Hustler Read online

  “You taste like heaven, Miss Prescott. This will hold me over until I get you where I want you. Call this anteing up, your cards will be dealt later.”

  Frustrated and angry, she fixes her pulled up skirt and grabs her purse. She bursts through the door but not before looking me up and down and flicking me in the dick with her finger, making me hunch over in pain.

  Clutching my crotch, I look up at her feisty little face and watch as she pulls the chip I gave her out of her purse. With a flick of her thumb, it hits me in the forehead and drops to the floor.

  “Despite what you might think, Mr. Saint, I don’t need your pity tip, nor your overrated fingers. Buy yourself a hooker, I’m sure she’ll allow you to play around with her in your sick and twisted way. As for me, I have a date to plan.”

  With that, the door slams in my face, enveloping me in the dim light once again.

  “Motherfucker,” I mumble, forgetting that even though I possess a power over her, I still can’t quite get a read on the woman the way I want.

  Chapter Eight

  **NELL**

  Almost there.

  Almost.

  Almost…

  Damn it! I lost it again! I hurl my Rabbit across the room with a loud shout, causing it to bang into the wall with a crash before it falls to the floor, still whirring and buzzing away.

  It is official. Gavin Saint has broken my vagina.

  I’ve been hot and bothered to an almost painful degree since walking away from him—and stupidly enough, ten grand—just hours ago. Typically, my Rabbit never failed me. He worked hard to give me what I wanted every time, never quitting, never giving up. I could always count on him. But for some reason, he’s not getting the job done tonight. I’ve now moved past sexual frustration and straight into sexual agony. And it’s all that bastard’s fault.

  My bedroom door suddenly swings open, banging into the wall behind it, making me shoot up to sitting in my bed and release a startled scream. Page stands in the doorway in her pajamas, a crazy look in her eyes, and a metal baseball bat extended in the air.

  “What’s happening? What’s wrong? Who’s in here?” she shouts frantically.

  “Are you insane?!” I yell, my hand on my chest as my heart beats painfully against my ribcage. “You scared the shit out of me!”

  “I thought you were being murdered! You yelled then something crashed against the wall. I was going to save you!”

  I can’t help it. She just looks so ridiculous in her Star Wars PJ’s, arms above her head, ready to strike, that I burst into laughter. “Sorry to scare you, Xena: Warrior Princess, but I’m not being murdered.”

  “Then what the fuck was that?” she yelps, finally lowering her arms and propping the bat against my wall. “Seriously, whatever you hurled at the wall knocked a picture down in my room.”

  At my silence, the still-buzzing Rabbit draws Page’s attention to the floor. Her lip curls up as she tip-toes away from the offending object. “Is there a reason you decided to abuse your love toy at three in the morning?”

  “Because it doesn’t work,” I grumble, poking out my bottom lip and crossing my arms over my chest. “It’s broken.”

  She looks from the object, with its still spinning head, back to me. “Seems to be working just fine to me.”

  “Then I’m gonna need you to take me to the gynecologist, because something down there broke tonight.” When she simply stares at me with a perplexed expression, I press on with a heavy sigh. “Things with Gavin got a little… out of hand,” I admit weakly. Looking down, I notice my fingers twisting together in my lap and inwardly curse. Fucking Gavin Saint! He was right. I totally wring my hands when I’m nervous.

  “Out of hand, how?” she asks with a narrow-eyed gaze.

  “He kind of… uh… fingered me in a storage closet.”

  “What?” she shouts so loud I’m pretty sure the stray dogs living in the alley three blocks over were able to hear her.

  “It was an accident!”

  “How? How could something like that ever be an accident? Did you accidentally trip, and catch your vagina on his finger?”

  “Okay,” I shrug. “So maybe ‘accident’ isn’t the right word. It was… unplanned.” She opens her mouth to speak, but I lift my hand to silence her. “I was coming out of the employee locker room, looking at my phone, and he grabbed me and pulled me into the closet.”

  Page crosses her arms over her chest and mutters drily, “If that’s not the definition of sexual harassment at the workplace I don’t know what is.”

