Taming Vegas (8 page)

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Yatzi.” Brent holds out his hand
in a show of good faith, and the old man stares at my friend’s fingers as if he’s
contemplating which one to cut off first.

“Yatzi doesn’t shake hands.” I explain as I listen for the
brute of a bodyguard’s approach. Perhaps I should find it insulting that the
man doesn’t see me as a threat, but who am I trying to kid?

“There’s no need to get out your documentation, Mr. Hickory.
My lawyer has drawn up the paperwork for me.” Brent is shuffling through his
briefcase and stops to look up at the old man’s face for a moment. He turns a
confused, unsure gaze on me, and I shrug one shoulder.

“It’s alright. As long as the paperwork says that the club
is his, I’m satisfied.” It’s not until after I say the word ‘satisfied’ that I
realize that is not the appropriate term. I’ll be relieved to have this done
and over with, even if I am dejected that I’m giving up everything I ever
worked for.

“Did you have a nice vacation, Alexander?” Apparently the
meat stick is also part of the law firm that Yatzi has hired because he
procures a manila envelope with the necessary paperwork inside. Brent takes it
for me and starts to look it over as Yatzi engages me in what seems like polite
conversation. If only it were not laden with heavy meaning.

“It was an eye opener.” I admit to him as I wait for Brent
to let me know that the documents are okay to sign. Yatzi steeples his fingers
and smiles at me genuinely. I might feel comforted if he weren’t a sociopath.

“I hear the weather on the coast is beautiful this time of
year.” Part of me expected it, but another, more naïve part of me wanted to
believe that I was alone out there. Obviously he had eyes on me during the past
two months.

“Everything is pretty straight forward.” Brent leans over to
whisper in my ear. “I don’t see any loopholes legally that would come back to
bite you in the ass.” He hands the documents over to my realtor, and the small
man looks shocked that he’s even being included in this at all. His fingers
shake as he takes the paperwork and begins to shuffle through it. I see sweat
beading up on his brow and wonder if the poor man is going to have a heart
attack.

Even though there are only five of us in a ten thousand
square foot office, I feel as if we’re all closed in like sardines. The air
feels hot and humid, heavy almost. Nobody speaks while the old man continuously
grows worse with his jitters until I finally can’t take the sound of shaking
paper anymore. I gently pull the documents from his fingers and hold my hand
out for a pen. Brent provides one for me, and I begin to sign my life away,
literally.

Within moments, everything is gone, and I’m left with only
the money I have in the bank. It’s enough for me to make a meager living for the
next ten years if I find a house with a reasonable price, but I won’t be living
the lifestyle I did when I owned this place. Glancing around at the office one
last time before I sign the last line, I wait for someone to shoot me in the
back of the head. When a bullet doesn’t come along, I take one last look at Yatzi.

“I wouldn’t come back to this town if I were you Mr. Pope.”
The small, elderly lawyer grabs his paperwork so quickly that most of it falls
to the floor. Brent tries to help the man gather everything together, and I
continue to stare at the man who has now taken everything from me.

My cellphone chooses that moment to buzz in my pocket, and
I’m knocked out of my trance long enough to glance at the number on the screen.
I recognize it, but I cannot place a name to it in this moment. Brent has the
paperwork in his arms, and he waits for me by the elevator as I pocket my
phone. Meat stick leads us into the tiny box and grasps one wrist with a thick
hand as he waits for the elevator to descend.

I thought everything should go in slow motion after a
severely life changing event has happened. But everyone is still smiling and
laughing outside of the nightclub as they head for their respective
destinations. Brent hails a cab after he’s seen the elderly man to his own
vehicle, and we both slide into the back. I let him tell the cab driver where
we’re heading.

Fear of the unknown gathers in the pit of my stomach as I
try not to think about the fact that I now have nothing to call my own. This
strange change of events has thrown me for a loop and left me with no idea what
I’m going to do now. Brent is speaking, but I can’t hear a word he’s saying
over the ringing in my ears.

Christina is standing outside on the doorstep when the cab
pulls up. It’s obvious by the expression on her face that she knows what has
happened. The cab driver clears his throat when I don’t get out of the back
soon enough, and that jolts me back into reality. Sound comes crashing down on
my ears and has me blinking my eyes deliberately.

