I watch the table and the crowd for a few spins, then I make some plays. A few corner bets for safety, something on red, and ten on my favorite number, seventeen.
Andrea looks up and her smile shines. Quickly, I realize it’s for someone standing beside me. Andrea leans forward.
A strong male hand moves a hundred-dollar chip purposefully next to mine, and my breath catches. My stomach plunges as I turn to catch his eyes. They’re heavily hooded and the palest blue. A spark sets me alight inside.
In the same way that I knew him only once before, I’m fighting hard against the urge to squirm in my pants.
The wheel spins. The ball zings and whizzes around the bowl. Then it and clatters as it starts to slow. We all groan when it drops into the double-zero. My husky companion raises a confident eyebrow. His voice is low and strong with a trace of a brogue. “It ain’t over till it’s over.”
His faint Irish lilt feels like the tang of a forbidden fruit because my family’s bitter rivals are the O’Malleys.
The silver ball bounces again and drops into twenty-two, then it clatters and rattles. Rolls out of place again and drops into thirty-four. Right next to seventeen. The wheel is slowing. The ball pops out again. It rolls past seventeen into twenty-five. Then back one.
And it stops. Round and round, the wheel coasts to a stop. With the ball in seventeen.
Andrea is looking moist-eyed at him now. I feel an angry jab rise in my gut. Probably magnified by the excitement. I’ve never felt jealousy like this. Not about a man.
Without thinking, I hug him.
I tell him, “I wish I’d bet bigger now.”
“Well, here’s your chance. Let it ride.”
“Who are you?”
“Tonight, I’m your Romeo.”
Chapter Three
Peter
She looks up into my face, and I feel a glow inside. My cock is pumped up so hard it aches. I want to grab hold of her, pull her to me. Fold her into my arms and never let her go.
She says, “So, you can call me Juliet. You really want to risk it all again?”
“Why not? At worst, I’ll have lost the hundred dollars that I put up on the first spin.” The glisten in her eye urges me on.
I can’t believe that I’ve run straight into her. Like she came to me. And she even picked my ‘lucky number.’ If I didn’t know better, I would become a believer in luck, as of right now.
Her voice is sweet and low. She gives me a hot look and says, “You know it’s a statistically ridiculous gamble?”
“And do you know statistics don’t mean a thing on a roulette wheel? The ball and the wheel don’t keep count. It’s exactly as likely to come up seventeen on the next spin as it was on that one.”
“I’ll tell you what, then.” Oh, she has mischief in her eyes. “Let’s play another table.”
“Okay. I’m game.” Doesn’t sound so very exciting, but finding her here is all the thrill I need.
“So,” she says, “let’s take it to another wheel. Try a casino downtown.”
I get us a car service limo. My car can stay in the Spades Royalle underground parking. This way I can give all my attention to her.
She sits close to me, deep in the leather of the back seat. “Why did you pick seventeen?”
I tell her, “It’s my lucky number.”
Her head pulls back. She narrows her eyes to look at me, “It’s not. And you don’t believe in luck, anyway.”
“I do and I don’t.” How does she know me so well? For an instant, a hole opens in the pit of my stomach. I’m afraid she’s recognized me. Then I have a moment of depression. My secret will come out sometime. She’ll hate me the moment she knows who I am. But I’m determined to give her the best time she’s ever had until then.
So I ask her, “Why did you pick seventeen?”
“Same reason. It’s my lucky number.”
I burst out laughing. “I don’t believe you, either. And I know you don’t believe in luck. Not like that, anyway.”
“What makes you so sure?” She’s leaning toward me. The girl of my dreams, my permanent obsession. Here with me in the soft cocoon of a Vegas limo. If this isn’t luck, I don’t know what is.
I say, “I’ll tell you that, but first you’ve got to tell me why it’s your lucky number.”
“Okay. I’ll tell you. But you go first.”
This could get complicated. I love her sense of fun.
I tell her, “My mom always said seventeen was her lucky number.”
Giulietta’s eyebrow lifts provocatively. She gets more beautiful the more I see her. The whole of my upper body tingles to hold her. And my cock throbs so hard, I feel like I could impregnate her from here.
“Even when I was young,” I tell her, watching amusement and mischief dance on her lips and in her eyes, “I knew that lucky numbers were like the tooth fairy. Nice, cute, and fun. But numbers are just numbers, right? But Momma said I should find a lucky number. So I told her if seventeen worked for her, it would work for me.” She’s close enough that I can smell her hair. My throat is thick and I don’t trust myself to talk anymore. I manage, “Now you?”
“Similar. I always loved numbers. A math professor told me when you say, ‘Pick a number at random,’ most people say seventeen. I liked that. And,” she looks down and to one side, then back at me. “Something… happened on my seventeenth birthday. That sealed it for me.”
Damn. Whatever it was just spiked a rod of hot, jealous anger through my stomach.
Quickly she goes on. “So. How did you know?”
“That you don’t believe in luck?” I love how much we’re in synch. “Same way you know that I don’t. You’re a numbers person. Though I’m not sure how you knew I was.” She cocks her head to one side. “Oh, wait… yeah!” I’m laughing again. It’s not funny but for some reason, it makes me laugh, how quickly we read each other. “Because I said that thing about statistics.”
“Probability.” She nods.
“Of course. You can’t really believe in luck once you know probability.”
“Except that you do.” Now she laughs.
“And so do you!”
The King Pine is the perfect destination. It’s very much an old Vegas joint. Almost quaint. The sounds are cozier, more jingles and jangles than electronic come-ons. After the gloss and glamor of Spades Royalle, the cowboy images and folksy decor make it feel like a cross between a carnival tent and a Wild West saloon.
Her face has a look of recognition as we walk in. I ask her, “Have you been here before?”
“No. Never,” she smiles up at me, “but I was reading about a casino earlier and I just realized this is the place.”
We head for the roulette wheels. A bar with music playing is off to the side of the casino floor.
Her face lights up. “Can we dance?”
Something was bound to happen to ruin the evening. I’m ready for it to be so soon, though. “I don’t really dance.” It’s a lie, and I correct myself. “Okay, I do dance. But rarely, only when I’m very drunk. And I’m certain it’s a memorably horrible sight.”