  “The pathetic thing is,” I continue, “once he started talking, I was hypnotized. I mean, my brain completely shut down, Page. I wanted it.”

  Her face changes. I see that spark coming back in her eyes and I know I’ve just tapped into the romantic inside of her. Not good. “So? Was it fantastic? I bet it was,” she swoons. Yes. The bitch actually swoons. “I told you, those fingers of his…”

  I cut her off. “It was awful.”

  “Well that’s disappointing,” she mopes.

  “No, I mean he didn’t finish. He teased me to the brink of exploding, then the fucker stopped!” To my delight, my friend lets out a gasp.

  “That asshole!”

  “Exactly. And of course, I had to brush him off like it was nothing. It’s not like I could let him see how much he was driving me crazy. That’s what he wanted. He’s some sadistic prick who gets off playing mind games. I can’t let him win. So I walked out of there like I wasn’t fazed at all.”

  “Hence the self-love sesh you had going on in here.”

  “Yep. But now I can’t get off. The jackass broke my vagina.” I fall back against my pillows with a groan. Seconds later the mattress dips and I feel Page lay down next to me.

  “Aw, honey. I’m sorry you didn’t make it all the way to O-town,” she snickers.

  “Ew, don’t say that. It makes me think of that stupid boy band everybody loved back in elementary school.”

  To my utter disgust, she starts belting out the lyrics to that god-awful “Liquid Dreams” song, and I have to sit up and smother the sound with my pillow.

  “The fact that you still know that fucking song by heart means we can’t be friends anymore. You know that, right?”

  She giggles and shoves the pillow away. “It’s still top ten on my running playlist. It’s my lady jam,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows.

  I fall to my back with a laugh of my own. “What the hell am I going to do, Page? I hate the guy, like, really hate him. But my body wants to rub itself against him like a freaking cat in heat every time he’s in the same room.”

  “Then you know what you have to do,” she responds seriously.

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re going to have to kill him. I have a roll of duct tape, rope, and black plastic bags in my room. We just need to get some shovels from the hardware store and we’ll be set.”

  “Oh my God!” I laugh hysterically. “Why do you have a murder kit in your bedroom?”

  “A single girl in Vegas can never be too prepared,” she says casually before her voice shifts, taking on a concerned tone. “But seriously, are you going to be able to keep working the high roller suite if he’s going to be there?”

  “Yes,” I answer adamantly. “I’m not going to let that bastard win. He already thinks he’s better than me,” I tell her, thinking back to that insulting ten thousand dollar chip he gave to me like it meant nothing to him, like I was his paid whore. “I’m not going to let him win. My goal in life has now become making Gavin Saint’s life a living hell.”

  Page lets out a loud yawn and snuggles into the pillow. “Well, good luck with that,” she says sleepily. “My money’s on you.”

  “Thanks, babe,” I murmur, feeling myself finally growing tired after such a trying night.

  We’re both silent, and I’m just starting to snooze when Page’s voice pulls me back from Dreamland. “Uh, Nell?”

  “Hmm?”

 
“Please tell me you’re wearing underwear right now.”

  ***

  It’s been two days since my encounter with Gavin in that damned closet, and I still can’t get the image of his smug, knowing smile that night out of my head. I’ve had to resort to some drastic measures to try and purge Gavin Saint from my system.

  That’s why I’m currently making my way out of the hot, Vegas heat and into the air conditioned Starbucks fifteen minutes away from my apartment on my day off instead of lazing the day away on the couch, watching re-runs of Fixxer Upper.

  I totally have a somewhat inappropriate crush on Chip and Joanna Gaines. If moving to Waco and buying an abandoned house that was once a meth lab would secure my chance at meeting them in real life, I’d be all over that.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” Nick grins as I make my way to the table he’s sitting at near the window.

  “Hey,” I grin back, unable to help myself. Nick really is a fantastic guy. He’s sweet, funny, easy to work with, and it helps that he’s shit-hot. Not as hot as Gavin, but still…

  Damn it! I’m thinking about Gavin again. The stupid son of a bitch!