I’m about to ask the cab driver through the passenger window
if Brent bothered paying him, but he takes off before I can get a word through
the opening. Somehow, I feel silly wearing the suit now that I’m not a business
owner, and I have the sudden urge to hurry upstairs and change. Neither Brent
nor Christina stops me as I head for the guest room.

Stripping down to nothing but my own flesh, I wad up the
suit and toss it into the small trash can in the bathroom. Then I rinse of the
stench of Yatzi’s cologne and the smell of my old home. Christina stocked the
bathroom with several different soaps, and I choose one I’ve never caught a
whiff of in my life. It smells like pine and something else, but it does the
trick. By the time I get out and towel myself off, my flesh is red from the hot
water and my incessant scrubbing.

Instead of shaving as I used to, I just leave the five
o’clock shadow on my face and run my hands through my hair instead of combing
it. I’m sure that I could spend the rest of the night in my mini-suite, but
that would be rude to my hosts. Instead of sinking into the covers, I pull on a
pair of jeans and a t-shirt, something I’ve grown accustomed to wearing over
the past few weeks. Just as I’m heading downstairs, my cellphone buzzes in my pocket
and I pull it out with frustration.

It’s the same number from before, but I can’t recall whose
it is. It’s not the time to be entertaining phone calls from practical
strangers, so I switch my phone off and double back to the room to toss it onto
my bed. Then I head downstairs to spend some quality time with my friend and
his wife.

This is not a headache. It’s comparable to having my skull
crushed by a sledgehammer repeatedly until all that’s left is a bloody pulp
where my consciousness used to be. The pitiful noise that erupts from between
my lips reminds me of this kitten I found when I was in grade school that was
starving to death. The kitten lived; I’m not so sure I will.

Time seems to stand still as I attempt to get myself
together enough to head downstairs for some aspirin, or maybe a hammer. With
both hands on either side of my head, I swing my legs over the side of my cushy
bed and put my bare feet on the hardwood floor. The coolness shocks me and
involuntarily my teeth snap together, causing my headache to turn it up a notch
on the pain.

Like a newborn deer, I walk bow legged towards the door. I
vaguely recall Christina’s face on the other side when I open it and the ‘poor
baby’ expression before she helps me back into bed. I mumble something about
pain killers, but she’s already gone. A few minutes later, or maybe an hour, I can’t
be absolutely sure. She returns with something that doesn’t look like aspirin.
I don’t question what she’s giving me and down them with a few gulps of water.

Collapsing back into bed, I hear Brent ask her something
about the other guest room. She puts a finger to her lips and glances back down
at me before I pull the covers over my head. Their footsteps recede to the door
and then it gently clicks as it’s closed. My eyes drift shut for what seems
like only a moment, but it must be a few hours later when they open again.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t feel like birds could sing, but
I do feel a lot better than when I woke last. My brain is foggy with the
events, but I try not to worry about what was being said outside the door. All
I remember are hurried whispers and something that sounded close to a shout.
Then I had drifted into bliss.

The hot water feels pleasurable running down my face and
pounding on my sinuses, which is what must have been the culprit of my
migraine. I’ve finally found the word for what I had now that my brain is able
to turn its gears a little quicker. Turning off the tap, I grab a towel and
stand in front of the mirror long enough to run my hands through my damp hair
and brush my teeth. Again, I don’t bother with shaving the stubble on my face.

My jeans feel rough on my skin as I pull them on and the
t-shirt feels clingy when I settle it in place. Now that I’m satisfied I look
like the average Joe working class man, I open up the door and start for the
kitchen. Halfway down the steps, I hear three voices from the kitchen and
freeze when I recognize the new one. My eyes immediately narrow and my jaw
clenches together as I wonder if Brent thinks this might be a funny setup. Did
he honestly think that bringing her here would make me feel better? Stepping
through the kitchen doorway, I prepare my outburst.

The only problem is the fact that my mouth feels like it’s
full of peanut butter and I can’t swallow or breathe. The one woman who made me
feel something for her is sitting at Brent’s breakfast bar with a blueberry
muffin in one hand, picking at it with the fingers of her other hand. Christina
is busy making something akin to pancakes from Hell while Brent is packing his briefcase
with files at the kitchen table. No one has noticed me yet, so I take a quiet
step back and observe for a few seconds.

