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  Elijah wished the poker guy was there to do it for him.

  As if summoned, Jansen entered the bar, and after a round of greetings, he slid into the booth beside Elijah. Like magic, their waitress appeared with a tumbler half full of an opaque tan liquid. He sipped at it as he settled into the booth.

  “Okay, I’ve been thinking about it since you left the casino floor, and I can’t figure out where you’re from. Well.” Jansen gestured at Baz and Walter. “You’re rich kids raised in the Chicago suburbs. Obviously.” He nodded at Kelly. “You’re either Iowa or Minnesota. I debated about Wisconsin, but I’m retracting that now.” Jansen turned to Elijah and frowned. “You, kiddo, are stumping me. And I’m never stumped. Fess up. Where’d you spring from?”

  Elijah didn’t know if he was pleased or disappointed about being a mystery. “South Dakota. But I was ready to get out of there pretty much from birth.”

  “Jesus.” Jansen shook his head. “Respect, sugar. And you’re starting to make a little more sense too, which is a relief. I thought I was losing my touch.”

  “How do you do that?” Kelly regarded Jansen as if he were a magician. “I mean, how?”

  “I know people, and I know how to read the things they tell me without words. Handy survival skill, and it’s not bad at the poker table either.” His gaze cut back to Elijah, but he didn’t say anything more.

  Randy Jansen wasn’t exactly what Elijah would call handsome, but he was sexy as hell. He was charming in the same way as Walter and Baz, but he didn’t have the super-cocky air about him saying he expected things to be a certain way. He was cocky enough, but he wasn’t…assuming. He got stories out of all of them, but he didn’t share much about himself. He flirted a little, but nothing heavy, mostly taking their temperature.

  The others opened up to him easily—well, Baz was an expert deflector, tossing out my uncle is Senator Barnett and my dad owns huge sections of Chicago, but avoiding anything that might have to explain his sunglasses or the way he subtly popped a pain pill here and there. Elijah, however, didn’t play the game. He wasn’t trying to be an ass, but most of his stories were shitty. He stuck to the safer things: he was a sophomore at Saint Timothy, he was engaged to a playboy, he was in the college choir. He could tell his half-answers were driving Randy nuts, but he wasn’t laying his dirty laundry out for this guy.

  Even though, bizarrely, part of him wanted to.

  When Baz got quiet and took a second narcotic, Elijah frowned and glanced at the time on his phone. “I hope the room is ready soon.”

  Randy’s eyebrows rose, his gaze narrowing as he regarded Baz. “How about I go see what the holdup is?”

  It was a testament to how much Baz must hurt that he didn’t scold Elijah for asking about the room. Beneath the table, Elijah squeezed his hand.

  Kelly gushed about Randy as soon as he was out of earshot, saying he liked him and thought it was cool how the owner’s husband had sat with them, and basically carried on about how wonderful everything was while Walter smiled at him, probably thinking about babies. Elijah pretended to listen to Kelly, but mostly he kept his focus on Baz, who really was drooping fast. Something was wrong, and it worried Elijah a lot.

  Randy returned with a pair of bellhops who he said would take Walter and Kelly and Elijah and Baz to their rooms. Their elevators were in entirely different directions, they discovered.

  “When do you guys want to meet up?” Walter asked as his and Kelly’s escort led them away.

  Elijah was pretty sure Baz was out for the rest of the afternoon, possibly the whole evening. “I think we’re going to rest for a bit. Why don’t we do dinner on our own and plan to meet up after?”

  “Sounds good.” Walter waved at them, smiling. “Have fun in your fancy suite.”

  Elijah smiled back, offering up as fake a front as his fiancé. Then he put his arm around Baz’s waist as they entered the elevator, letting his mask fall.

  It wasn’t as if the poker guy could read what he was thinking anyway.

  Chapter Three

  RANDY WAS ELIJAH and Baz’s guide, and he wove them and their bellhop through the casino floor. He gave a far more interesting tour than Rob as they went. “Ethan—my husband—won this place in a poker game.”

  That got Elijah’s attention. “Seriously?”

  “Oh yeah.” Randy nodded at a roulette table as they passed it. “Met him right there. He blew his last five dollars on the damn game, I flirted with him to cheer him up, and everything snowballed from there.”

