The Sure Thing (2 page)

“That's okay.  I didn't come up here to eat.”

She studied the wine in her glass, swirled it a bit.  “Why did you come up here?”

He wished he had a cool, suave answer.  But he didn't, so he told her the truth instead.  “When I saw you in the store
…
I don't know, I just wanted to get to know you.”

“Even when you thought I was an Ascot Formal Wear employee?”

“Especially then.”

“You wanted me to fit you for that tux, didn't you?”
she
teased.  “Take your measurements?  Sigh in amazement when the tape measure barely made it around your bulging chest?”

“Yep.  I have this need to be groped by strange women.  I spend a few days a week getting mole checks at the dermatologist's office.”

“Really.”

“I'm afraid so.”  The way her nose crinkled when she smiled made his head buzz. 
W
as he feeling
…
happiness?  Attraction?  No, more than attraction
. D
esire?  It was hard to say.  She was definitely beautiful
. H
er eyes were wide and brown, her hair golden blonde,
falling
past her shoulders.  She was tall, almost as tall as him, and the thought of kissing her, face to face, chest to breast, hip to hip, made his mouth go dry. But it was more than just her looks.  She was edgy, and funny, and...well, there was just something there.  And he wanted at it. 

Nick had dreaded coming to Vegas this weekend, dreaded seeing Jordan, dreaded being a groomsman.  He'd had fun in college, but it seemed like all the guys in his fraternity never bothered to stop having fun and grow up.  They were all like Jordan, perpetually juvenile, even as they went on to get jobs, get married,
and
start families.  When they got together, they talked about getting drunk and finding women, and being...stupid.  But Becca wasn't stupid.  Maybe that's why
he had
been sitting on her couch for the last hour instead of throwing dice on the craps tables with his buddies. 

Being this close made him want to touch her, but he didn't want her to think we was a creeper, so he shifted back an inch and circled both hands around his wine glass.  Down, boy.

“So, you know I'm a caterer, but you still haven't said what you do for a living.”

“Why don't you guess?” he hedged.  God, he hated this question. 

“Hmm, okay...Well, you look pretty athletic.  Do you work outside?”

“Never.”

“So your job doesn't require any physical exertion?”

“Nope.”

“Is it something creative?  Something in the arts?”

“Yes, I'm a belly dancer.”

“Oh, hell no.”

“Okay, a ballroom dancer.”

“You said it wasn't physical!”

He grinned.  He could do this all night.  She'd never guess.

“But you didn't rule out the arts.  Are you a musician?”

“Yes, I'm a flutist.  Flautist.  Whatever.”

“If you can't say it, you don't do it.”

“Words to live by.”  Oh man, she was pretty.  She smelled like some kind of warm flower.  Sweet.  He was having trouble concentrating on their game.

“Do I need to go more boring?”

“Definitely.”

“Okay, banker.”

“Not
that
boring.”

“Lawyer.”

He wrinkled his nose.

“Gimme a hint,” she demanded.

“Okay, it's in the medical field.”

“You're a doctor?” she asked, looking a bit shocked.

“You had to guess doctor, didn't you?  What if I'm a nurse?  Are you hung up on gender roles, Becca?”

“No, no...I just
…
”

“I'm teasing you.  I'm not a nurse.  Or a doctor.”

“Then what?  I give up,” she sighed, clunking her wineglass on the coffee table.

“I'm a dentist.”

“What?  A dentist?”  Her face broke into a grimace.  It was the universal reaction to his profession.  “You don't look like a dentist.”  The second universal reaction.

“What do dentists look like?
Herbie from that Rudolph cartoon
?”

“No, but I mean,
dentists are
cute
.”

“You think I'm cute?”

“Handsome,” she amended.  “In a non-dentist kind of way.”  She studied his face for a long moment.  When he didn't speak, she did.
“Now I'm thinking how you'd look in plastic gloves and scrubs.”  She moved her eyes a fraction, so she was looking at his shoulder.

“No.  You were thinking: This is one hell of a man on my couch.  I want to kiss him.” 

She leaned back, flushing.  “Nope, nope...just thinkin' about the scrubs.”  

“Oh.  My bad.  I got confused, you know...because I
do want
to kiss you.”  He leaned forward, and when she didn't move away, he pressed his lips to hers. 

Her lips pressed back, then clung, then parted.  Oh, yes.  It was one of those kisses that went straight to his chest and stayed there.  It was so good he had to have another, then another.  He heard himself groan, although he hadn't meant to.  She tasted delicious, and the way she fit herself against his chest allowed him to plunge his tongue deeper and rub his hips against her, and holy crap, he needed to stop.

“Becca.”

“Hmm?”  Her breath was unsteady. 

He pulled back and leaned his forehead against hers.  “Wow.”

She grinned then pulled back.  “This is kind of scary.”

“Why?”  He ran his thumb against her jaw.

“I feel like you're judging my teeth while we kiss.  Can your tongue tell that I only remember to floss every other day?”

“Yes, of course.  But I wasn't going to say anything.”

“A dentist and a gentleman.”

“I'm not gonna lie, though
.
I'm concerned about your right mandibular second molar.”

“My whooza-whatsits?”

“I may need to kiss you again.  Purely professional.  I took an oath.”

“Do dentists take the Hippocratic Oath?”

“No, we do the Colgate Pledge.”

“Ahh, right.”  There was that smile again.   There was no way he could leave her now.  He kissed her lips lightly, then the tip of her nose.

“Listen, I'm supposed to go meet the guys at The Venetian at seven.  It's some kind of party thing for Jordan and Katie.  Do you want to come?” 
She stiffened a bit and
her hands went from his shoulders to her lap.  Whoa, he'd done something wrong. “It's just a quick dinner, then a bit of gambling.  My treat?”  And now she was standing, backing up a bit.  This was bad.  “Or not?”  His voice had lost its confidence.

