“I’m twenty-four.” Pausing for a moment, I waited for his reaction.
Would my age be a problem for him?
“I have a son your age.” His sudden omission had my eyes darting to his ring finger.Son? Was he married? Was I being a homewrecker right now?
I’d met a lot of filthy men, and I didn’t know this guy. He could be just like the rest of them.
“I can see the worry written all over your face. To answer the question that I assume is swirling through your mind right now … No, I’m not some sleazy married man. I have one kid, and I didn’t find out about him until later in life. So, our relationship is a bit different than you would expect the typical father-son bond to be like.”
“Does it bother you that I’m your son’s age?”
“I’m still sitting here, aren’t I?”
My shoulders dropped, my mind easing knowing that Spencer was just a hot single dad, and not at all like the type of men that hired me on a weekly basis.
“You are. So, if you have a son my age, how old does that make you?”
“Forty. Does that bother you?” He took a confident swig of his drink.
“Not at all.” I always imagined I’d end up with someone around my age, my ex-boyfriend to be specific. But when our relationship went down the drain, and I had to open my eyes to this new lifestyle, age became nothing but a number for me when it came to talking to men.
“Cheers.” Spencer lifted his glass, tapping it against mine as we both took another sip. After a couple of espresso martinis, and now my second glass of whiskey, my mind was loose, myblood running warm, craving more attention from this man by the minute.
“What do you do for work, Bella?”
“Bella? What makes you think that’s my name?” My eyebrows crinkled, clearly caught off guard.
“Bella meansprettyin Italian. You haven’t given me your name yet, so forgive me for making up my own. It seemed fitting.” My cheeks heated at his compliment.
“I’m a cocktail waitress at one of the pools on the Strip.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either—I needed both of my jobs.
Working as an escort made dating a literal nightmare. It was the kind of job that made casual dating almost impossible. Giving that part of myself away to him wouldn’t be necessary, assuming this was a one-night thing. Just good conversation and a few expensive drinks.
Being in the industry that I was in, it was easy to harbor inferior feelings. Clearly, he was a wealthy man, and I’d just been trying to get by.
“If you tell me you work at the Wynn, I’m going to be pissed that I’ve somehow missed you every single time I’ve gone.”
My lips curved into a smile. “I do work at the Wynn, how dare you not notice me.” I gasped sarcastically.
“You’re not kidding, are you?” He shook his head.
“Nope.” I hid my smile behind my amber liquid.
“I have a photographic memory. I know for a damn fact that if you were my waitress, I wouldn’t have forgotten. Clients of mine invite me all the time to party with them there. When you tell me your name, I’ll make sure they request you every time.”
“That’s sweet, thank you.”
He nodded. A few moments of silence passed. We both sipped from our drinks, becoming dizzier in lust by the second.
“What kind of clients of yours party at the pool? Are you some hot shot CEO or something?”
“Not quite. I work with athletes.” Something told me he was humble when it came to his money. Clearly, he had it—a lot of it. But he wasn’t like most men that I knew who boasted about their work. Afterall, he was at this piece of shit bar that most men in head-to-toe Armani wouldn’t be caught dead in.
“Based on the fancy clothes, I don’t take you as an athletic trainer.”
He chuckled. “You’re correct about that. Do you know who Jayson Jennings is?”
“How could I not? His name is plastered all over the Strip. The locals around here go crazy for hockey, which never actually made sense to me living in the desert.” Propping my elbow on the booth, I rested my chin in my hand. The feeling of talking to a complete stranger was oddly more comfortable than it should’ve been.
