Drop Everything Now (7 page)

“Yeah,” Cara said as we stopped at the edge of the carpet that marked the gambling floor. “Every asshole here thinks we turn tricks at night. Look alive and watch your ass.”

Chapter 10

Well,
I hadn’t expected that. I brushed my palm an inch out from my butt and felt just how short the skirt was again. “Okay,” I nodded, trying to take a deep breath as inconspicuously as possible.

I followed Cara as she wove between tables and slot machines, bending down next to the gamblers just like an airline attendant might do, asking for their drink order. She wrote it all down with abbreviations on a little pad. “You can write them out longhand until you come up with something that you understand,” she said. “I know I said it’s not a competition, but the faster you are, the more drinks people will order, and the more tips they’ll give you.”

I nodded again. With any luck, I wouldn’t be here long enough to develop my own shorthand for Vegas drinks. Cara also showed me how to use a strong, authoritative voice to get the crowds of people to move, and then smile and even wink if the guys didn’t look to threatening to show them it was all part of the act.

“The guys will touch your butt and pretend they don’t know what’s going on. Again, if it turns into harassment, you tell me first thing. Okay? We want that scum off our floor.”

“Got it. Thank you,” I said.

Cara reached around and smacked my butt. “You look hot, and you’ll be fine. See you in eight hours!”

Eight hours. That should be just enough time for me to finish up with my shift, change quickly, and hop a cab to the hospital to check on Mom.

My shift was exhausting and slow, but more or less uneventful. I started out only carrying drinks for one table at a time, but as the night went on and I memorized more tables’ orders, I got a little faster and got up to carrying five drinks at once. I had the section made up of slot machines, so it was mostly old ladies like Mina and her friends, decked out in gaudy costume jewelry and pockets full of one dollar bills. Toward the end of the night, a few guys checked me out. The one who tried to hook his finger into my skirt got a swift “accidental” heel to the ankle, and after that, he gave me a nice tip and a mouthful of manners for his next drink.

Yeah, I’d been slow, but at the end of the eight hours, I was looking at a $120 in tips, plus the hourly wage. If I could get four or five shifts a week this way, I should be just fine. Relief swept over me, and I smiled. Control-freak Andi wasn’t doing too badly for herself.

When Cara and I finally walked off the floor and into the employee dressing room, I slid down to the floor, my back to the wall, and immediately took off those damn shoes, rotating my ankles and massaging my heels.

She looked at me, her mouth twisted. “Yeah, the first day on those is rough. I think I have some extra inserts I got on clearance, and they’ll break in, too. How’d you do?”

“I did okay,” I said, rolling my neck and listening to it pop. “I handled a couple nasty guys just fine, and I made just over $100.”

“Not bad for your first day,” she said, nodding approvingly.

That was when a guy in an impeccable suit with a glistening tie and a head shaved bald walked up to us. “Miss Garrett,” he said to Cara.

She skittered away from him ever-so-slightly before she stammered, “Good evening, Mr. Starr. Have you been out on the floor?”

“I haven’t. I just got in to check things out, and I heard from Gladys that we have a new cocktail waitress. Is she any good?”

Oh, shit. The owner of the hotel. I managed to stand with feet so sore that even putting my weight on them was a special kind of torture. “That’s me,” I smiled. “I did okay. I really appreciate the work.”

His eyes swept down over my body, with all its shiny trimmings and exposed skin, lingering on my breasts and thighs. Okay, I could see why Cara had a minorly repulsed reaction to him. “And I appreciate beautiful young women working here and drawing in more high rollers,” he said. “But only if they complete their paperwork. It’s illegal for you to be working on my floor without it.”

“Mr. Starr, I’m so sorry, I should have—” I stuttered.

He held up his hand. “Just get it done,” he said. “Before you leave. And maybe…” He took a step closer and peered at my face. “More eye makeup next time, hmm?” He stretched out an index finger and touched under my chin, then gave me half a smile, turned, and walked away.

“Shit,” Cara breathed. “He almost never comes back here. I wonder what the hell is going on tonight.”

“You’re just too busy sucking face with Rob to ever notice,” a girl with swinging auburn curls and blushed cheeks said as she walked up. “How was your night, Cara?”

“Shut up,” Cara muttered with a smile. “Oh, hey! Maisy! You walking out now? This is Andi. She’s the new girl and she needs to do her paperwork, but I promised Rob I’d meet him here in five. Can you walk her over?”

Maisy nodded. “Sure, no problem. I just have to use the ladies’ first.”

“Okay. Thanks,” I said.

