Staying in Vegas by Sam Mariano
7
Laurel
Half a dozen showgirls dance in the center of the floor, tables arranged in a U around them. Buff waiters in white suits hustle through the crowded room, carrying trays of food and colorful drinks.
The dance concludes, each woman hitting her final pose and holding a big grin. The crowd claps politely. Rafe’s hand settles at the small of my back and he gently nudges me ahead. I realize I stopped walking to watch the show, so I take a step forward. I look up at him as he moves closer, guiding me into his chest in an almost unconsciously protective gesture that makes me feel warm all over. I look up at him, at his handsome face basked in the glow of the flashy lights. He catches me looking, of course, and gives me a little smile. His smile probably shouldn’t make my tummy flutter, but it does anyway. God, he’s handsome. Even in my memories of him, I’d somehow forgotten how handsome.
“Kinda flashy, huh?” he remarks.
“Well, it’s Vegas,” I offer back. “I expect some flash.”
“Some?” Sin mutters, his arm brushing mine as he moves close to avoid colliding with a server. “This place is all flash. At least the food’s not bad.”
I can’t help smiling faintly, hanging back while Sin walks ahead. Pushing up on my tip toes, I lean in to whisper to Rafe, “He’s a real pleasure to be around, isn’t he?”
Rafe smiles. “Sorry about him. If I had known you were coming in tonight, I would have brought you out without him.”
“My fault for showing up unannounced.”
His eyes twinkle and he squeezes my side. “A welcome surprise.”
Sin walks ahead of us, clearing a path through the crowd with little more than his intimidating aura. The crowd shifts naturally, like he’s Moses parting the Red Sea. Sin doesn’t require divine intervention; I get the impression—and so does everyone else—that he’ll dole out his own if they stand in his way.
I figured a Twix was good because who doesn’t like Twix? Maybe I should’ve bought the man a Snickers instead.
The booth we end up in is U-shaped, similar to the one we sat in at Rafe’s restaurant when Carly and Vince were with us. Sin slides in first, then Rafe gestures for me to slide in between them. I’m tentative about sitting beside the man who nearly ripped my arm off for handing him a candy bar—what if I need to cut my steak and he thinks I’m gonna stab him? Not wanting to offend anyone, I push down my objections and slide in anyway. I’ll just make sure I order food I don’t have to cut up.
“Do those poor girls have to dance all night?” I ask Rafe, nodding toward the dance floor. The women are reassembling, like they’re about to launch into another routine.
“They work in shifts, but yeah.”
“Their poor feet,” I remark.
Before long, a waitress comes over to hand us our menus and ask for our drink order. Rafe automatically orders me an alcoholic beverage like he did last time we were out.
“Oh, uh, no alcohol for me,” I say, shaking my head. “Water is fine, thank you.”
Rafe frowns. “You don’t want a drink?”
“I’m not old enough to be served.” It’s a stupid excuse. I wasn’t old enough last time either, and given who Rafe is, people probably bend rules for him all the time. If the girl he brings in wants a drink, it’s unlikely to matter whether or not she’s 21.
His frown lingers and my stomach flips over. There’s one obvious reason for women to refuse alcoholic drinks, and this is not how I want him to find out. His probing brown eyes remain on mine, and it probably doesn’t help that I cast mine down guiltily.
Luckily, our third interrupts the awkward quiet, saying, “Bottled water, cap on, seal unbroken. If the seal is broken, I send it back.”
The waitress nods like this isn’t a strange request. I think it’s a strange request, but I’ve managed to get on his nerves so much tonight, I’m tentative as I turn toward him and cock a questioning eyebrow.
Sin meets my gaze briefly, but doesn’t explain himself.
When the waitress comes back, Rafe places an appetizer order and we all order some food. It’s somewhat awkward how quiet Sin is, but Rafe doesn’t seem to mind. He asks about Carly and Vince again, and I subtly assure him they have nothing to do with my visit here.
I don’t know if it’s real or imagined, but since I turned down the drink, he seems a little less friendly. Rafe has an easy charisma, so the shift is subtle, but I feel it nonetheless. It could just be a guilty conscience, I guess. It makes me uncomfortable that I’ve spent a good part of this evening with him, that I’m planning to stay at his house tonight, and I still haven’t told him why I came. I planned to tell him straight away—it’s the sole purpose of this trip, after all—but I didn’t think we would have company from the moment I arrived.
