Getting Lucky Read online

  From halfway across a busy hotel lobby, that is.

  With his hands shoved in his pockets, he leaned against the wall in a pair of loose blue jeans that hung low on his hips, which pulled my mind into every dirty thought imaginable. His tight white tank top hugged two firm pecs and his lithe, slender shape. I just knew he was ripped. I didn’t need to be any closer to know that for sure. Atop his head of short blond hair was a cocked black cap, his bangs sticking out from underneath, and a black backpack hung from his muscled arm. He stared pensively into the sky like he was waiting for someone, his forehead wrinkled up cutely and his eyes as fierce and intense as the night sky itself.

  It was no exaggeration; even from that far away, I knew what caliber beauty I was beholding. And that work of art right there … that was grade-A perfection.

  The next minute, Lewis slapped a hand to my back so hard, I almost fell forward. “You coming?”

  I didn’t want to answer him. I knew that answering meant leaving, and leaving meant depriving myself of the heart-crushing sight before me. “Yeah,” I muttered anyway, distractedly, hefting my duffel bag off the ground and languidly following my friends, my eyes fastened to the guy by the front glass doors as long as I possibly could before slipping out of view.

  Looking at him was as painful as it was pleasurable. And while my friends were gabbing with one another the whole elevator ride up, I stared at the wall blankly, my mind still clinging to the image of that perfect young man in the lobby.

  I counted my heartbeats instead of the floors as we ascended.

  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven …

  Ding.

  Duncan and I shared a room while security-guard Lewis and my brother-in-law’s proud boob-starer little brother Quinton took the neighboring one. The rooms had an adjoining door, which was promptly opened the second we got inside. The next ten minutes were spent claiming beds, making fun of Duncan for overpacking a whole suitcase of unnecessary clothing, and arguing over which of the attached casinos to hit up first. Lewis really wanted to go to the Elysian for its cheap and tasty drinks while the bar wasn’t too busy. Duncan was adamant about going to the Talisman before it got too late and all the obnoxious college crowd rolled in from the local campus. Quinton practically made a five-point presentation on why we should go to the Ebon Oasis first.

  As they argued, all I did was think about the beautiful guy by the front glass doors and wonder why I was sitting there and not trying to hurry back to the lobby to see him again.

  Are you kidding yourself? What do you expect to happen?

  There was something about this place—the casinos, the hotel, the reckless gambling, the escapism—that made me feel like I was on the cusp of changing my life. I felt it every time a Friday rolled by that the boys and I had one of our weekend getaways planned.

  Every time, I went home on Sunday, and nothing changed.

  I wondered how long it had been since I even let another guy touch me. When was the last time someone kissed me? I couldn’t even remember when I’d bothered going on a date. My dating profiles had probably lapsed, closed down, been hacked, or had otherwise atrophied over the years. Don’t even ask me to recall my passwords and login info. You might as well ask what my AOL screen name was two decades ago.

  The only thing my life seemed to be full of was other people’s money, the sulky faces of customers as I ran credit checks, and the pallid, tired look on my thirty-something face every night in the mirror after I brushed my teeth and commenced a staring contest with my own sunken eyes. Neither I nor my reflection won.

  Oddly, my heart was still racing. And it had nothing to do with my friends arguing about casinos and cheap booze in front of me. My eyes were drifting, my mind still stuck in the lobby and my lips pursed in thought.

  All of that crushing lonesomeness flooded my chest just from the sight of that hot guy in the tank top and jeans. Maybe that was why I was so affected by him—my crushing lonesomeness that I had kept at bay with all my might, ignoring it as I drowned myself in hours at the bank, in bringing work home, in my little hobbies, and in these weekend getaways with my friends.

  I never wanted to face how lonely I really was underneath all the cheeriness.

  Then, as suddenly as the wave of emotion came, I shook it all away with a shrug. With gambling, I won’t have to face any of those emotions; just give me a handful of chips, a tall drink, and a good time.

