“Do you know what room parties are going on over there?
” she asked with that big, pink smile. She nodded over to the far side of the bar, which led to the hotel lobby and a bank of elevators. There were about thirty people standing around trying to get in, but every time the doors opened, the elevators were already full.
Amateurs.
I always got a room on a low floor so I could take the stairs if I want. Anytime there was a big event in a hotel, the elevator travel becomes insane. It was always best to book a room where you could get up and down without the wait.
“We could head up to room 555,” she said. “I heard there’s an awesome party up there.”
I barely heard the words though I was doing my best to maintain constant eye contact and that little hint of a half smile that made panties within twenty feet of me wet. It was the pink lips I was finding so distracting. It wasn’t just the bright, glittery sheen to them, but they had that Botox plumpness that just looked so good wrapped around…
“There’s that party up in the con suite,” Chris reminded me. “Free food and piss-water beer.”
I looked from the petite, overly made-up, busty redhead to the six-foot tall, black-haired Scotsman, several times removed from the country itself. He shrugged as I made eye contact with him. I so did not need him making this whole process of getting this chick to my room take longer. Ultimately, it impacted him, too. He’d have Lee hanging with him until I was done with her.
I ignored his comment as I turned back to Mary.
Or was it Maci?
Shit.
I let my eyes move slowly over her face, down her neck and over her shoulder, then back up to her eyes. My finger reached out and traced a little “N” on the roundest part of her bare shoulder before I met her eyes again.
“I think I’d prefer a little less company,” I told her. “Maybe something a little more…intimate?”
Her smile broadened, and there was a hint of a blush or maybe intoxication on her cheeks. As I got the server’s attention and paid the tab, she made not-so-subtle faces at her girlfriend across the bar. She was obviously pretty happy about ending up with me, too, and she didn’t even have the slightest idea who I was.
It was kind of nice, really.
Cliché or not, my father was Rinaldo Moretti – one of the crime kings of the big city. I didn’t share his last name or anything, but for the most part, everyone who lived in the area seemed to know who I was. That probably had something to do with me kind of appearing in his life one day when my mother decided being a parent wasn’t much fun and that it was his turn to take the reins.
It would have been reasonable for him to resent me, I supposed, but he didn’t seem to. He wasn’t about to acknowledge me for who I was, and he wasn’t going to trust me with some important part of his businesses like he would a real son, but he didn’t kick me out when I was six years old. It wasn’t exactly acceptance, but it worked for us. Besides, I’m really not into the whole crime scene. I mean, the most illegal thing I ever do is smoke weed unless you want to count guilt by association. I’m around when a lot of shit happens. Mostly it’s small-time shit, but every once in a while it’s something bigger.
“I’ve had it,” Kimberly announced. “You coming back or staying out?”
“I’m gonna go find Lee,” Chris told Kim as he stood to let her out of the booth.
She looked over to me, blatantly rolled her eyes, and didn’t even say goodnight or anything as she left the booth and headed out of the bar. Chris grabbed his pack of cigarettes and went to find Lee out on the smoking patio.
“So how many marathons have you run?” Mary/Maci asked as I scribbled something illegible over the credit card receipt.
I was pretty sure we’d already had this conversation, but I widened my half smile a little and went over the details of training for the Chicago Marathon, which had been my tenth. About the time I was done, I felt her hand wrap around my denim-clad thigh.
“Your legs feel so strong,” she said quietly. Her teeth nibbled on her bottom lip a bit.
Total score.
Not that I really had any doubt. It was pretty damn rare I didn’t get what I wanted in the pussy department. Most of the guys who knew me thought it was a talent of sorts, but I thought it was pretty obvious how to act towards a chick. You just have to give them exactly what they want, and I know what chicks want to hear. Once you gave them precisely that, they were yours.
Of course, there was always the exception.
Enter Luisa.
She stumbled a little over her platform heels in an attempt to make herself look far more drunk than she actually was. I knew she’d only had about three drinks all night, and there was no way she was even remotely intoxicated. Her tits were about to fall out of the top of her shirt, but she was totally doing that shit on purpose.
She slumped a bit and placed one hand on the table top and the other on my shoulder.
“Nick, honey,” she half said, half moaned into my ear, “the kids are in bed. Can we please go home now?”