Melanie’s hands look strange, and it takes those few seconds
to realize she’s not wearing any rings. Her hair is up in a ponytail that looks
hurried, and her eyes are a little puffy around the rims. The blueberry muffin
is turning to nothing, but a shredded mess on her plate, very few crumbs
actually making it to her mouth. Those only make it there due to Christina
turning around with a scalding glare.

“So did he actually say he was cheating on you?” I lean a
shoulder against the doorframe as I watch Brent packing. It’s obvious to me
that he’s attempting to get out of there before the waterworks start again.

“He didn’t have to say it. It was written all over his
face.” Something warm and fuzzy rubs against my pant leg. My foot automatically
recoils as a grunt escapes me, and my cover is blown. Two women glance in my
direction and one man takes the opportunity to slip out the front door with a
wave of his hand.

“You’re up.” Christina says at the same time that Melanie
asks, “What is
he
doing here?” I’m too worried about the feline trying
to use me as a scratching post to answer either woman’s question.

“Aphrodite, no!” I have a split second to understand that
something much worse is coming for me than just a mistaken identity for a
scratching post. At an inhumanly fast pace, I bend down and pluck the feline’s
paws off my pants and sidestep her to the breakfast bar.

With the crisis averted, I sniff appreciatively at the
pancakes and ignore Melanie’s forlorn look. If she’s staying here, she’ll have
to learn to share. Because I won’t be going anywhere for the next week. I’m not
sure I could pull myself away from the lavender scent of her in this moment.

Betrayed, that’s how I feel in this moment staring at the only
man who didn’t answer my phone calls when I was trying to reach him. Now, here
he stands wearing clothing that no man should be allowed to wear because it
makes him look like a Greek God, Adonis maybe. And when did he stop shaving?

“Brent invited Alex to stay with us when we heard he was
going to be out of town.” Christina sounds cryptic, and I furrow my brows when
I look at my sister. We’re accustomed to lying to one another. It seems to be a
trait we developed when we were little kids, but I can always tell when either
one of my sisters is lying.

“Oh, well, how long are you staying?” I decide to stick with
being polite and try to cover up for my foot in mouth moment earlier when I
asked what he was doing here. It wasn’t the question itself, but the way I
asked it.

“A few days, tops.” Christina slathers the pancakes she was
making for me with butter and a ton of syrup. Then she starts on another batch
for Alex, and I wince as she puts in one too many eggs. I love my sister, but
she sucks at cooking. Even pancakes are out of her range of expertise.

Shortbread and Buttons meander through the doorway to join
up with Aphrodite by the window in the great room. Their heads twitch from side
to side as they watch the birds eating at Christina’s feeder in her small
garden. She may not be able to cook things, but she can certainly grow them.

“So what brings you out of the city?” My question seems to
strike a chord with both Alex and Christina. My sister turns on me as if I’ve
brought up a taboo subject and Alex tries to look nonchalant as he scrapes
butter across his pancakes. The seconds tick by as I try to form another
question, and Alex looks as though he’s trying to come up with an answer that won’t
sound suspicious now that Christina has reacted so badly to my question.

“I sold my business and checked out of Vegas. It seems I couldn’t
tame the wild city after all.” His lips twitch at the corners, and the phrase
hits me in the face like a slap. It brings the memory of meeting outside my
sister’s wedding reception back. I distinctly recall him saying in a sure voice
that he was going to ‘tame this city’ one day.

“That’s a shame. But on to bigger and better things, right?”
My sister tries for a smile, yet it falters on her face as she looks at the
stove clock.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Alex mumbles around a mouthful of
pancakes.

“Listen, I have to head into the office for a few hours this
morning. You two don’t mind?” I look my sister in the eyes and see the lie
there, but I don’t say a word at the way she runs her hands over her hips and
down the sides of her thighs with her nervousness. Alex doesn’t catch the tone
in her voice and shakes his head. I don’t answer her as she grabs her purse off
the kitchen counter and roots around for her keys.

“We’ll be fine.” Alex answers for the both of us as he puts
another hearty helping into his mouth. I can see that they’re of a strange
texture, yet he keeps eating them as if they’re the best thing he’s ever
tasted.