I try to imagine how it will go. He was happier to see me than I expected him to be, less suspicious than I was prepared for, but I struggle with reminding myself over and over again that Rafe and I are not alike. He’s the king of casual, and I’ve never even had sex outside a relationship before him. I find it weird that a girl would fly across the country to spend a night with him, but then again, he flew halfway across the country and came early to Easter just so he could bang me for Mateo.
I’m not complaining, it’s just everything is topsy turvy in this family, so it’s hard to be sure of anything.
Remembering he never answered me—and feeling a little badly about how hard we’re ignoring him—I turn to look over at Sin. “You never said whether or not you’re a blood Morelli.”
“Nope,” Sin replies.
“No, you’re not a Morelli, or no, you didn’t answer me?”
He drags a piece of steak through dark sauce and pops it into his mouth instead of responding.
“He’s not related to me,” Rafe answers for him. “His last name is Sinclair—that’s where the nickname comes from.”
I’m mildly surprised to hear that. The fact that he’s mean should make him uglier, but despite his attitude, I’m still quite aware of the physical appeal he holds. I know two things about the Morelli men: 1.) they’re bad, and 2.) they’re super hot. It seemed to follow logically that Sin would be a Morelli. I want to ask how he got tangled up with their family, but if he won’t even share whether or not he’s one of them, it seems highly improbable he’ll tell me his life story.
I turn my attention back to the much easier man on my other side, but Rafe is no longer looking at me. His handsome face is trained on a scantily clad, platinum blonde woman stopped at the head of our table. Her skirt is so tight there’s no way she can breathe, and her breasts are barely covered by a gray strip of fabric. I’m not into girls, and even I can’t help ogling her.
As if the universe seeks to prove what I already know about Rafe’s good looks, the woman practically purrs, “Well, hello, sexy.”
My eyebrows rise at her familiarity. This is not the girl who was half-naked at his house a little bit ago, but some other blonde woman and two of her blondest friends. I assumed he had his fair share of admirers, but seriously?
Oh, cool, now her hand is on his shoulder and she’s leaning forward so we can all see her boobs are about to spill out of her fabric strip. Awesome.
Instead of politely shooing her away, he smiles back at her. Of course he does. He has a whole lot of boobs pushed right in front of his face, and I’m only on the menu tonight. His bed will need warming tomorrow, won’t it? Also, I have nothing on this woman. I thought it was intimidating back in Chicago when Carly had me convinced Rafe had a threesome with Vince’s super hot, super villain cousin and his gorgeous wife, but at least she was married. Even if Rafe wanted another hit of her, he didn’t have the opportunity. Her husband had her on lockdown. The chick standing here now is clearly ready and willing if he is. I don’t like the way it makes my stomach sink, or how homely I suddenly feel in my basic jeans and a shirt. I felt like I was being casually sexy by showing shoulder, but this chick is showing just about everything. All three chicks. They’re all glitzed up like they belong here, manicured and made up like they’re ready for a photo shoot. I look like I’m ready to attend a high school football game with my friends from chemistry class.
I wonder if he prefers the glitzy sex pot look? He’s still letting her touch his shoulder, so he must. Pushing down the cocktail of bad feelings shifting around in my gut, I remind myself Rafe is not mine and I’m not his. We’re both single—he is super single, and he certainly takes advantage of that relationship status.
Still, who does that when a guy is at a table with a girl? And what kind of guy just sits there and makes the girl he’s planning to fuck tonight watch a Playboy bunny flirt with him?
The other thing I can’t help noticing is how Sin is by any traditional standards devastatingly handsome, even in Rafe’s company, but these girls keep a safe distance from him—almost like they’re afraid to get too close. On one hand, I get it. If I didn’t know Rafe is a mobbed up criminal, I wouldn’t guess that looking at him. With his easy charm and slow, sexy smile, he could easily be starring in blockbusters and making women worldwide swoon for him, or maybe carving out a spot on Wall Street, making himself millions using his charisma to sell stocks to wealthy men. Rafe does not look like a criminal. Sin is a different story. If the man hadn’t stuffed at least one lifeless body into his trunk at some point in time, I would be legitimately shocked. There’s darkness and violence rolling off of him, sure, but he’s still physically appealing. If these Barbie dolls are ready to get their bimbo on for Rafe’s attention, I would expect them to at least look twice at Sin.