  Like the nice guy he is, Nick asks what I want to drink, and goes up to the counter to order and pay for my coffee. It isn’t lost on me the way the barista’s eyes linger a little too long on his ass. Not that I can blame her, the way his jeans hug and cup it just right is what dreams are made of. But I don’t feel that niggling sense of jealousy deep in my gut that I’ve had with boyfriends—or, hell, just guys I’ve crushed on—in the past.

  “Here you go,” he shoots me a brilliant white smile as he places my white chocolate mocha down on the table and takes a seat across from me. I thank him and take a sip. “You know,” he says, resting his forearms on the table and leaning in, his striking blue gaze pinned on me. “I’m glad you agreed to come out with me today, but I want to take you on a proper date. And I’m pretty sure coffee at Starbucks doesn’t count.”

  “I know,” I say softly, feeling those nerves in my belly that make me wring my hands. “I know, I just thought it would be easier if we got to know each other a little better first.”

  “Isn’t that what a date is for?” he teases and I feel myself growing more comfortable in his presence. I’m not really sure why I’m suddenly nervous around him. I’ve worked with him more than once, and never felt anything but completely at ease. Maybe it has something to do with the fact I haven’t been on a date—coffee or otherwise—with a guy since high school.

  “That may be how they do it in other states, but this is Vegas after all. A girl can never be too careful.”

  “True enough,” he chuckles. “So, what do you want to know? Ask away. Anything to convince you I’m not a serial killer.”

  I started off easy. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-four. Turn twenty-five in three months,” he answered. “You?”

  “Twenty-one, at least for the next few weeks. Born and raised in Vegas?”

  He shook his head. “Nah. I’m originally from Colorado, but got sick of the snow. I came here with some friends a few years ago for the weekend and fell in love with the atmosphere and decided to stay.”

  “Huh,” I mumble, cocking my head to the side and studying him closely. “I wouldn’t have guessed Colorado. You have that laid-back surfer dude vibe about you. If anything, I’d have guessed you came from California.”

  He gives me another easy, contagious grin. That’s another thing I like about Nick. I always find myself smiling or laughing whenever I’m around him. It’s a welcome change of pace from how most men annoy the piss out of me, making me want to donkey punch every one of them. “Nope. No sun and surfing for me. I was all about snowboarding until I moved here though. Could have easily lived on the slopes.”

  I find myself leaning in closer, mimicking his relaxed position as I ease into the flowing conversation. “Oh, fun! I grew up in Tennessee. I always wanted to try skiing, but never got the chance before I moved.”

  “Well,” he came closer. “If there’s ever an opportunity, I’d love to teach you.” I should probably feel bad that, just days ago, I had another man’s fingers inside me, and now I’m sitting across from Nick, carrying on something in the hopes of it building into more, but I can’t bring myself to feel guilty about it. Yes, Gavin has some sort of weird power over me, but like I told Page, I can’t stand the guy. That one time in the storage closet was a fluke, never to happen again. I refuse to let it hinder my choices when it comes to more reasonable men.

  “We’ll see,” I answer coyly, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Next question. Ever been arrested for a felony?”

  “Nope,” he laughs good-naturedly. “Nothing on my record but a few speeding tickets and a citation for public intoxication back in college.”

  “Good to know. Any felonious behavior you haven’t been arrested for?”

  He tilts his head up and scratches his chin. “Well, there is the fact I’m a drug Kingpin. But I can’t tell you that or I’d have to kill you.”

  “Ah,” I nod on a giggle. “Makes perfect sense.”

  “I do all the dirty work out of my mom’s basement. You know, where I still live. Yeah,” he shrugs, “I should probably get my own place, what with being a stinking rich drug overlord and all, but she’s the only one who knows how to cut the crusts off my sandwich just right.”

  “Not to mention the free laundry service,” I continue the joke.

  He leans back and snaps his fingers. “Exactly! I just can’t get my boxers as snuggle fresh as Mom can.”