  Something told Elijah there was a whole lot more to the story, and he was disappointed not to know it.

  They entered an elevator with gold filigree over the top. It seemed older, but it was in good repair. Randy pressed one of the three button options and leaned against the wall as the car rose. “Herod’s has seen a thing or two in its day. If you ever get a chance, check out a documentary about Las Vegas and its sordid past. A lot of the stuff you’ll hear about happened right here at Herod’s. Anymore, though, this is simply another hotel and casino, with a little more poker than most places and a whole lot more gay.”

  Elijah was about to ask for a title of one of those documentaries when Baz swayed and lost his balance. Elijah reached for him, but Randy was quicker, moving in to slide under Baz’s arm and steady him with his shoulder. “Easy, there. I got you. We’re nearly to your floor, and Jimmy here doesn’t tell tales. You can stop pretending your head isn’t splitting in half.”

  Baz’s laugh was weak. He pressed long fingers tight to his forehead. “Seriously, how do you do that, know everything someone is thinking and feeling?”

  “Magic. But it comes at a cost, kid. You have no idea how the bills pile up for small animal sacrifices.”

  Baz smiled, but Elijah only moved in closer, squeezing his hand and scanning Baz in a panic for signs he was about to pass out. It looked like it was going to be a near thing.

  How did this even happen? Baz had been so good lately. They’d taken breaks while they drove. He’d slept plenty. Though not in a comfortable position.

  Goddamn it, they should have stayed in Chicago.

  Elijah was so worried about his fiancé he barely noticed the opulence of the suite as they wove their way through it toward the bedroom. It was big—it had a bar, a small table, sitting area, huge-ass TV, and a sunken hot tub overlooking the Strip. The bedroom had double doors, both of them open now as Randy led Baz through them to the huge bed full of pillows and silky, deep-red blankets. The bedroom was darker than the rest of the suite, the curtains only partially open with the sunlight filtered through gauzy sheers in the center.

  Wheels clicking into place in his head, Elijah realized why Baz hurt so much.

  He let Randy deposit Baz on the bed, taking the small suitcase from the bellhop and disassembling the blackout kit. He shut the curtains tight, clipping them closed in the center. Spying the glow along the wall from the gap between it and the drapes, Elijah glanced around. “Are there spare blankets in the closet or something?” He considered the doors to the main room with a critical eye. “How tightly do those close?”

  Randy glanced from Elijah to the window, then to Baz. “Ah. Photophobia.” He jerked his chin at the bellhop. “Put in a call for service. I want housekeeping up here now with an assortment of heavy sheets and curtains. Maintenance should make an appointment with Ethan to get instructions for how they’re modifying the room once Mr. Acker’s had a rest and I get a better understanding of what he requires from his fiancé.”

  Elijah couldn’t get over this guy. “Honestly, all I need is a few blankets.”

  Randy ignored him and turned to Baz, who had dragged a pillow over his head. He touched him lightly on his shoulder. “You need anything, sweetheart? Don’t be polite. These digs aren’t cheap, and you ordered three thousand in chips to get started. I’m your bitch right now. What am I fetching you? Name it. Anything.”

  “Could really use some cannabis,” Baz said, voice muffled through the pill
ow.

  Randy raised an eyebrow at Elijah, but when he spoke, he seemed to be addressing Baz still. “Medicinal or recreational?”

  Elijah decided this was where he should step in. “We’re trying to cut back on weed for fun, since we’re both a little too eager to abuse it. He has cannabis oil at home, though, for chronic pain and flare-ups with his eyes, like this.”

  Randy nodded. “Sure. I can hook you up. But I’m going to have a friend supervise your doses. I Googled you, and I’m not interested in the colossal lawsuit I’d face if you died in my husband’s hotel.”

  Baz gave him a weak thumbs-up. “Elijah, can you get me another oxy?”

  Elijah did a mental rewind on the pills he’d watched Baz pop. He didn’t like the math. “How about an ice pack and a Xanax?”

  With a grunt, Baz gave him the finger, but he didn’t push the narcotic question further.

