An Extra Pump of Sugar

Chapter 25

I sat at a bar in the casino, watching Jay have the time of his life a few tables away. His lucky streak of blackjack had drawn in an audience, and the onlookers gathered around to cheer him on, smiling at his infectious joy, impressed with his earnings. We'd been here for hours already, and he was still at it, drinking his weight in beer.

Across from my gambling addict of an uncle, a busty, middle-aged cocktail waitress flirted with Theo. She laughed loudly at everything he said—even his attempts to politely exit the conversation—and he kept glancing my way, silently begging for help. Which I denied, of course; his misery was far too amusing.

We'd made it to Vegas around midnight yesterday, and by the time we checked in to the hotel, none of us wanted to leave our suite. We'd slept in late this morning and spent a few hours by the pool, then wandered down the overstimulating Strip in search of a place to eat.

Unfortunately, Jay insisted on taking a photo with every half-naked, pasty-clad showgirl we passed, which I found both embarrassing and uncomfortable. The girls were lovely, obviously, but something about turning women into tourist attractions gnawed at me, and I wished Baker were here to discuss the moral implications. Instead, I had Theo, who laughed his ass off while I played photographer. He even had the gall to join my uncle when a particularly hot showgirl encouraged him to do so—hence my joy at his current state of suffering.

The last time I was in Vegas, my parents had merely driven through the Strip on our way to meet extended family, quietly condemning the zip code's sinful nature. But walking through the streets of the infamous travel destination was a different experience altogether. The amount of wealth in this oasis felt comical—and a bit insulting. Every last detail was commercialized or monetized, and everywhere you looked, you were assaulted by advertisements, announcements, or trucks plastered with adult content and leggy escorts.

The ostentation was suffocating. There were too many neon colors and sounds. Too many luxurious carpets and sculpted ceilings. And too many people overdressed for a walk as long and sweat inducing as the Strip. But under that pretty corporate veil, homelessness nestled in the shadows, and the candy stores and food establishments barely masked the stench of cigarette smoke and piss.

I wandered outside onto the pedestrian bridge to watch the Bellagio fountain, eager to flee casino land. The isolation soothed me, and I leaned against the parapet, peering out at the sunset and the wasteful display of water use.

I now understood what Theo meant when he spoke of Reno being so unabashedly authentic. Our little mountain town didn't try to be anything else, nor did anyone care about impressing out-of-towners. There was a, 'Don't like it? Piss off,' attitude that I'd slowly grown to appreciate.

"You lookin' for those Magic Mike guys in boxer shorts?" Theo teased, materializing out of thin air like a demon summoned. "I think I passed four on my way here."

He joined me at the wall, and I took a few seconds to appreciate the mellow oranges painting his face. He'd left his beanie behind today, allowing the breeze to toss his messy hair around his forehead and the tips of his eyebrows. The sun-kissed look paired nicely with his white t-shirt, black jeans, and smudgy eyeliner, and if I didn't know the guy, I would've guessed he'd just finished a band rehearsal in his buddy's uninsulated garage.

"Sorry I ditched you," I said, glancing back at his face before I started thinking too long and hard about his dexterous guitar hands. "It's just...not really my scene."

He fake-gasped. "You mean you're not into blowing all your hard-earned money on scams and rigged machines? I'm flabbergasted."

My lips curled. "What? You don't think I'd make a good gambler?"