  “Guys, it doesn’t matter which damned casino we hit up first,” I blurted, cutting them all off. “We’re here. We’re away from our sucky jobs. You,” I said, nodding at stoic Lewis, “don’t have to wear your damned security guard uniform the whole weekend. And you, Duncan, don’t have to pander to snobby teenagers with more in their savings account than you’ll make in your lifetime.”

  “Rub it in,” he mumbled with a roll of his eyes.

  “And Quinton, my tragically horny friend, the last thing you’ll be smelling or hearing is another order for a Venti, non-fat, sugar free syrup, four-pump caramel macchiato upside-down … which, let’s face it, is pretty much like ordering a Diet Coke to go with your triple patty heart-attack cheeseburger.”

  “Preach,” grunted Lewis, to which Quinton bumped his fist.

  “We are here. Away from all of that noise. In the end, it doesn’t matter if it’s an Ebon Oasis chair cradling our overworked butts, or a Talisman chair, or even the fancy ones at Elysium that look like thrones—or toilets, depending on the angle. Personally, the casino I prefer is the Crystal Dragon, but that’s because I’m a sucker for their spring rolls and pad thai.” I shot each of them a look. “But I’m not over here whining like a bitch about which craps table I can pitch a pair of dice at, now am I?”

  Lewis folded his arms. Quinton hid an amused chuckle behind his big hand as he glanced between Lewis and Duncan. After a while, Duncan just shrugged and said, “Fine. Ebon Oasis first up, then Elysian for the drinks, then the Dragon for a sober-up bite of Asianese. We can hit the Talisman tomorrow when all the college brats are hung over in their hotel rooms.”

  “Fuck yeah!” cried out Quinton like he just won a hand, but likely he still had lesbian boobs on his mind.

  I wouldn’t blame him. I had someone else’s perfect face, tight bod, and pouty lips on mine.

  A moment later found us sitting around a blackjack table at the Ebon Oasis with drinks in our fists. Smoke drifted in a wispy haze over the casino’s signature black marble countertops, and the noise of thumping music, riotous laughter, and repetitive slot machine tunes flooded my ears.

  “So you sold four loans today, huh?” inquired Duncan after we broke away from the table together to take a leak.

  “Yep. It’s actually a lot for our bank on a Friday,” I felt I had to explain, “believe it or not.”

  We reached the bathroom. Someone was grunting in one of the stalls, and it did not sound like a normal bathroom function. Ignoring it, Duncan and I took the only two available urinals.

  “Hey, whenever you deal with people’s money,” Duncan asked over the small black partition between us, “does it ever …”

  His voice trailed off. I quirked an eyebrow and half-turned my head toward him. “Does it ever …?”

  “Does it ever bother you?” he finished.

  I wrinkled up my face. “What do you mean?”

  “Seeing all of this wealth and money and riches just … sitting there in other peoples’ accounts? Money saved up waiting to be wasted on Daddy’s midlife-crisis Lamborghini, or a third vacation house in Palm Springs, or little spoiled Johnny’s college fund you know he’s going to blow on high-dollar weed?”

  “Jeez, Duncan. Way to go dark there.”

  “Doesn’t it get to you?” he pushed on. “Ass-kissing America’s greediest and staring at six-and-seven-figure salaries?”

  “Not everyone I help is filthy rich.”

  The grunting intensified at our backs, graduating to a series of breathy, staccato moans. An old man in a sweater vest at the
sink glanced worriedly over his shoulder as he washed his hands.

  Duncan snorted. “You work in the same part of town that I do. Every student I teach has ‘privileged young twat’ stamped on their foreheads. Maybe I’m just projecting my own bitterness onto you.”

  “One day, you may have nothing to be bitter about,” I pointed out. “You could get that huge promotion to assistant principal.”

  “So that’s what we’re doing with our lives? Biding our time as we suffer the endless grind of clocking in, clocking out, coming here every other weekend, and waiting to get lucky?”

  Something loud kicked into the back of the stall door. The elongated howl that ensued afterwards lifted every hair on the back of my neck.

  “Sounds like someone just got lucky,” I noted with a wince as I finished and zipped up, then headed for the sink.

  I never answered his question.