  Housekeeping arrived, followed by the maintenance supervisor, and Elijah was caught up in a whirlwind as he explained how crucial it was the room be blocked of natural light and all light fixtures be replaced with red bulbs or removed from use. He spent some time problem-solving the doorframe, laying out plans for a curtain rod and blackout curtains to be placed on either side. Elijah would have been fine with just one set, but Randy insisted on the second, pointing out that this way Elijah could slip in and out without shafting his fiancé with a headache. In the meantime, Randy supervised the rigging of a promotional-banner-turned-screen while Elijah coaxed Baz under the covers.

  The darkness of the room did help Baz a great deal. As soon as the bedroom was light-proofed, Baz took off his glasses, giving Elijah a front-row seat as the creases slowly eased out of his forehead. He accepted the previously offered Xanax and held Elijah’s hand as he waited for it to kick in.

  “Sorry I had to go special needs on you before we even got checked in.”

  Elijah wanted to poke him, but he kissed his hair instead. “Shush. It was you who wanted to come. I don’t mind hanging out in a fancy suite with you.”

  “No. I’m gonna black out here for a bit. I want you to go have fun.”

  “The hell I’m leaving you by yourself.”

  “Jansen’s got a friend coming, he said.”

  “I’m not leaving you with a stranger and a pile of illegal drugs. Besides, Walter and Kelly are going off on their own. I will not be a third wheel to whatever date they just cooked up.”

  Baz opened his mouth to argue, but a knock on the door stopped him, and he held the covers over his head while Randy slipped into the room.

  Randy glanced around as he came out from behind the banner. “Wow. The red light’s pretty trippy.” He went to Baz’s side of the bed and pulled up a chair. “Feeling any better?”

  Baz emerged from the blankets and turned toward Randy. “I want you to take Elijah out of here while I rest. Show him a good time. Give him a tour of the city.”

  “I’m gonna fucking murder you,” Elijah murmured.

  Randy eased back, folding his hands in front of his chest as he surveyed them both.

  Baz ignored Elijah and pressed his case. “I’ll rest better if I’m not lying here thinking about how I’m keeping him from having fun.”

  Randy nodded at Elijah. “Far be it from me to step in the middle of this, but I’m getting some serious vibes your honey’s not going to feel great about having a fun without you. Plus I scare him, so I don’t know that shipping him off with me is a good idea.”

  Elijah blushed. “You don’t…” Okay, Randy did scare him, and he seemed as if he were someone who would see through a lie. “Strangers unnerve me, is all. Plus this city is intense. It’s Baz who wants to go party in it. I’m only here for him.”

  Baz turned to him, wounded. “If you’re only here out of pity, you should have said so before we left.”

  Randy held up his hands. “Boys. Settle. How about a truce? Baz gets a little alone time with my friend and Mary Jane, and in the meantime Elijah and I go downstairs and watch people lose money. I’ll have someone I trust from the staff wait in the main room of the suite until Steve gets here, so Baz won’t be alone.” He glanced at his phone. “Another friend of mine will be off work shortly, and he can pop over with his husband once he’s showered to hang with us. You’ll like him. Everybody likes Sam. We’ll have a few drinks in The River, and as soon as Baz is up from his nap, we’ll figure out the rest of the evening.”

  Elijah didn’t care for this plan, but he could tell Baz was going to sit there arguing with him until he hurt himself. Elijah wasn’t fond of Randy for letting Baz get his way, but he acknowledged he was never going to win anyway.

  He regarded Randy with undisguised suspicion. “Are you this accommodating to all your guests?”

  Randy laughed. “No. I’m not.” He rose. “Kiss and make up, boys. Elijah, I’ll wait for you in the other room. Baz, you get some rest and hold out for Mary Jane.”

  Once he’d gone, Baz emerged from the blankets as Elijah slipped beneath them and scooted close.

  “I didn’t come here out of pity. I came here because it seemed important to you. Because I wanted to get away, yes, but mostly because I thought you wanted to go.” Elijah swallowed against self-consciousness and added, “You’re important to me, so I came.”

  Baz squeezed his hand weakly. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m being a dick. Which is why I need to be alone. I need some space to be pissed off I came to Vegas only to get whammied by my own shit.” He let go of Elijah. “Go on. I’ll be fine. I swear. And don’t be nervous of Randy. I trust him with you.” He smiled. “Kind of reminds me of Walter.”