I glanced at my cell phone. Six fifteen already, and the cab ride to the hospital took ten minutes. I quickly changed back into jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, sighing with relief when I stepped into normal shoes again. Maisy motioned for me to follow her and I did, calling a “thank you” over my shoulder to Cara.

By the time Maisy got out of the bathroom, it was 6:25, and after she led me down two wrong hallways to get to the personnel office, it was 6:40. The personnel director took five minutes to even find the right forms, and by then, I knew I was never going to make it for visiting hours. I filled them out as fast as I could, thanked Maisy, and walked back to the employee changing room, willing tears not to drip out of my eyes. It was one day. It was just one day. But how much had gone on with Mom today? Had she changed? Had she needed me?

I couldn’t let anyone in here see me cry, not on my first day. Especially not Gladys or Mr. Starr.

I quickly pulled up the number for Mom’s room on my phone, fidgeting with each ring. When Carol answered, I blew a sigh of relief, swiping at a few errant tears that had fallen.

“Hey, it’s me,” I squeaked into the phone.

“Andrea, baby? What’s the matter? I thought for sure we’d see you at visiting hours today.”

“I know,” I said, trying to keep the whine and tears out of my voice. “I know, but I got this new job and my shift just ended, and then I had to fill out paperwork.”

“Oh, okay,” she said, like it was no big deal. “Dr. Ernest was in just to check up on her, and you know she was in therapy yesterday and today for the morning.”

Those things sounded good, but something about her voice was hesitant. Wary of telling me something. I knew Carol well enough to know when something was wrong.

“So what’s up? You don’t sound so happy.”

“It’s not a big deal, really,” she said.

“She’s my mom, Carol,” I said. “I want to know.”

“She’s still not doing so well with Mike. But…well, promise me you won’t get upset?”

I tried to hold back a laugh. I was already upset, and there was nothing she could say that would change that. “Tell me, Carol.”

“It’s just that she still doesn’t remember much, you know? She knows she lives in the United States and that we’re in Las Vegas. She knows her name, and she knows she’s lost memory. But…”

“But what, Carol?”

“But she keeps asking for you. She was just a little agitated today, hon. She really wanted to see you.”

“Oh, Jesus,” I said, running the palm of my hand across my forehead. “Was she crying?” I hated it when Mom cried.

“Yes, some. And there were…outbursts.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. How had I ignored Mom all day today? Even though the responsible voice in my head told me I needed this job, the guilt of leaving Mom, scared and confused in the hospital, going to therapy for an accident she didn’t remember for a condition she didn’t understand. I should have known better. This was my career, after all. I should have known how to handle this. I always told my patients’ parents that they needed stability, that when they were dealing with illness they needed to be able to count on something happening for sure and certain.

Why hadn’t I given that same kindness to my own mother on only her second day post-trauma?

“I’m so sorry, Carol.”

“Don’t you apologize, sweetheart. You were doing exactly what you needed to do.”

“I know,” I choked into the phone. “Okay. I’ll be there tomorrow for sure.”

“Okay, sweetie. Listen, don’t lose sleep over this. You need to take care of yourself.” And then she hung up.

My stomach felt tight, and I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. I felt like I had been slowly building a brick wall around myself for the past few days, and now it was nearly complete. The tears dripped out of my eyes, and I tried to swipe them away with the back of my hand so no one would notice. Even though I knew everyone would.

“Hey,” a familiar voice crooned. I looked up and, of course, there was Ryder. Topless, bow-tied, shiny, and looking heartbroken on my behalf. “What is it? Did you have a shit first day?”

“No, it was actually fine,” I sniffled. “I made $120.” I swiped the snot from under my nose. Great. Very attractive. “But I missed visiting hours because I was doing the paperwork here, and I called and found out my mom had a really bad day in the hospital and that …and that …” The next words hiccupped their way out. “And that she was asking for me.”

Before I knew it, Ryder’s bare arms were around me, the hard muscles of his chest yielding to my tears, making a perfect spot for my face.

“Oh, no,” he said, propping his chin on top of my head. I felt his shoulder muscles flex when he did, and despite my despair, I was all too aware of the feel of him against me. “Shhh. You were doing what you had to do. This is a good job, and it’s the best way to spend as much time as you can with her. “

I pulled my face away from his chest—hadn’t even realized my arms had circled his waist. My God, every inch of him was hard and strong. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’ll get good at it really fast, and then you’ll be able to snag the overnight shifts. You can cuddle up in bed with her and nap all day and make a ton of money at night.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. $120 on the first day? Just in tips? That’s amazing!”

“Really?” I asked, my voice rising with a hopeful note at the end.

