Chapter One
“Are you ready to go?” Marie asks as she appears in my bedroom doorway, twirling the car keys in her hand. She does a double take in her stilettos when she sees me. “I love what you did with your hair.”
“Thanks.” I give myself one more check in the mirror, making sure my brown hair is smooth and the curls I put in are staying without having to load on the hair spray. “You don’t think this is too much, do you?” I run my hands down my form-fitted jersey-knit scoop neck.
She twists her mouth as she appraises my ensemble, which includes knee-high boots. “It’s sexy enough to still be cute but not slutty.”
“That’s exactly the look I’m going for. I know it’s the twenty-first century and all, but what a woman wears still sends a signal. I don’t want to attract the wrong man because he thinks I’m out, searching for a one-night stand.”
“Evette, you could wear a burlap sack, and men would still approach you in an attempt to take you to bed. The question is, do you feel good in that dress?”
I place my hand on my hip and pose in the mirror. My shoulders are pulled back in confidence, my chin is raised, and my blue eyes are bright. My reflection shows a confident, successful twenty-seven-year-old woman who is ready to go out tonight and have a great time with her best friend.
I smile, happy with how I look and how I feel. “Let’s do this.”
“That’s my girl,” she hollers as we both exit my apartment and head to a bar across town.
Las Vegas is the city of lights. A resort town known for its high-end casinos, awe-inspiring hotels, and attractions on every corner. While most single people go to The Strip for a good time, Marie and I head away from the action, toward a bar in North Las Vegas that a co-worker of mine said is great for locals.
Since we met two years ago, Marie’s been my savior through my journey of dating all the wrong men. She’s my wing-girl and always up for a good time, which I am more than down for. After having a few really bad relationships—with, ahem, a lot of douche bags—I know I deserve some fun.
Marie parks her car, and we get out. The neon sign for Lounge 702 is bright against the brick wall of the strip mall. Being that this is a city that never sleeps, every store around is still open and will be for hours.
We enter the lounge, and I’m immediately welcomed by the cool essence of the place that’s not a dive bar yet not a million-dollar venue either. With its dark wood interior and vintage fixtures, the vibe resembles something familiar to my hometown back in Southern California, which instantly puts me at ease.
Marie leads us through the moderately packed room and straight to the bar, where she grabs two stools for us. We take our seats at the service well, which is our favorite spot because we can watch the bartender make drinks and they always come back to that spot so we get our drink orders in fast. While Marie gets the bartender’s attention, I look around the room at my potential options.
Young singles ranging from their twenties to forties are mingling around, talking and laughing. There’s chill house music playing, which keeps the conversation level boisterous but still easy to hear.
“Ooh, they have one of those TouchTunes machines. I’m gonna pick a song that has a little more beat.” I pull out my cell phone and open the app that lets me pay to play a song on the machine. I choose a Shawn Mendes song because I’m a sucker for pop music.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks.
I turn to the sound, about to give my drink order, when my eyes land on the face of an exotically handsome man. The smirk that covers his face is drop-dead gorgeous, as is his tan skin that makes him seem like he was kissed by the gods. And those green eyes—so dark yet vibrant—I could get lost in them for days. His black hair and the short stubble that lines his masculine jaw give him a sexy Hispanic look.
Marie gives me a sly grin before asking, “That depends. What’s your name?”
“You mean, the one that’s right here on my shirt?” He winks as he points to the name tag that’s pinned to the black button-down he’s wearing, presumably his uniform.
His grin is so disarming and when a dimple pops out I have to close my legs from the sensation he just sent through my body.
Calm down, girl. It’s just a smile.
Marie squints as she reads his name tag. “Nice to meet you, Ohio,” she says with a teasing sound, “but we’re just interested in the first initial of your real name, not the conversation starter they make you wear that states where you’re from. We need your full name. My girl’s got an evening riding on it.”
My eyes widen at her brazen divulgence of my experiment. I kick her under the bar, causing her to make an oomph sound and rub her leg.
His eyes dance between me and Marie as he asks with a laugh, “Why would that matter?”
Marie waves her hand in the air as she gives me the side-eye. “Apparently, that’s not important, so what is it?”
He throws a towel over his shoulder and leans on the bar, so he’s closer to us. “My real name is Nicolás Antonio Santiago,” he says with a Spanish accent, accentuating the knee-co and letting the las from his first name roll off his tongue. “But my friends call me Nic.”
Marie slumps her shoulders, not even trying to hide her disappointment.
“Why don’t you go by Nicolás?” I ask with a tilt of my head, also trying to hide that I, too, am a little bummed. My N guy was a month ago and a total bust. I wish I hadn’t wasted the letter on such a creep.
“Nicolás, I like. But I hate when people call me Nicholas. That’s not my name.” He taps the bar a few times with his knuckles. “Okay, I told you mine; now, you have to tell me yours,” he says in a playful way and then adds, “as well as what you want to drink.”
“I’m Marie, and this is my friend Evette.” She shimmies in her seat as she holds up her hand with two fingers lifted. “We’ll take two Jack and Sevens.”
“Evette. That’s a very beautiful name.” His eyes crinkle as he looks at me, his full mouth widening into a picture-perfect smile. “Welcome to Lounge 702.”
He turns to grab the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and two highball glasses. As he leans down to get ice, his eyes meet with mine again, and I swear, I feel my heart skip a beat when he winks. My face must flush because the way his lips tilt to the side proves he saw my traitorous body’s reaction, yet with his cocky grin, I think he expects it from every girl he meets at this bar.
Marie’s hand on my arm gets my attention. “You seriously need to consider taking a night off from this experiment and totally go after this guy. He’s gorgeous.”
I arch my neck toward her and talk in a loud whisper, “That’s the point. Looks aren’t supposed to matter. Trust the process, remember?” I throw the advice she gave to me a few weeks ago when I was ready to throw in the towel.
“Yeah, but there wasn’t a hot-as-hell guy who just gave you the I’m totally interested in you expression.”
I roll my eyes. “We’ve been here for a minute, and he winked. I’m sure he does that to every girl who sits here.”
“He didn’t do it to me.”