I'm not the guy who comforts nervous waitresses.
I grab a black t-shirt from my drawer and pull it on, then change into jeans that aren't soaked through. The whole process takes maybe three minutes, but my cock still hasn't gotten the memo that we're not doing this.
"Fucking hell," I mutter, bracing my hands on the bathroom counter.
I could take care of it. Quick and efficient in the shower. Get it out of my system and move on.
But something about that feels wrong. Feels like using her image without permission, and I've done a lot of shit in my life I'm not proud of, but that's a line I won't cross.
So instead, I adjust myself again, will my dick to calm the fuck down, and head back downstairs.
The casino floor is busier than when I left. Thursday night crowd's picking up—locals mostly, people who know the rhythms of the place, who come for the decent odds and the fact that we don't water down the drinks.
I take my usual position near the back wall where I can see the whole floor. High roller tables to my left, main floor to my right, bar straight ahead. From here, I can spot trouble before it starts. Card counters trying to be subtle. Dealers getting too friendly with players. Assholes getting handsy with the waitresses.
My eyes find her without meaning to.
She's at the bar, waiting for drinks. Even from here, I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she's trying to make herself smaller. She's talking to Miguel, and he's saying something that makes her smile, just a little, just enough that I catch a glimpse of it.
"You're staring."
I don't have to look to know it's Stone.
"I'm watching the floor," I say. "It's my job."
"Uh-huh." Stone settles against the wall next to me, arms crossed. "Knuckles said you got beer spilled on you."
"News travels fast."
"Said it was the new girl."
"It was an accident."
"And you didn't scare the shit out of her?"
I finally look at him. Stone's face is impassive, but there's curiosity in his eyes. "Should I have?"
"No. Just surprised you didn't." He pauses. "She seems nervous. Donna said it's her first casino job."
"Lot of people are nervous their first night."
"True." Stone's quiet for a moment, watching the floor with me. "She's got a kid."
That catches my attention. I look at him sharply. "What?"
"Donna asked for emergency contacts. She put down a neighbor at some motel on East Fremont. Said she's got a five-year-old son."
East Fremont. That's not a good area. Cheap motels that rent by the week, neighborhoods where you don't walk alone at night, the kind of place people end up when they're out of options.
Something twists in my gut.
"She running from something?" I ask.
Stone shrugs. "Didn't say. Donna didn't push. But a woman shows up in Vegas with a kid, no family listed, living in a motel, desperate enough to work here? Usually means she's running from something. Or someone."
My hands curl into fists. "We know if someone's looking for her?"
"No idea. And it's not our business unless it becomes our business."