He shrugged and gave me that lopsided smile I was already completely freaking addicted to. “I think so. Cara and I don’t really talk about it, and I was never close enough to any of the other girls to know details.”

“Oh, come on,” I said, stepping out of the awkward non-kissing-but-hugging-in-public embrace to grab my duffel bag and also to avoid Ryder’s gaze. “All these girls want you.”

“And, I told you,” he said, catching my eye again. “I don’t want any of them. They’re all living it up. As far as I know anyway.”

The realization that I was not, in fact, here in Vegas to “live it up” made me laugh with both delight and embarrassment. Delight because it meant maybe Ryder would go out with me, and embarrassment because I was twenty-two, single, and a ball of stress. Why wasn’t I living it up?

“I don’t know,” I said, pulling my hair into a long ponytail that swung against the back of my hoodie. “What if I can’t get any of the night shifts? What if I suck at this and drop drinks on a high roller and get fired? What if some asshole really thinks I’m turning tricks and follows me somewhere?”

“Whew,” Ryder said, nudging shoulders with me. “You really are a supreme worrier. I don’t think hearing this news about your mom has helped, am I right?” I swallowed and shook my head. “Okay,” he continued. “I know exactly what we have to do.”

“What?” I asked, my tears having slowed. Now nervous anticipation rolled through my belly. There was no denying the pull Ryder had on me, even if my mind was mostly on Mom.

“We’re going out,” he announced. “On the Strip.”

Chapter 11

“Oh,
I don’t really go out.” It was true. I just didn’t do anything. I hadn’t had a strong fruity drink since rush season freshman year. Come to think of it, I hadn’t worn a short dress since then either.

“You do now,” he grinned.

“Okay, but I don’t have anything to wear. No heels, no tight dresses.”

“It’s not that kind of going out. It’s so cold out there already you’re going to need to borrow my jacket. We’re going to walk the Strip and do every cheesy thing tourists do. Eiffel Tower drinks; gondola rides; paying the street musicians; posing for pictures in front of every damn waterfall, neon sign, pirate ship, and oversized spaceship there is.”

I groaned, hiding the creeping smile. “Do we have to? My feet are killing me.”

“Yes, we have to. I’ll carry you on my back if I have to. You can’t go out on the Strip and not feel like life is just a little more awesome in Vegas—and I think that’s exactly what you need right now. Wait here. I’ll get changed, and then I’m going to show you a good time.”

Something about the wink that accompanied those words made me think that maybe, just maybe, he meant in more than one way.

The only good thing about Ryder in a shirt—as opposed to topless and gorgeous—was the way his clothes smelled. His rich, warm scent combined with dryer sheets was pure, comfortable sexiness. The kind of sexiness that made me want to pull him into my room back at the extended-stay place and say fuck the Strip.

But I didn’t. Mostly because his puppy-dog enthusiasm about giving me a great night out was too adorable to pass up. I’d been taking care of myself ever since I moved away to college. I’d developed my own coping mechanisms, my own pep talks. I was okay all on my own.

No, you weren’t, you idiot.
I bit my lip at the realization. Mom had always bolstered me with the words of comfort I’d heard from her since I was a little girl: that I was smart and strong, that I could do anything I set my mind to. Even though it was mostly over the phone, Mom had always been there.

And now she just wasn’t anymore.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. I couldn’t keep thinking about Mom nonstop like this. Especially when there wasn’t a damn thing I could do. Maybe it wouldn’t kill me to have a distraction, something to help me forget about my fear for a change.

The Strip was only five minutes from the Shooting Starr, and I gasped as we turned the corner on I-15 that brought it into full view. Even in Philly, there weren’t this many concentrated lights at night downtown. The whole Strip blinked and glittered with every color imaginable. It was an adult playground, and I was seriously in need of some playtime.

Ryder pulled into the meticulously landscaped circle drive of a spotless hotels, with a gold-trimmed front door and a giant bronze statue of a war horse prancing through a circular field of flowers and ferns right in front of it. It was luxurious and fantastical and took me to another place entirely. It was exactly what I needed.

Ryder jumped out of the truck, handing the keys to a valet along with an extra wad of cash.

“Oh, God,” I said. “I’ll totally buy you a drink.”

“Nope,” he said, helping me down out of the truck and slinging his arm around my neck—like a brother or a best friend might do. It was comfortable and safe. Exactly what I needed. “Tonight is on me. You’re not a local, so it’s my responsibility to show you a good time.”

I bit my bottom lip and smiled up at him. “Well, technically, I
am
a local,” I said. “Just haven’t been here since before I was legal.”