  Once I’m able to get my laughter under control and wipe at the tears under my eyes, I see Nick staring at me intently. “You know, you’re gorgeous all the time, but when you laugh like that it gets even better.”

  “I’m starting to think you’re too good to be true, Nick.”

  “Need me to fart and scratch my nuts? Would that help bring you back down to reality?”

  “Stop, please, or I’ll swoon to death,” I deadpan.

  He props and elbow on the table and rests his chin in his hand. “So what do you say? Did I pass the test? Am I worthy of an appropriate first date?”

  I narrow my eyes and shrug. “Meh, you’ll do, I guess.”

  Nick places his hand over his chest. “Words every man wants to hear,” he laughs.

  We hang around the coffee shop for a few more hours, simply enjoying each other’s company, until he has to leave for his shift at the hotel. Since it’s not an “official” date, we hug, and I give him a kiss on the cheek as he walks me over to my car.

  “I had fun today,” I tell him, beeping the locks and opening the driver side door. And it was the truth. I really did have fun. I’m still not sure about how I feel about going on an actual date with him, but at least I know, no matter what, I’ll have a great time. Just because the chemistry I have with Gavin might not be front and center with Nick, doesn’t mean it can’t be developed over time, right?

  “Me too.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Now get in your car and go home so I can get back to running my cocaine empire.”

  “Pfft, cocaine,” I scoff. “That’s so 2002. Everyone knows heroine is the new it drug.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he mumbles as he comes close and plants one more kiss on my cheek. “See you later, gorgeous.”

  “See you,” I grin as I climb into the car and buckle my seatbelt as he closes the door for me. I look up and give him one last wave as I pull away and start the drive back to my apartment, the whole time wishing I could somehow find a way to transfer my attraction from Gavin to Nick. It would make my life so much easier.

  Chapter Nine

  **GAVIN**

  My feet pound against the pavement, my breathing has evened out, and I’m feeling my stride. Five miles in and I’ve never felt better as the blistering sun of Las Vegas beats against my bare back. I tore my shirt off after mile two and tucked it in the back of my shorts, letting it flop with my
movements. Mumford and Sons blares through my earphones, Babel being my favorite album of theirs. Not typical running music but then again, I’m not a typical man.

  Almost every morning I run the five miles to Prosperity Park, exhaust my body in their workout yard where I do endless pull-ups until I feel like my arms are going to fall off, and then I run back to my villa. It’s a routine I’ve become accustomed to, not because it’s a well-known fact that single women go to the park to feast their eyes on the men playing basketball and doing sit-ups on the equipment, but because it clears my mind, helps me manage my thoughts, and prepares me for the day, especially when I’m playing that night.

  Lately, I’ve welcomed the workouts, thanks to the lack of sex in my life and the persistent morning wood I wake up with due to a certain petite brunette who I have to watch prance around the high roller room day in and day out. When I’m not playing, I have to see her on screen, flirting with that dickhead of a bartender. The dude’s body language toward Penelope is obnoxious. He might as well just stick his dick in her ear and call it a day. I pray I don’t look like that on camera, because if I do, I need to rework my image.

  Doubtful though, I’m a hell of a lot smoother than that asshat. Pretty sure he bleaches the tips of his messy hair. There is no way in hell the sun is that accommodating.

  What really perplexes me though, is the way Penelope reacts to him. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I’m an expert at reading people and Penelope doesn’t hide her reactions to Nick very well. From a distance, it’s obvious that she’s interested. How the fuck is that possible when I’ve made it clear what my intentions are? I’m not the kind of douchebag, like Graham, who knows his shit doesn’t stink. I get women can be interested in other men, but the chemistry between Penelope and me is, by far, superior than the meager interactions I’ve seen her have with Nick.

  So why is she still talking to him and ignoring me every chance she gets?

  Was she really bent out of shape about me not finishing her off in the storage closet? Fuck, I thought that would have made her even harder up to get me into bed. Then again, I’ve never had a woman flick me in the dick before either.