“And how’s that going for you?” I ask.
She motions down at the spill on her dress, and I almost smile.
I guide her through another door, one that leads to a private section of the hotel, complete with a more secluded bar.
“Whoa,” she says in surprise. “Is this like VIP or something?” she asks. Her naivety is enduring. I like it.
“Or something,” I answer. My hand is again riding her lower back as we head to a small high-top in the corner, away from the crowd. Not that there’s much of a crowd. More like about eight people.
A server approaches us immediately and turns their attention to the woman. Everyone here knows that I drink Hendricks and soda with lemon instead of lime.
“What would you like to drink, miss?” he asks.
“Salty Dog. Sugar rim and one of those pear slices.”
“The Love Potion, yes, miss.” He hurries away, and she looks around the gently lit room with its wine-colored walls, tasteful artwork, and then looks back at me.
“This is beautiful,” she says.
But it’s not the look of a girl who sees dollar signs and diamonds. She actually appreciates the room.
Everything about her is different from the girls that usually show up off the Strip to these things.
She’s not here for free stuff. I don’t think she’s even here for the booze.
This is a girl who doesn’t hit the Strip often. I know because I work on the Strip. This girl is definitely looking to be distracted from something in her life.
It’s…interesting.
“What is your name?” I ask.
“Ellie,” she answers.
“Ellie,” I echo. It has a nice ring to it. Nice taste too. “Is it short for anything?” I ask.
“Annelise,” she answers reluctantly. “But nobody calls me that.”
The server returns with her drink, and she thanks him.
Then she takes the dried pear garnish from the rim, dunks it into her cocktail and bites it gingerly.
I’ve never seen a girl eat the garnish off a cocktail like a potato chip before. This girl is definitely not like the rest.
The way she licks her lips, chews carefully and looks romanced by the entire situation is flat out sexy.
“I really am grateful for you saving me out there,” she says after taking a sip. “If I’m being honest, that man has made a full-time job out of making me miserable. Literally.”
“How so?” I ask. Although I’m not surprised.
Vegas is full of slimy, scummy men in cheap suits pretending to be more important than they are. But Dylan Decker tops that list, having proven time and time again to be the worst of them all.
She bites her lips together in thought.
I cross my legs in frustration.
Who does this woman think she is?
“We have a history. But…history is dead, right?” She asks as she takes another sip of her drink. I’m half tempted to get her another pear. Maybe a bowl of them.