He laughed. “Then you missed literally everything that is fun about this street, and I’m going to show you all of it. First stop, Paris.” He motioned to a huge, lit Eiffel Tower stretching up from the Strip’s skyline. “I hope you have good walking shoes.”

I did—my leather flats were the cutest and most comfortable shoes I owned. As we strolled out to the Strip from the hotel’s entrance, I realized there were two kinds of people walking down this street: tourists who were dressed to the nines ready for a fancy night out and tourists who looked like…well, tourists. In my worn jeans, bland flats, t-shirt and hoodie, I definitely looked like the latter. I stopped dead in my tracks, making Ryder almost choke me.

“What?” he said, alarmed.

“I look like a damn tourist.”

Ryder threw back his head and laughed. For a split-second, I was insanely focused on the bob of his Adam’s apple and thoughts of putting my mouth there. “You are a tourist. Sort of. Come on, once we get to Paris, you won’t care anymore.”

I reluctantly plodded forward. “Promise?”

“I promise,” he said.

We walked past at least two streetwalkers, four AstroTurf fields, an accordion player, and half a dozen couples posing for cell phone pictures before I finally saw the base of the Tower—which was good because my feet were killing me. I groaned with relief.

Ryder stopped in his tracks. “What? What’s the matter?”

“Oh, just those heels. They destroyed my feet. I feel like the freaking bones are starting to stick through.” I tried to laugh, but it just came out as a pitiful sad chuckle.

Ryder’s face fell. “Why didn’t you tell me? How can you fully enjoy the Strip when you’re in pain? I bet there’s no way you even fully appreciated the incredible trainwreck that was the makeup on those hookers.” His face was all serious, but I knew he was trying to get me to laugh. His puppy-dog expression, with sagging eyes and the slightest pout, was seriously growing on me.

I grinned. “Well, I’m telling you now. And no, I didn’t fully appreciate the hookers. I can’t even tell you what color eye shadow they were wearing.”

He grinned, and for a split-second, all the pain in my arches melted away. Then he crouched down, sitting on his heels, and said, “Well, come on. The sooner we get you there, the sooner we can medicate with a nice big drink.”

I laughed. “What are you doing?”

“I told you I would carry you if I had to, and clearly it’s been a pretty dire situation for the last—what—two blocks?”

I bit my lip again. But the way his eyes flashed told me that, whether I was trying to or not, it was working. “How about…since we left work?”

He shook his head with a mock look of disgust. “Get on. I’m going to stay down here until you do.”

So, feeling like a total idiot, I straddled his back. His shoulders seemed even broader with my arms hooked around them from behind, and there was something undeniably sexual in the feel of his hips moving beneath my thighs. When he stood up, lifting me up with a whoosh of air, I tried to keep from squealing, but a little one squeaked out, along with a giggle. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d giggled.

Without having to wait for me to keep up, Ryder’s long legs carried him faster through the crowd, and he made a big show of weaving and bobbing through the tourists.

“Entirely sober cocktail waitress coming through!” he announced to anyone giving us a weird look. “Just got off her first shift! Gotta get this girl a big ol’ drink as soon as possible!”

Pretty soon, I was laughing so hard I was crying, and we were standing right in front of the Eiffel Tower. He set me down, and I let out an
oomph
when my feet hit the ground.

“Don’t worry,” he grinned. “You won’t feel a thing soon. Come with me.” He led me around a tan building with blue-painted windows to a little out-of-the-way garden where all the sights of the Strip melted away. There were tiny waterfalls, fountains, and potted flowers dotting the perimeter of the little oasis of a patio. Ryder pulled me over to an intricately designed black metal table and chairs. “Sit,” he commanded.

He strolled over to the little café window, which was topped by swooping red-and-white-striped awnings. His jeans fit absolutely perfectly, and I couldn’t take my eyes off his ass. When he leaned against the counter and talked to the girl at the cash register, I watched the muscles in his shoulders flex through his shirt and was momentarily consumed by thoughts of stripping that shirt off and clawing my way up his back—with him on top of me, instead of carrying me through the Strip.

He shot a laughing grin over his shoulder. “Pink, yellow, or green?”

I could only assume he was talking about drinks. “Uh…yellow?”

A few seconds later, Ryder turned with two ridiculous, two-foot-tall, plastic Eiffel-Tower-shaped glasses with a humungous straw sticking out the top.

I tried to focus on coming up with something intelligent to say while he made the short walk back to the table. When he sat down, I flicked up an eyebrow and stifled a full-on grin. “You were really serious about wanting to get me drunk, my friend.”

Ryder beamed in response. “Friends, huh? I’ve been friend-zoned?” Before I could say anything, he took a long draw on his straw and said, “You’re lucky I have tonight off.”