  “He doesn’t look anything like Walter.”

  “Not looks. More how he acts. Anyway, as he said. Anything happens to either of us, lawsuit city.”

  “I just…want to be with you. Not him.”

  “I want to be with you too, baby. Let me rest up, so I can.”

  Resigned, Elijah pressed a gentle kiss to Baz’s lips as he rose, glad the red light hid his blush over the sentimental gesture.

  BAZ DRIFTED THROUGH shallow sleep, his painkillers dulling the throb of his head but not letting him uncouple in the way he needed to recover. In hindsight he should have known better than to leave his contacts in so long and push through in a single day’s drive. It would have been better to endure the humiliation of air travel than this, because he worried he wouldn’t be able to get in the game before it was time to go home again.

  He worried he’d miss this whole trip with Elijah.

  His dreams were fitful and narcotic-laced, and his stomach rolled with nausea. For months now he’d done what he could to avoid taking drugs: being good about physical therapy, eating well, even doing some meditation, though he frankly sucked at it. He would never be able to take no pain meds, but he had cut back. Which meant taking a full dose today sent his system reeling. He really hoped Jansen came through with some weed. He drifted into a sloshy sleep, mentally composing a Yelp review incoherently praising Herod’s for its service.

  When he opened his eyes, the room was lit with the red glow of his lights, outlining the shape of a huge man with a shaved head sitting in the chair beside the bed, staring at Baz.

  Queasy for a different reason now, Baz tried to sit up, but pain sent him immediately down once more. The man leaned forward, his stern expression morphing into guarded concern. “Easy. Don’t hurt yourself. Sorry if I scared you. I’m Steve. Friend of Randy’s. He sent me here to make sure you were okay.”

  Baz rolled onto his side, adjusting the pillow carefully. He didn’t know what to say, and he felt like shit, so he didn’t say anything.

  Steve pulled a vial and a small baggie from the inside pocket of the leather vest he wore over his T-shirt. “He didn’t know if you wanted cannabis oil or a joint, so he sent both.”

  Baz’s entire body salivated, knowing relief was in reach. He wanted the joint because it was more fun. But he was a good boy now, and so was Elijah. “Oil.”

  Steve p
ut the joint away and unscrewed the cap of the vial. “I assume you know how to dose yourself?”

  He did, and he coached Steve through the measurement, opening his mouth to accept it when his hand trembled too much to take it. That was the narcotic, fucking him up more than helping him right now. He hated that the most, taking a risk it would mute the pain, only to feel the pain and the unsteadiness. But cannabis oil would do a lot, and as he lay there the nausea and the worst of the pain bled away. He felt floaty, more relaxed. And hungry. Really hungry.

  But he needed to get to know his nursemaid before he went foraging for room service. Propping himself up on his pillows, he stuck out his hand. “Baz Acker. Nice to meet you.”

  Steve shook his hand. “Steve Vance. What brings you to Las Vegas?”

  “My fiancé looked as if he was about to melt down at my family’s place, and this was before the big gala my mom had planned. So I thought, where could we escape? Vegas seemed good. But he was right. We shouldn’t have driven straight through. Damn eyes, such bitches if I don’t let them rest.”

  “You appear to be recovering all right. Glad the oil helped.”

  “Should have brought my own. But I didn’t want us to get caught with it if we got pulled over or something.” He rubbed at his nose. “If I keep up my dose, I should be okay by tomorrow afternoon. And if I stay in this room in the dark.”

  “How long are you in Vegas? Long or short stay, or flexible?”

  “Short, for sure. Walter and Kelly have to get home for their jobs.” His stomach grumbled, and he winced. “Would you mind passing me the phone? I need to put in a room service order.”

  Steve handed it over, along with a menu from a drawer. “Your fiancé, as I understand it, wanted to know when you were awake.”

  Baz grunted as he dialed. He placed an order for a bacon cheeseburger, fries, a salad, and a pot of hot tea. When he hung up, Steve still regarded him expectedly, and Baz pursed his lips. “I don’t want him up here right now. I’m pissed and embarrassed, and I need to get over that first.”