  By the time we finished with the first casino, none of us felt up to going to the second. We were at least up to our knees in the proverbial pool of intoxication, and none of us were as young as we mentally pretended to be.

  It wasn’t long before we were sitting at a small table in the Crystal Dragon food court that served midnight eggrolls and pad thai from a nearby kiosk. All of our wallets were lighter, and not because of the food and drinks. None of us had a lick of winnings to show for our crazy night, unless you counted Duncan scoring five dollars off the penny slots.

  Our spot in the front corner of the food court had a perfect view of the whole casino. And as we sat there chowing down and listening to Lewis complain about something to do with his wife driving him crazy—“She messages me ten times an hour when she knows dang well what weekend this is!”—I spotted him through the coil of steam rising off my plate of food.

  I stopped eating at once. The sight of him alone cast a spell of paralysis over me.

  I blinked the blurriness from my eyes several times, as if to be sure I was seeing what I was seeing. For a second, I wasn’t sure if it was the same guy. I mean, he was gorgeous like him. He wore the same clothes—tight white tank top, blue jeans, and a black cap—but he had a hoodie tied around his waist now, and he looked considerably younger than he did before, even with the facial hair.

  Just when I thought my system had returned to normal, there went my insides turning over again. A weight of expectation sat right on my chest the longer I watched him as he strolled slowly through the casino like he had nowhere to be.

  Really, he looked lost. It was easy to tell that he was headed nowhere in particular with the slow, uncalculated way in which he moseyed about. Also, he was with no one. He buried his hands in his pockets and stiffened up, which did something quite appealing to his arm muscles, making them look flexed, sinewy, and taut. His shoulders were hunched ever so slightly, giving him a guarded air. Was he on the lookout for someone? Was he on the run?

  It was unclear whether he was in danger—or was the danger. The victim … or the criminal.

  That ambiguity, I’m ashamed to say, turned me on.

  A lot.

  “I think it’s … uh … about time to call it a nighty-nighty-night, fellas,” Duncan announced as he staggered to his feet.

  Lewis scoffed at him. “Shit, man, it’s barely midnight.”

  “And I had a day … a day full of … of entitled teenagers talking to me like I was their f-freakin’ butt butler.” Duncan coughed and wiped his face with a clumsy hand. “I meant to just say ‘butler’.”

  Quinton chortled. “I liked butt butler better.”

  “I’m drunk,” complained Duncan. “I need a bed.”

  “Me too, butt butler.”

  Lewis eyed the two of them. “You two wanna share a room instead? Sounds like you’re about plastered enough to fuck each other at this point.” He shot me a look. “No offense, bro.”

  I was still watching the moving marble statue of a man across the casino. I didn’t want to lose track of him again. He had stopped by one of the big, flashy slot machines, staring at its shimmering logos and staying put. For now. “You do realize,” I murmured distractedly, “that you don’t have to say that every time you make a gay joke. I promise I’m not offended.”

  “Oh, oh, I got a gay joke,” blurted Quinton, slumping over the table clumsily. “So this gay guy, Morticia Addams, and Captain Jack Sparrow walk into a bar …”

  “Nope.” Duncan rose from the table and pulled a protesting Quinton to his feet with him. “You’re cut off, buddy. And so am—” He let out a belch. “So am I. Let’s get us to our rooms.”

  “But it was a good one!” Quinton promised as he was dragged off. “The punchline is: ‘Argh, it’s in me bum!’ C’mon, man!” But after a few more seconds, the two of them were out of sight.

  Lewis nudged me. “I don’t know how you put up with him.”

  “Who? Quinton?” I shrugged. “He’s not all frat-boy horn-dog. Hell, it was my idea to set my sister up with his—”

  “With his brother, I know. I’ve heard the damned corny-ass story of how their first date was in Quinton’s coffee shop.”

  “Yep.” My eyes were still locked on that certain someone by the big slot machine. Just looking at him, my heart raced up to my throat, trying to choke my words. “And now they’re married.”

  “With no damned kids, God willing.” Lewis eyed me. “You ever think about getting married?”

