Irina, this is, like—this is ins
ane!”

“What? You think he’s handsome?” Irina was laug
hing.

“Gabe!” It was Nick’s voice, coming clear across the parking lot. “Break’s o
ver!”

“I gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I took a breath. “I love you.” Because seeing that picture reminded me how
much
I loved her, and how hard I’d like to kick the ass of any toothpaste model who tried to take her
away.

“I love you, too, baby,” she
said.

I hung up and jogged toward the club, stea
ming.

“Are you okay?” April asked from her cage as I tore open the employee
door.

“Look at this!” I blurted, holding my phone to the bars. “Is this guy good-look
ing?”

She gave me a strange look, but she peered at the phone. “Yeah. Definit
ely.”

I cursed under my breath and shoved the phone back in my po
cket.

“Hey, can I get some change, please?” a customer asked on the other
side.

April ignored him. “What’s wrong?” she asked
me.

Heat rushed into my face. “He’s after my girlfriend,” I admitted. As I said the word
girlfriend
, I felt embarrassed, almost naked. You weren’t supposed to talk about girlfriends with dream women who look like movie s
tars.