“Oh?” I giggled. “And why is that?”

“Because I have a feeling you’re a lightweight, and you’re going to need me to take care of you after this very special piña colada, which I saw my friend Max over there dump two full bottles of rum into as we walked in.”

I was a lightweight, but I didn’t want this guy I barely knew having to babysit pathetic, drunk me.

“You have a feeling, huh?” I teased. “All you know about me is—”

“A lot more than I know about most girls I meet here. But go on.” He leaned back, teasing me with a look that dared me to spill everything about myself. He was too cute to satisfy so easily.

“You know what? I think I’m going to make you work for it. After all, there’s not a lot I know about you either, and a lot I’d like to know.” Holy shit. I didn’t even know what the hell I meant by that. All I knew was that I was trying to flirt, and I wasn’t sure it was working out so well.

Ryder took a long drink from his tower, then threaded his fingers together and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m listening,” he said in voice that had to be intentionally lower and sexier than his normal one.

I slid my drink to the middle of the table. “Truth or dare?”

He scoffed. “What—like little girls at a slumber party?”

My eyes shot up to his when he said slumber party, and the way he winked at me when our eyes met told me that was completely intentional.

“Sort of,” I said, leaning forward, mimicking him. “But Adult Truth or Dare. We barely know each other, so we take a drink before each one for courage. First questions are easier.”

He nodded slowly, scanning the café around us. It was just us and the cheesy waiters. On a Wednesday night, it seemed the quieter hangouts weren’t crowded. “I can get behind that.”

“Okay, I’ll go first.” I grinned. “Truth or dare?”

Guys in cheesy striped shirts and painted-on curling mustaches strolled around with violins as one or two more patrons took seats in the little faux-Parisian watering hole.

“I’m just getting settled, and I’m not quite ready to leave my seat yet., so…truth.”

“What’s your middle name?” I asked instantly. It was one of those questions that was always easy to answer but brought two people closer together—intimate, in a way.

His cheeks turned red, and he stared up at the lights of the tower before licking his lips and leaning in for a drink.

I laughed. “Seriously? That bad?”

He looked up at me from where his lips wrapped around the straw, raised his head the slightest bit, and whispered, “Harold.”

A laugh burst out of me. “Seriously, that is not that bad! I mean, it sounds like an old man, but other than that, Ryder Harold…?” I trailed off with a question in my voice. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t even caught his last name.

“Yep,” he choked out, then coughed, covering his mouth with a fist. “I have never told that to anyone before,” he stammered, clearing his throat.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just went down the wrong pipe. And now it’s my turn. What’s yours?”

I leaned forward to drink, even though I didn’t really need any more liquid courage for this particular question. The cold yellow concoction exploded with chilly sweetness in my mouth, and I only tasted the alcohol on the slight afterburn down my throat. Exactly how I liked it. I looked up and licked my lips.

“Linda. It means ‘beautiful’ in Spanish, and it was the first word my Mom said when she saw my face.” That old lump was back in my throat at the first mention of Mom since we got the Strip, and I focused on Ryder’s reaction to make it go away.

Amazingly, it worked because he just said, “One hundred percent true. She’s a smart lady.”

Okay. Ryder thought I was beautiful. Or maybe he was just trying to get me to relax and have fun. As clear as the signals were that he liked me, I didn’t really know him. Maybe charming—the way he was around the high-rolling ladies checking into the Shooting Starr -– was just the way he was toward everyone. How else would he have gotten his job?

Not wanting to think about that, I said, “Your turn. Truth or dare.”

He shrugged. “What the hell? Dare.” His eyes sparkled in the million lights of the Strip, and his hair looked just messed up enough for me to want my fingers in it.

Suddenly, the utter and complete beauty of Ryder hit me, just as my head was starting to go the slightest bit fuzzy. I realized, bemused, that I didn’t even know his last name. I also realized that I was in the middle of this not-quite-French plaza and actually relaxing for the first time in a very, very, very long time.

I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had happened—maybe it was after freshman year, when I realized I just really didn’t like the sorority and frat house party scene. Maybe it was when I started volunteering at the hospital and felt fulfilled enough by the good work that I didn’t actually need a social life. Either way, it had been a long time since I’d had a serious drink, and a much longer time since one had tasted this good– and felt this right.

And, goddammit, I felt like having fun.

“Hmmm,” I said. “Gimme a sec to think about it.” In fact, the only thing I was really thinking about was how badly I wanted to see his body again. Too bad “take me home and fuck me silly” wasn’t a really great way to ease into this potentially very good Truth-or-Dare situation I had going on here. Finally, I decided. “Do a cartwheel.”