  I pressed my lips together. I couldn’t peel my eyes away from that beauty. “No,” I answered lamely. “Considering how long I’ve been alone, it’s literally the last thought on my mind. I’m pretty sure I’m too late to make the marriage train.”

  “No such thing as too late, man.” He stretched, let out a loud yawn, then grunted, “I’m gonna turn in. You coming?”

  I pointed at my noodles. “I’m … going to finish up here. You go on ahead. I’m sober enough to make it back on my own.”

  Lewis slapped my back—nearly planting my face in my pad thai—then rose from the table. “Don’t get into trouble, McKinney.”

  I smiled tightly and gave him a nod before he sauntered off. Since Lewis worked as the security guard at my bank, I was used to him calling me by my last name: McKinney. For a moment, it put me totally at ease and had me forgetting my emotional dilemma.

  But not for long. The second my eyes snapped back to the slot machine and its loyal companion, my heart thumped rapidly all over again. There was no way I was finishing my last bite of eggroll or the rest of my pad thai, which I barely touched. My appetite fled as fast as my three friends did, and the only thing I knew was a piercing desire that struck through my chest, pinning me to the chair—a desire that could only be satisfied with the one upon which my eyes were desperately feasting.

  What exactly was I expecting? Was I just going to walk right up to that guy and introduce myself? Say hello? Admire his days at the gym? Ask where he lives and get his number? For all I knew, he was ten years younger than me. Some cocky twenty-something who would never have eyes for the likes of me.

  “Would you like it to go?”

  I jumped so far, I was nearly to my feet at the intrusive sound of her voice. It was our sweet server. After taking a breath—and a moment to realize what the hell she was asking—I finally nodded.

  “I’ll be back with a container.” Then she was off.

  I glanced back at the slot machine, then felt my heart sink through the floor when I realized he was gone. My eyes shot to the left, then to the right. I spun around to look behind me, searching.

  He was nowhere to be found.

  The server returned quickly with a small container in which my food went. I could barely smile, distracted as I was, but I still tipped her before making my leave, since we paid for the food upfront. I scanned the casino urgently. No matter where I looked, only strange faces met mine.

  I couldn’t believe that I lost him again.

  Like, again-again.

  There was no sense keeping myself up another handful of hours searching for him
like a sad dog from trashcan to trashcan in pursuit of a bone. I took the elevator back up to my room. My container of noodles went right into the mini-fridge, and I fell onto the bed. Duncan was passed out already with his laptop open next to him and a set of white earbuds shoved in his ears.

  I shut my eyes to put an end to my day.

  Then I proceeded to toss and turn all night.

  That was my punishment for being single too long: obsessing over any young thing I encountered. Suddenly I wondered where he was from. I was curious if he had any friends. I wondered if his voice was as sexy as he looked. I reimagined over and over a scenario in my head of the two of us meeting—what he might say, what I might say back, what we might do. They weren’t even sexual, my scenarios. They were more emotional, full of the ripe excitement of first meeting someone, of the frantic pit-pat in my chest, of the sweat on my palms when I’d reach to take his hand, of the look in his eyes when I’d tell him I had feelings for him.

  I hoped I wasn’t the only idiot who tortured himself this way every time he saw a beautiful guy he wished he could have.

  Then went to his hotel room—alone—and sulked in his bed.

  Then cursed every missed opportunity and chance he might have had to interact with him, no matter how big or small it was.

  Then agonized the entire night, dreaming of all that could have happened.

  Good night, James McKinney, you big unlucky loser.

  * * *

  We spent the next day at the Talisman, which was a lavish casino decorated with what I took to be Egyptian hieroglyphics, exotic art pieces, and beautiful flora. Regrettably, it looked tacky and offputting during daylight hours.

  And even as we gabbed about our Friday night and Duncan nursed a headache, I still sat there at our table with my eyes scanning the casino, like my guy was just going to show up around the corner at any point. Somehow, I figured he was only there for one night—maybe on vacation with some buddies he had ditched halfway through the night. Sunday would come around before I knew it, I’d be headed home, and I’d never see him again.