“I'd love to, but I've got a ton of work to do.”

“But it's Friday night,” he argued.

“I'm a wedding caterer, weekends are my busiest times.”  But her eyes looked uncertain, like she could be persuaded, so he pushed.

“Come on, just a few hours.  We'll have a nice dinner.  I promise you won't have to sit by Jordan.  And then we'll hang out and hit some slots.” 
She
concentrated on the hem of her cardigan, pulling a black thread until it popped. “I'll have you home before midnight, Cinderella.”  There was a long pause. 

Finally, in a meek voice, she said
,
“Okay”. 

CHAPTER THREE

Becca awoke to the sound of a dog knocking over a trash
can outside her living room window.  The number of “self-walking” dogs in her neighborhood was becoming more and more of a problem.  She wanted to call the landlord to complain, but she was already three weeks late with the rent
.
S
o instead, she pulled on leggings and a t-shirt and went outside to clean up the mess.  Elbow-deep in dirty paper towels and soggy coffee grounds, she contemplated the bigger mess she'd made last night
.
T
he one that couldn't be cleaned up with rubber gloves and plastic bags.

The decision to go with Nick to the casino had surprised her.  In fact, she'd spent most of the ten-minute drive to the
s
trip wondering what the hell she was doing.  She
h
adn’
t
entered a casino in almost three years, which was no small feat for a wedding caterer in Vegas.  She'd been to virtually all the hotels and restaurants in the city, of course, but always managed to sidestep the casinos, which was possible if you used the children's entrance.  But for Nick, she was willing to put it all on the line
. T
he abstinence, the peace of mind, the stupid plastic chips she got at meetings for one month, six months, a year without gambling.  She realized on the drive through town that for him, she didn't want to be the damaged woman, the woman with a past, the woman who was weak.  She wanted Nick to see her as good and worthy.  So
she
pasted on a smile and walked through the casino, one foot in front of the other, until they reached the safety of the restaurant.

Dinner was nice, and even the frat boys were on their best behavior since it was still early and they were still sober.  Becca sat between Nick and Katie, ordered some wonderful poached salmon, and noticed the light dusting of dark blond curls on Nick's forearms as he cut his steak.  He had a tiny white scar on his lower lip.   He'd missed a spot shaving near the edge of his jaw.  She wanted to lick the tiny hairs there, feel them bristle against her tongue.  She kept forgetting to eat.

After dinner, she was so high on Nick, laughing and joking, loving the way he looked at her, that she entered the casino feeling calm and happy.  She could do this.  Her problems were in the past, she had no desire to gamble.  She was just having a good time with a beautiful, funny, incredibly sexy man.  He was a dentist, for Christ's sake
. W
hat harm could come to her?

They made their way to the table games and Becca sat back with Katie watch
ing
the men play blackjack.  Nick kept looking at her instead of paying attention to his cards
,
and
as a result
he was losing his shirt.
  She wanted to tell him to quit
, but he looked like he was having fun.  She had to remember that most people were able to gamble without feeling panicked, and buzzy, and sweaty—they were able to stop when they felt like it, without the gnawing grip of compulsion souring their stomach.  She looked at her watch.  It was ten-thirty.  If she could make it another half-hour, she'd tell Nick it was getting late and she needed to get home.  It was okay.  She could do this.

Becca's thoughts were interrupted by a loud, communal whoop of celebration.  Nick hit twenty-one after doubling down.  He was grinning, his face flushed with excitement.  He caught Becca's eye and winked as he cashed out his chips, leaving the table as the others moaned in protest.  “I know when to quit, you losers,” he called over his shoulder as he led Becca to the bar in the middle of the floor.  “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, I'm fine,” Becca said, straining her
neck
to see how far away they were from the exit.  She'd kept her eyes peeled for exit doors all night
. I
t helped calm her nerves.

“Well, come on, then.  I need you to help me double my money.”

“Oh, no,” Becca said quickly.  “I'm not a gambler.”

“Come on, you're my good luck charm.  I've never won in a casino in my life.  I can't break my streak now.”  He led them to a long row of slot machines, blinking and chirping their calls over the canned country music in the background.  Thick clouds of cigarette smoke made Becca's eyes water. 

“Nick, I think I need to go home.”  But he was
busy
trying to insert his cash into the stubborn eight-liner in front of him, and he didn't hear her.  Once he finally got the money to go in, he sat on the black stool in front of the machine, and patted his knee.  “Come on, I need your help.  I've never played one of these things before.”

“Neither have I.”  Her hands began to sweat. 

“Really?” he asked, incredulous.  “How long did you say you've lived here?  I can't believe you've never gambled.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” 

“What?  No, of course not, I just--”

“I need to go home.”  Her head craned towards the exit. 

“Umm, okay...sure.”  His words were careful, and they made her angry.

“Not you, I'll go by myself.”

“Becca...”

“No, you should stay here with your friends.  I can catch a cab.”

Nick stood and took a step towards her.  She resisted the urge to step back.  “Becca, I brought you here, I'll take you home.”

“No, no, I'm sorry...I'm just tired, and really stressed out about work.  I'll go, and you stay here and have fun.  I...I had a nice time.  Thanks for inviting me.”  She was already creeping backwards, her purse tucked tightly under her arm.  “I'll see you around.  At the wedding for sure.  Thanks again...I'll floss tonight, I promise.”  She turned then, and felt his wide, confused eyes following her as she hurried to the glass doors by the player
’
s club desk. 
I'll floss tonight? 
Her eyes blurred with unshed tears.  So much for coming across as a strong, worthy woman.