and purse. “Don’t forget about tomorrow. You’re up on rotation. Cameron will have your ass if you don’t show.”
“What’re you? My secretary?” I inwardly groan because I had actually forgotten about tomorrow.
Wade reads me and nods. “You have to be there by nine a.m.”
For the past few months, Cameron has been having fighters donate a few hours every Sunday to The Community Youth Center for Sports and Rec. Jonah found fighting through a similar program and claims it saved his life, Cameron thinks it’ll do us some good to play Good Samaritan, and after all the mud the UFL has had to scrape off, a little positive publicity doesn’t hurt.
“Got it.” I fish my phone out from my pocket to quickly set an alarm reminder. Last thing I need is to get into more trouble with our fearless leader. “Tell Blake and Layla good-bye for me, will ya? I don’t want to interrupt.”
“Sure thing.”
Tossing Wade a chin lift, I move through the crowded ballroom with my head down, reading text messages to avoid having to draw out my departure with a ton of good-byes.
I shove out into the large corridor of The Four Seasons and, as the door shuts behind me, take my first full breath. The muffled music and murmured voices fade away as I make haste to the lobby.
I click open a text from Birdman.
Caesars. Nobu Sake Suite. Don’t be a bitch. Come hang with your bros.
One more came in three hours after the first.
Drake’s asking for you. Hurry up.
Another came in ten minutes ago, this one from my brother Drake.
I’m hiiigh as hell. Get your ass over here.
Shit, that’s exactly what I was afraid of.
Fifteen minutes later I’m tossing some cash to the cab driver outside Caesars Palace. I move from the taxi and through the glass doors into the casino where I’m hit with the sensory overload that comes along with Vegas casinos: the pinging and trilling music of the slot machines, the occasional cloud of pungent cigarette smoke, and then the subdued high-rollers section, tense with concentration, sanctioned off to the side.
I follow the signs that point me to the Nobu Hotel inside Caesars until I find the check-in and elevators. My damn dress shoes echo against the marble flooring, and I regret not dropping by my pad for a change of clothes before coming. I pull out my phone to text Birdman and ask for a floor and room number.
I notice a sign indicating the restrooms and figure while I’m waiting for the return text I’ll take a leak. As I move around the elevator bank, my phone pings in my hand.
Tenth floor #1098
Something slams into my shoulder.
“Shit!” My phone skids across the marble floor. “Watch it, asshole!” I bark at the offender who just crashed into me from out of nowhere.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry.”
With my glare stuck on my pinwheeling phone, I hear her voice before I see her, and when I see her, it’s from behind and only because she’s scurrying after the palm-sized wireless device.
Her tiny frame hunches over, arms outstretched to the ground, as she click-clacks in heels that look way too tall for any human being to negotiate on the slick floor. She’s dipped in a skin-tight, long-sleeved black dress, which covers every inch of her skin to her ass then cuts off to expose a pair of very bare and toned legs.
The phone stops its slip-n-slide when it hits the wall and she scoops it up. “Aw, crap.” She’s facing away from me, her head down. “I’m so sorry.” Shaking her head, she turns.
I didn’t notice from behind, but now I can see her long platinum blond hair has a few bright purple panels that streak through at random. The loose waves that hang over her breasts create purple candy-cane-like swirls through her mane. She closes the space between us and finally looks up at me.
Whoa . . . her eyes, they’re blue, but not like any blue I’ve ever seen. Maybe it’s the purple in her hair that’s setting them off, but they appear lavender.
“Look. I’m really sorry about your phone. I just stepped out of the ladies’ room and crashed right into you.” She hands me the device.
The screen is shattered. “Damn.”
“Yeah, bummer.” She chews her bottom lip.
The sweetness in her voice and sincerity in her expression stoke a fire of irritation I can’t name.
“I feel like shit about—”
“You need to watch where you’re going.” I spit the words like throwing stars and almost grin