“That’s great. I’ll be back in a few!” Christina makes her
retreat like hare sprung from a trap and clicks right out the front door. Alex
pauses mid-chew and waits until he hears the sound of her vehicle starting, and
then the sound of crunching tires down the driveway before he spits out his
mouthful of pancakes.

“I thought
she’d
never leave!” He gushes as he
scrapes breakfast into the trash can. I lean back on my stool at the breakfast
bar and cross my arms over my chest.

“What are you trying to say about my sister’s cooking?” It
only takes half a heartbeat for him to adopt a peculiar, guilty look on his
face as he tries to look at anything in the kitchen but me. When his eyes
finally settle on the cats at the window, I let him off the hook. “I’m just
kidding. Everyone knows she sucks at cooking, even pancakes.”

The look of relief on his face is adorable as I scrape my
pancakes into the trash can and follow it with the shredded muffin. My sister didn’t
make that, but she forced it on me just like she forces almost everything else.
The fact is that I’m here of my own volition, though, so I can’t complain too
much. I move the statue of a man aside as I head for the coffee machine and
start making myself a cup of extra strong, extra dark caffeine.

“What are you doing here?” The zombie standing behind me has
finally regained the ability to speak, and I smirk as I hit the start button on
the machine.

“What I’m doing here has been explained. What are you doing
here?” I turn around to grab a fresh coffee mug from the dishwasher and almost
face plant in his chest. The urge to inhale the scent of him is almost
overwhelming until I realize what he’s asked me. Resisting temptation is a lot
easier when a woman is on a mission for coffee.

“This is my sister’s house. Aren’t I allowed to visit her
occasionally?” He won’t step out of my way. Hasn’t anyone ever told him
standing in the way of a woman and her coffee is dangerous? I’m like a crack
addict that needs her fix,
now
.

“With your cats in tow?” I’m about to ask him how he knows
they’re my cats when I remember that he’s been here for a few days apparently.

“I couldn’t get anyone to look after them in New York.” His
hand reaches out before I can stop him, and I don’t realize what he’s doing
until he brings up my ring finger that wasn’t empty yesterday up for
inspection.

“Why aren’t you wearing your ring?” Being angry with the
person in front of me is a lot easier than being angry with someone that I
cannot justify calling right now. I take the former choice and pull my hand out
of Alex’s grasp, ignoring the tingling sensations crawling up my spine to rest
at the nape of my neck.

“I called you twice. Why didn’t you answer?” Turning this
situation around on being upset with him is a lot easier than admitting to him
in my sister’s kitchen that my fiancée cheated on me. It doesn’t matter with
whom he did it, but he did.

“I told you, I moved out of Vegas. I had to sign the
paperwork yesterday, and by the time I got back here it was too late to call.”
The funny thing is I can also tell when Alex is lying. I shouldn’t be able to
because I don’t know him that well, but he better be glad he doesn’t play
poker.

“Your left eyebrow quirks when you’re not telling the truth,
Alex. I’m sure your meeting didn’t run past eight thirty, which is when I
called you last. If you had picked up, you would have known you’d be seeing me
this morning. Neither one of us would have been shocked by
this
.” I
motion between us as I start to lose control of my tongue, and now both of
Alex’s eyebrows are raised.

“And what exactly is
this
?” He mimics my motioning
and the coffee maker makes a gurgling noise as it begins to percolate. My blue
eyes zero in on his dark gray ones, and we both stare at each other for what
seems like a lifetime. I realize it’s been a few minutes when the coffee maker
actually beeps to let the coffee addict know it’s finished.

“This is nothing. Never mind what I just said. I need a
coffee mug, and they’re in the dishwasher.” Looking skeptical that the moment
is not over, Alex steps aside and watches me obtain a cherry red mug from the
dishwasher that looks as if it had been made by a kid. My sister has a sweet
spot for homemade dishware.

“Melanie.” The way he says my name makes my stomach drop out
from under me and my spine tingles with the anticipation of feeling one of his
strong hands caressing down it. Just that one word, my name on his lips in a
quiet whisper, makes my knees want to give way. I’m like a lovesick teenager with
her first crush. It also makes me want to open up as if I’m speaking with a
therapist.