They don’t even look once.
The man is like a shadow, but he’s right here in plain sight.
Leaning closer to him now, I murmur, “The bimbo brigade isn’t for you, huh?”
He slides a baffled look my way, like I’ve clearly escaped a loony bin to even try chatting with him in low tones like we’re friends. In fairness, I guess that is kind of crazy since he’s expressed nothing but unpleasantness toward me since we met. Still, I can’t help trying to befriend the lonely-looking loners. It’s always been a weakness of mine.
Instead of ignoring me, he responds, “You think you’re better than them?”
“Better?” I hike up an eyebrow in surprise since I was just feeling inferior to these girls, not better than them. “No, of course not. That said, I wouldn’t approach a man I clearly want to sleep with when he looks like he’s on a date with someone else, either.”
“Maybe they think you’re with me.”
I want to laugh, but his tone is so even, I can’t tell if he’s joking. Does Sin joke? In any case, this may not be a joke, and I don’t want to offend him, so instead I nod my head solemnly. “Good point. We clearly have a vibe. If they can’t tell how much we like one another by the joy on your face, then the relative closeness of our bodies is probably a good indicator.”
He studies me for another moment, then—completely without warning—slides his arm around my shoulder and yanks me close. I’m too startled to pull back, but given his upper body strength, I don’t think I could without making a scene, anyway.
One of the chattering ladies notices; her eyes dart our way, almost nervously. Is she nervous forme? She certainly looks uncomfortable.
Her clear distraction causes Rafe to turn his head to investigate the cause. His dark eyes widen, and a flicker of alarm shines on the surface. “What the fuck are you doing?” he asks Sin.
“Cuddling my date,” Sin deadpans. “You’re chatting up this trio of blondes, so Laurel must be here with me, right?”
The sound of my name on his lips sends a chill straight down my spine. His grip on me is tight, but I’m not sure if the physical grip is why I can’t quite breathe properly.
Now all three blondes exchange uncomfortable glances, but they have officially lost Rafe’s attention. He glares at Sin’s arm around me, then his face. I have no idea what to do, so I just sit here smashed against Sin with Rafe glaring daggers and wait for someone to speak. No one does, but after a moment, the arm around my shoulder drops. I feel like I need to run outside and suck air into my lungs, but I settle for scooting away.
“Huh,” Sin murmurs, like he finds something interesting.
“No. There’s nothing to ‘huh,’” Rafe replies.
Sin shrugs. “You can’t reject my ‘huh.’ That’s mine.”
Rafe is annoyed. I haven’t seen him annoyed before, but he is right now. Turning back to the blondes, he says with remarkably recovered lightness, “Well, I guess I better get back to my date while I still can.”
They eye Sin warily, then flash tepid smiles at Rafe before wandering off.
“What the fuck was that?” Rafe mutters, sliding another annoyed look at Sin.
Shrugging his shoulders, Sin uncaps his water and says, “Hey, you’re single and flirting with other girls in front of her, so she’s clearly up for grabs—what’s the problem?”
“I was not flirting with them. I was talking to them. That doesn’t give you cause to get handsy with my date.”
“Right,” Sin drawls, rolling his eyes. “Fuck off, Rafe.”
“You fuck off,” Rafe shoots back. “You’re not even nice to her.”
“I was pretty nice to her just then.”
Shaking his head, Rafe says, “I don’t know why you’re trying to piss me off, but you can stop anytime.”
Sin stabs a stalk of broccoli, looking at Rafe before he takes a bite. “Hey, if I have to be nice to her, so do you.”
I have no idea what’s going on, so I study the condensation on the outside of my water glass like it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.
Rafe slides his arm around me for the first time since we got to this restaurant, a move that feels distinctly possessive now. Sin cracks a little smile, but doesn’t say anything more.
