Short Stay Page 5

  “How pissed would he be at you if he knew you were deliberately keeping him away when you were up and feeling better?”

  “Not better. Better managed, maybe, but not better.” Baz clutched his belly. “God, is there a fruit basket out there or something?”

  “Knowing the way Ethan runs things, probably fruit, crackers, a cheese spread, a bottle of champagne, and some chocolate-covered strawberries.” He rose. “I’ll go poke around.”

  “I’ll come along.” Baz threw off the covers and climbed out of bed. “I need to move a bit anyway.”

  Steve frowned at him, the gesture making him terrifying in the red light. “Is this a good idea with your injury?”

  “My injury is a decade old. All that’s going to happen is my head will throb more than usual. My hip, however, will be a lot happier.”

  “All right. But let me go out and turn off the lights, shut the shades. My husband is out there watching TV.”

  Baz stumbled to the bathroom, flushed his eyes with saline, then installed his contacts. They burned, but a few extra eye drops and he was solid. He selected his most severe sunglasses, the ones with the shade wing tips he so hated, and emerged from the bedroom.

  His eyes only stung a little as he entered the main room of the suite. Baz had expected Steve’s husband to be a forty-something bear, a slightly squishy contrast to Steve’s hard edges, but he was surprised to see a tall, lithe, curly-haired Latino man draped in a chair near a darkened television set, looking not a whole lot older than Baz.

  Smiling at Baz, he rose, pleasant but slightly guarded as he held out his hand. His voice had a slightly twangy Texas accent as he spoke, but not a whiff of Spanish. “Chenco Vance. Nice to meet you.”

  Baz met his handshake with an equally guarded, self-conscious air. “Baz Acker. Sorry if I ruined your evening.”

  Chenco waved this away. “Not at all. It’s a lovely view of the city from this suite, and we’re always happy to do Ethan and Randy a favor. I take it you’re feeling a bit better?”

  “Yeah. Pushed myself too much, is all.” Hunger pinched him again, and he glanced around. “Have you seen any food in here? I’ll eat anything but coffee grounds.”

  Steve plunked a large basket from a table and brought it over. “An assortment of fruit, chocolate, and crackers. I put the champagne in the mini fridge.”

  Baz accepted the basket gratefully and sat on a love seat, hands shaking as he peeled a banana and wolfed it down as fast as he could without choking. Once he’d annihilated it, a bag of rice crackers, and a chocolate bar, he felt ten thousand percent more human and set the basket aside. He became aware of Chenco and Steve watching him carefully, and he smiled wryly as he wiped his mouth with his fingers. “Sorry. I haven’t eaten much today. Then I had weed.”

  When Chenco spoke, each word was measured. “Are you able to see? I’m sorry, I had the idea somehow you were blind.”

  “Not blind, but I don’t see as well as everyone else. Eyestrain gets me, and light.” He considered how much to tell them. “I was bashed up good with a baseball bat and a few well-placed shit-kickers when I was sixteen. I’ve got the drill down by now, how I need to behave to keep myself on the level, but sometimes I decide I want to pretend I’m Superman, and my body drags me into line. Cannabis helps a lot. I appreciate your bringing it for me. I wish it were legal so I could have brought my own along without worrying.”

  Chenco’s polite reserve melted somewhat. He didn’t say I’m so sorry, but Baz got the message anyway.

  Baz passed the basket of food to Steve and Chenco—Steve selected a small chocolate bar, but Chenco chose a peach. Baz took one of each when it came his way. “So what do the two of you do?”

  “I’m in cyber security.” Steve gestured at the room. “For the hotel and casino, and freelance.” He turned to Chenco, chest puffing in pride. “Chenco is a performer. The best drag performer in town. Caramela.”

  Wheels clicked in Baz’s head. “You’re the resident drag queen I read about? Here at Herod’s?”

  Chenco nodded, demure, but not without pride. “I am. I have a light schedule this week to get ready for the New Year’s Eve gala on Thursday night.”

  “I look forward to seeing it.” Baz grinned, a self-deprecating gesture. “I did a drag performance a few months ago with my friends. Fun, but man it’s hard work.”

  Steve glanced at his phone. “Randy texted asking how you are. Apparently Elijah is worried.”

  The soft bubble of ease the drugs and the conversation had given Baz popped, sending him into the uneasy regret and embarrassment he so wanted to avoid. “Tell them I’m fine. I’ll be down in a bit.”

  Steve raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure this is wise?”

  No, it wasn’t. But if he stayed away from bright light, he’d be okay. “I’ll meet them in the bar. The dark corner where we were before. Let me put the room service in me, and I’ll be rock solid.”

  Steve clearly didn’t like this, but he said nothing, only tapped out a text. When the doorbell to the suite rang a few seconds later, Steve and Chenco went to the door to let them in, speaking softly to one another on the way.

  Baz fished in his pocket for his wallet, focusing on selecting bills for a tip, not how much this first night in Vegas had drifted from his plans. He told himself he had another forty-five minutes to get his shit together, and then he was back in the game, making sure Elijah could see everything was going to be okay.

