Somehow, he saw me coming, and his blue eyes locked on mine. A thrill of fear and attraction spear through me as he pushed his arms wide, knocking back a swath of sparkling women, and pulled me towards him. He yanked me hard against his bare chest and his blue eyes blazed.
"Surprised to see you," he said. "Again."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I don't mean to keep popping up at the wrong time in the wrong places."
"You don't get it," Fenton said. "I don't need your endorsement deal, I don't need your advice, and I certainly don't need your help getting myself in trouble."
"How about getting out of trouble?" I asked. I pushed off his hard chest and arched back even as we kept swaying and dancing together. "You can't tell me this is what you really want."
"It’s not about what I want," Fenton said. "It's about what is best, and I'm better off alone."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Fenton
I did not tell her she was better off without me. It should have been obvious. The party was getting out of control, but Kya did not leave. She bounced around the dance floor, the wild fans and MMA fighter wannabes not letting her supple hips and waist go by without pulling her into the rhythm the speakers pounded out. I wanted to shove them all aside and let Kya go untouched, but I could not reach her.
Shots of tequila appeared in front of me along with women in tiny scraps of dresses with sour lime wedges between sweet glossed lips lined up wherever I walked. The more I drank, the easier it was to forget the feel of the mats against my face. Peretti's gloved fist against my face had made me see red. The split second played again and again, slowed only by the tequila.
Peretti's fist or Kya's face – no wonder all I wanted in front of me was tits and tequila. I called for more and the music got louder and the crowd got wilder. I wondered if they all had the same volume button.
Let's crank it up, I thought.
When I saw Kya leave, I let go. It was not long until the tequila spun the party into a dark whirlpool. I let it swallow me. At least, I was going down alone.
#
The flat screen television had three different stiletto heels sticking out of it. A spider web of shattered screen surrounded a leopard print, black patent leather, and gold high heel shoe. I wondered idly where the others were, but my head hurt too much to look. I kept my aching head pressed into the pillow as I wriggled to get a horizontal look at the rest of the room. One of the white sofas from the sunken living room stood at the foot of the bed. At first, I thought it was a white feathered headdress, one of those fifty pound Vegas showgirl monstrosities. Then, I realized the sofa had been torn open, white down feathers had exploded everywhere.
A trail of beer cans, tequila bottles, and shriveled lime wedges trailed out the door of the master suite and into a bigger disaster. Had the bouncers let in a pack of circus lions? I remembered a group of performers, lithe women in tight costumes. The memory flashed too bright, flaming hoops in front of the bar. It could not have been real, but it might have explained the standing row of circus rings, bull whip, and singed ceiling.
"Mr. Morris? Everyone has been escorted out. It's time to go." A burly security guard stood over my bed.
"Time to go? This hangover is gonna need until at least noon," I said.
"The hotel wants you out in the next ten minutes. Do it or the manager will call the cops," the burly guard's equally big partner said.
"Oh, come on, I'm sure worse has happened here." I sat up and forced the room to stay right on its axis.
"Done by guests that can afford to pay for the damages. You can't. You're out," the first guard said.
"Your bags will be sent to your manager's room," the second guard added.
"Can you at least let me find a shirt?" I asked.
"You're wearing one."
I looked down. I was wearing a tight white women's shirt with a low v-neck. In rhinestones it said “Vegas Can Kiss My A$$.”
"Yeah, I can pull this off," I said. I dragged myself out of bed and yanked the tight shirt down to meet the jeans and belt. "How do I look, boys?"
"I've seen worse," the second guard said.
"Man, way to kick a man when he's down," I said. I yanked my arms out of their massive hands and marched towards the elevator on my own. At least, they stopped to let me swerve into a pair of oxblood loafers I had left by the door.
"You're not taking him out the lobby." Kya slipped in the door and planted her hands on her hips. "Once he's out of the room, you can let me escort him out of the back of the casino."
The towering security guards eyed Kya's slender 5'5" frame and flashing green eyes. They glanced at each other in a stratosphere far above her fierce chin thrust.
The first security guard shrugged. "Just get him out before the cops come."
"Good luck getting this one on a leash, lady." The second guard gave me a shove towards Kya. I stumbled, and she caught me in both arms.
"Oh, God, did you bathe in tequila after I left?" Kya asked. She held her breath as she dragged me into the elevator and shut the door on the curious security guards.
"What's your plan here, genius? This elevator goes to the main lobby, right across from the front doors. Lots of action, lots of reporters by now," I said.
Kya rolled her eyes and punched the button marked B1 – Laundry. "We'll have to take our chances. The maids down there might kill you after they've seen what you did to the penthouse suite, but that has to be better than the crowd in the lobby."
I leaned against the mirrored walls of the elevator and closed my eyes. My stomach stayed on the penthouse for a few floors before lurching sickly down to join the rest of me.
"Want some coffee?" Kya asked.
I opened one eye. She held out a paper cup from the fancy kiosk in the main lobby. I took it and sipped gratefully.
"About the strip club," I began.
"I know, I know, I had no business showing up there. I don't know what I was thinking," she said.
The doors opened on the basement floor. I had no idea what to say, but I grabbed her arm, anyway. "It wasn't what it looked like."
"It looked like none of my business."
She dragged me out of the elevator and along a wide corridor. Maids pushing their heavy room cleaning carts were not surprised as we went by – though a few gave my t-shirt an extra glance. I flexed my muscles and got appreciative smiles in return.
I stopped when a lovely, black-haired maid asked to take a picture with me. I put my arm around her and smiled as she held up her camera phone. She squeezed my ass as the camera flashed. Despite the hollow ache of the hangover, the TKO, party, and tossing out had raised my notoriety to a new level.
Kya came back to shepherd me along. "You got kicked out of here, remember? The manager is about to call the police?"
I slipped both hands around her waist and pulled her close. "I remember dancing with you last night."
She slapped my hands and twisted away. I pulled her back flush against my body. The curves of her backside pressed against my jeans and a blast of heat burned off the rest of the hangover. I held Kya's waist and slipped my other hand down the front of her thigh.