“Huh?”
I cringed inwardly as soon as the syllable slid past my lips. The oratory skills that served me so well in the courtroom had abandoned me entirely. I doubted at this point whether I’d be able to string a coherent sentence together. His beauty combined with his slow-talking cowboy sexiness had completely robbed me of any intelligence. The drinks probably weren’t helping.
“Never mind.” He took his hat from his head and shook it a little off to the side, droplets of my former drink flying off to land on the carpet. His hair was longish, the ends curling up at his neck, which really surprised me. I’d been expecting a crew cut or a big bald spot under that hat to spoil the effect, to make him seem more human and not so supernaturally gorgeous … but no such luck. He was that beautiful, managing to make every other man in the place look like dog meat. Every single one of them instantly ceased to exist for me, just like the memories of that guy I’d been dating for three years who’d broken up with me by text on my way out here. What was his name again? Puke, I think?
I looked down and noticed a wet spot on the front of the cowboy’s jeans and all down the front of his shirt, and suddenly felt the desperate need to help. I’d caused this problem. I’d ruined his night. And if the stacks of chips in front of him were any clue, he’d been doing pretty well.
I grabbed the pile of cocktail napkins that the dealer had put down at his place and dabbed the whole wad of them first on his shirt and then on the front of his pants.
“I am so sorry. I have no idea what my problem is. Well, that’s not true, I do know what my problem is.” I snorted in disgust. “I’m wearing these ridiculous heels, which I knew were a mistake the first time I saw them, but against my better judgment, I put them on anyway.” I was busy pounding away on his crotch, trying to soak up the alcohol, not really thinking about what I was doing, so wrapped up in my nightmare of a life. “I knew this was a mistake, I knew Vegas was going to be a problem. I don’t know why I let people talk me into things like this all the time.”
He grabbed my wrist and halted my movements. I stopped in mid stream-of-consciousness brain vomit and looked up at him.
“I think you’d better stop now.”
“What?” I was totally confused.
He looked down at his crotch, still holding onto my wrist.
I followed his gaze and nearly had another heart attack. There was a distinct bulge going down the leg of his pants that hadn’t been there before.
Chapter Nine
“OH MY GOD, I’M SO sorry. Holy shit.” I dropped the napkins on his boots again, my face going up in flames. I jerked my eyes to the ceiling, ready to cry with humiliation. I’d practically given him a hand job in front of no less than a hundred people. Someone nearby snickered. I decided a prayer to the universe was my only recourse. It couldn’t possibly make things worse. “Floor, if you will please swallow me now, I promise to dedicate myself to feeding the homeless for the rest of my miserable life.”
A hand gently grasped my upper arm. It was warm and big, the fingers going all the way around. “No need to sacrifice yourself to the Vegas gods on my account,” said the cowboy. “I’ll be fine. I’m just going to go wash up.” He leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “Watch my chips for me, would you? I’m on a roll and I don’t want to leave just yet.”
I nodded, sitting down in the chair he’d vacated, staring at his wide back and trim waist as he walked away. Holy shit, is this really happening? I sat up straighter, turning to face the dealer. I picked up a few of the chips, reading the amounts on their faces. Assuming my math brain hadn’t completely abandoned me in my moment of crisis and had allowed me to calculate correctly, there was over a thousand dollars sitting in front of me, and the cowboy had just walked away and left it with me. Is he crazy? Am I being punked? No, I can’t be in the middle of being punked when it’s my own fault that I’m in this situation.
I looked down at my feet. My aching feet. The heels were the problem. They were the cause of my complete humiliation. Not only did I let men run all over me in my pitiful life, I let my girlfriends do it, too. Kelly and Candice had insisted my practical heels were totally impractical in Vegas. The whole idea made me feel angry and sad and reckless all at the same time. I reached down and pulled the torture devices off, letting them drop to the floor beneath the stool. Ha! Let that be a lesson to you, Kelly! I’m leaving them here! I will not wear heels that hurt my feet ever again! This is the new Andie taking over! No more railroading. No more bossing me around. No more telling me what to do.
“Are you in or out?” asked the dealer. “If you don’t place your bet you’re going to have to leave the table.”