  Chapter Four

  FOR THE FOURTH time in fifteen minutes, Elijah checked his phone, but Baz still hadn’t texted. He’d tried to be subtle about his obsession, but when he caught Randy’s gaze, Elijah saw a sad quirk of his escort’s lips.

  Randy put a hand on Elijah’s shoulder, a brief touch which should have been invasive but wasn’t. Elijah liked Randy, despite his better judgment. The guy was slippery but so straightforward. Baz’s machinations usually left Elijah dizzy and often angry, the way they had tonight. Randy, however, was clearly all about distracting Elijah and nothing else. He’d spent the past hour showing him how to play poker, leaning in close as he read people in the casino as if they were nothing more than another deck of cards. Sometimes he’d pause to greet a guest or someone on the staff—everybody knew Randy—but he never abandoned Elijah.

  Unlike some people.

  Randy took him on a tour of weird parts of the casino, giving history about when it was a gangster paradise. Showed him a secret room for laundering money, which now held spare towels. Told him about finding the big gold demon statue now on the main floor inside the hidden space, how his husband had it installed where it used to be in the old days. Randy talked about his husband a lot, until finally he brought Elijah to the imposing dark wood doors of an office, and there he was, the guy who owned the casino.

  Ethan Ellison was tall, crisply dressed, elegant. He would have fit right in at Baz’s fancy family tailor—he appeared, actually, as if he’d be able to argue over whether or not the offerings were quality materials. He looked exactly like the kind of guy who would run a casino, or an empire. He didn’t match up with the rangy guy with too much hair gel, jeans with a hole in the knee, and a faded T-shirt. And yet when the casino owner saw them, his eyes lit up, his whole demeanor changing as he came out from behind the desk.

  “Hey, Slick.” Randy kissed his husband on the mouth before gesturing to Elijah. “Meet Elijah Prince.”

  Ethan smiled warmly as he held out his hand to Elijah. “A pleasure. I’m Ethan. I hope you’re having a pleasant stay so far? I’m so sorry to hear your fiancé is unwell.”

  “Thanks.” Elijah stuffed his hands into his pockets, fighting the urge to hunch his shoulders. God, the room was impressive. The Godfather should emerge any minute from a dark corner flanked by goons. Except Randy was ten times more casual than Elijah was, and he appeared comfortable as anything.

  “We’re waiting on Peaches. He texted a little bit ago, said he and Mitch would be along soon. Thought we’d have drinks in the
bar while we waited. You free, baby?”

  Ethan’s lips thinned. “Too many reports.”

  “Hmm. Well, don’t work all night.” He goosed his husband, kissed him again, and led Elijah away. “If you change your mind, come find us.”

  Randy led them back to the bar. The same booth waited for them, and a waitress appeared with the drink he recognized as the one Randy had been drinking before. She smiled at Elijah. “What can I get you, hon?”

  Elijah wanted a few shots of tequila, but the reason he wanted them inspired him to order a Coke instead. When he checked his phone, his heart lifted as he saw a message notification, but it sank when it was only Kelly, asking if it was okay if they went to a show, and did Elijah and Baz want to come along. He made the mistake of opening Facebook, reminding him he still hadn’t decided whether or not to accept his cousin’s request.

  Fighting a grimace, Elijah tapped a reply to Kelly, telling them to go on ahead. When he finished, he saw Randy watching him, patiently inquisitive.

  Elijah tossed his phone on the table and downed his Coke, wishing it had rum in it. When he set his glass aside, there was another glass in his way. It looked a lot like Randy’s drink. Glancing over, he saw it was Randy’s drink.

  “You seemed as if you needed it more than me.” Randy signaled the waitress, who nodded before disappearing in the direction of the bar.

  Elijah stared into the pale brown liquid. It smelled of whiskey. “I…have a bad history of drinking or taking drugs to avoid my emotions.”

  “Sure, I hear you. You’re not an alcoholic, though, right? You were drinking before.”

  Elijah wasn’t sure what the qualifications for alcoholic were, but he thought he’d managed to steer clear of that label, at least.

  Randy opened his hand on the top of the table, palm up. “Make you a deal. You drink this one, take the edge off, pull open a few laces on your anxiety corset. Tell me why you’re upset, and I’ll help you fix it. Enough liquor to float you, not enough to drown you.”

  Elijah cut a sideways glance at him. “Why are you doing this? Why is the whole casino acting as if we’re royalty?” Why do you care about me?

  Randy’s smile was crooked but honest. “We’re a full-service kind of place.”

  Elijah sipped at the drink. It tasted…creamy. Whiskey-creamy. “Is this really strong Baileys or something?”

  “Baileys and Jameson. Dirty Whiskey.”

  Elijah took another sip, this one bigger. “It’s good.”

  “Ask for it in any place in Vegas with a poker room, they’ll know how to make it.” He leaned back in the booth, accepting the drink from the waitress with a fluid ease, making Elijah wish he could look as cool. “Now. You ready to fess up to Uncle Randy, or do you need more drink in you first?”

