I looked at him. “You mean actual dates?”
“Yeah,” he answered, eyes bright. “Not just squeezed-in dinners between flights or hiding in hotel rooms. Real stuff. Her dressed up, us picking her up, the three of us walking in together.”
“Are we ready to go public?”
“I am, if you two are.”
“Maybe we can discuss that with Faye tonight. I think it’ll make more sense now since we’re going to be on the same team.”
“Maybe she’ll move in with us when we get settled in Portland.”
My eyes widened. “I’d like that, but it might be hard with all her trips to D.C. She’d be on longer flights.”
“Only one way to find out.”
“We’re growing,” I teased. “Look at us wanting to move in with our girlfriend.”
Dylan’s brow lifted. “We’re growing?”
“We’re horny and want our girl in our bed every night,” I corrected. “I just tried to pretend we were maturing for a second.”
His laugh came out. “Both can be true.”
The elevator slowed, and the doors slid open to the Sky Suites lobby. Dylan straightened immediately, his expression shifting into the public version of himself without a second thought. I did the same.
My eyes swept the lobby out of habit and landed on a guy sitting alone near the far wall. His body was angled toward the elevator bank. Something about his face tugged at my memory.
I slowed, trying to remember where I knew the guy from.
Dylan noticed right away. “What?”
I kept my voice low. “That guy over there. Doesn’t he look familiar?”
Dylan turned his head, following my line of sight, but the guy moved at the same time, as if he sensed the attention. He stood, turning his body away as he lifted his phone to his ear, then walked toward the front desk, his back to us.
“I didn’t see his face.”
“I did,” I answered, still watching him even though I knew it was pointless. “And it’s bugging me that I can’t remember who he is.”
“You sure it isn’t just some random guy who looks like somebody?”
“Maybe,” I replied.
“Come on. We’re here to lose money, not to people-watch.”
I forced myself to move, but I glanced back anyway.
The guy stayed turned away.
We headed toward the casino floor, and the noise hit us fast—slots going off, chips snapping together, someone talking way too loud. I forced myself to focus on the plan. Gamble for a bit, pick up Faye for our seven o’clock reservation, and pretend we were two regular guys meeting our girl for dinner.
Easy.
Except two steps into the casino, Dylan patted his front pocket, then his back pocket, then froze.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
I stopped. “What?”