“He cheated on me with my friend, who just happens to be a
man, and it’s running through the New York Times right this moment. I ran out
here to get some peace and quiet from the backlash that will fall on me because
of this. That’s why I’m here and I’m not wearing my ring. And the person who
takes care of my cats is the person who had sex with my ex, so I honestly didn’t
have anyone to watch them.” It spills out of me like a dam finally breaking,
and it all sounds so strange to me because I’ve actually put words to it. Less
than twenty four hours ago I thought I was going to be marrying a hot shot
lawyer in New York.

“Jesus, I’m sorry.” He honestly sounds sorry, but I’m not
sure if he’s sorry he asked or if he’s sorry that my entire life is now in the
tabloids, and it’s not in a good light.

“It’s not actually that big of a deal. Just one of those
life changing moments that sneak up on you and slap you upside the head. It’s
saying
here’s your curveball
!” The laugh I let out sounds strained and a
little on edge.

The pot of coffee is heavy, at least, that’s what I tell
myself when my hand starts to shake. I’m not sure if he can feel the inferno that’s
developing in the air between us, but it’s going to singe me soon. Last night I
was ready to find him wherever he was and spend an entire week with him in bed
if that’s what it takes to forget about Oliver and Kyle. Now I’ve ruined it all
by confessing why I’m actually here. Who would want to sleep with a girl who
had her blinders on so well she wasn’t able to see two feet in front of her
face?

“It’s not that big of a deal.” I say confidently as I spoon
in an ungodly amount of sugar. After my more than sufficient helping of creamer,
I stir it all around and take a sip. The automatic moan is one that comes out
every morning when I’ve had my first cup of caffeine. This is so welcome after
a red eye flight with three cats to Nevada.

“Melanie,” I know he’s about to say something that is akin
to an apology, but I’m not interested in hearing anymore expressions of regret.
My eyes are focused on the cup of joe in front of me with my hands wrapped
around it. Nimble, strong fingers gently come around my own and ease the cup
out of my hands. “Why were you calling me?”

Because you have rebound sex written all over you,
doesn’t
seem like a valid answer right now. I could tell him that I honestly wanted
someone to talk with, and maybe that’s not as far from the truth as I want it
to be. His expression is unrevealing, unnerving.

“I just wanted to know if you’d be in town.” That’s one of
the most cryptic answers I’ve given a man, but it’s also the truth.

My eyes follow his hands as he takes the cup of coffee to
his lips and takes a long draught. I know I should be protesting, but all I can
think about is his lips being somewhere else other than on the rim of my mug.
Then the moment is over, and he gently puts my coffee cup on the counter. Not
even Oliver has ever sipped on my coffee, let alone dared to touch the mug when
it’s my first cup of the morning.

“Well, what are you going to do now that you know I’m in
town?” That unnerving mask it pulled over his face again as he puts a hand on
either side of himself, resting on the counters. He may not have bodybuilder
muscles, but he’s undeniably
male
standing in front of me. My eyes hover
over the stubble across his face and his hair that he hasn’t cut in a while.
I’m guessing it’s been a few months.

Most women would say he looks rough, but I think he looks
delicious in this moment. Alexander Pope is something that I shouldn’t be
indulging in right now. It’s like he’s an entire box of chocolates and I’m a
girl trying to fit into her wedding dress.
Except the wedding is off,
I
remind myself with a small twitch of my lips.

The inferno turns into the flames from the pits of Hell when
I take a hesitant step towards his lithe, tall frame. An eyebrow quirks, the
right one this time. With that one twitch, he’s shown me all the emotions
coursing through him in this moment. I don’t need to listen to his heart to
know that his pulse is racing through his veins because the pulse in his neck
is jumping to a fast rhythm.

Part of me knows this is my sister’s kitchen, and she could
walk in at any moment. The other, more sinister part tells me to shut up and
take what I can get to heal some of the wounds inflicted by Oliver. Like the
prey caught in the predator’s gaze, I freeze and wait for him to advance on me.
The decision is clear on my face. Alex bends down, and our lips meet
fleetingly, momentarily, forever. It’s not an open-mouthed kiss with tangling
tongues, but merely a brushing of sensitive skin.

It’s enough to make me want to call him mine for a long,
long time.