  Elijah shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. He’s either still asleep, or he’s being a pouting asshole. I want to be up there sitting with him, but he doesn’t want to be with anybody when he feels lousy. Why this means I have to go hang out with total strangers, I don’t know. But whatever he wants, he usually gets.”

  “Oh, don’t play defeatist with me. You aren’t a meek little puppy. So why aren’t you punching back now?”

  “I don’t know. I’m intimidated by Vegas, I guess.”

  “There is no need for that. I could show you how to bring it to its knees in one motorcycle ride.”

  The thought thrilled Elijah, but only for a moment. “The whole point of coming here was to get less intimidated with him.” He pushed the drink away. “Now I’m pouting.”

  “He wants the same thing as you, you know. To be here with you. Actually, he wants to spend ridiculous sums of money on you. Treat you like…ha. Like a prince. Which you don’t care for, which drives him nuts and makes him try harder. Goddamn, but you two are never going to be bored.”

  “I wasn’t bored in Chicago. Did I want to do his mom’s insane party? No. Was I nervous about how my life was going to be full of this kind of stuff now, and was I afraid I’d never fit in? Yes. But was I going to suck it up and take it? Yes. I mean, what’s he going to do, pop me off to Vegas every time he thinks I’m slightly nervous about something?”

  “Pretty much, unless you figure out how to move his levers better.” Randy sank deeper into the booth so he could prop a foot on the bench across from them. “Also, you gotta pay closer attention. He’s not protecting you. That’s just the party line. Your boy’s the one who ran scared.”

  The thought was a cold jolt through Elijah. “He’s embarrassed of me?”

  Randy flicked him in the arm. “No. He’s trying to keep you happy. So happy you never look away from him for a second. Pay attention, kid. Wants to treat you like a prince, remember?”

  “But that makes no sense. Why is he behaving this way, not letting me be with him, if he wants to spoil me? I don’t understand.”

  “Then I guess you better have a little more drinky and some more thinky.” From somewhere nearby, music began to play, and Randy perked up. “Scratch that. Dance floor’s open. Let’s go see how many left feet you have.”

  Before he could object, Elijah was hauled out of the booth and propelled in the direction of an archway that had been dark earlier but now pulsed with low light and club music. The room it led to wasn’t big, but it doubled the size of the bar, with tables strewn around the edges and checkerboard linoleum under spotlights in the center. No one was in the room but a DJ, who waved at Randy as he led Elijah onto the floor.

  Elijah tried to escape. “I don’t want to dance. And I left my phone in the booth.”

  “You don’t need your phone. It’s perfectly safe there. And if anything goes wrong with Baz, Steve will tell the hotel, and they know exactly where I am.” He drew Elijah in close, grinning dangerously as he began to wiggle his hips. “Dance it out, bitch. Come on.”

  It was too weird, being in the middle of an empty room, dancing with a man he barely knew. “I don’t have enough drink in me for this.”

  “Yeah you do.” Randy winked. “Come on. Give me one song, and if you’re still pissy at the end of it, we’ll go back to the booth and brood some more.”

  It was difficult to argue with him, especially since Elijah didn’t want to go back to the booth. He didn’t know what he wanted to do—not go home, not go to the room, not go with Walter and Kelly. Not dance, either, but there were worse things in the world than getting cheered up by Randy Jansen.

  So he stayed. Let Randy lure him into putting up his hands and shaking his tail feather. When the song shifted, he didn’t try to escape, and Randy didn’t point out he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. Elijah knew he’d been played, but he was okay with it. Besides, he did have just enough alcohol in him.

  Dirty Whiskeys. He’d have to remember that.

  Song after song they danced, and when “Runaway Baby” by Bruno Mars started to play, Elijah felt something in him ease. He still didn’t like how Baz was being…Baz, but he didn’t care right now. He laughed, he looped his arms around Randy’s neck, and he let go. All he knew was this moment, this dance floor, and this feeling.

  He faltered when a guy a bit taller and not any older than Elijah shimmied into their dance space, planting a more-than-friendly kiss on Randy’s lips. Randy grinned, kissed the newcomer back, and gestured between him and Elijah.

  “Elijah, this is Sam Keller-Tedsoe, one of my best friends. Sam, this is Elijah Prince. He and his fiancé are here through New Year’s.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Sam was already bobbing to the beat, moving in sync with Randy as he smiled at Elijah. “Where are you from?”

  Elijah didn’t know how to answer. “The Midwest.”

  Sam beamed. “Me too! Middleton, Iowa. You?”

  “Originally South Dakota, though I live outside of St. Paul now. My fiancé is from Chicago.”

  “I miss the Midwest. But my family’s here, so.” He shrugged and leaned into Randy. “Where’s your fiancé at?”

  “He needed to rest a
bit. Steve and Chenco are with him.” Randy slipped an arm around Sam’s waist, then put the other around Elijah’s. “Dance with us, Peaches?”

  Somehow everything changed with Sam dancing along. It wasn’t bad, but it was different. Sexually charged, to start. Randy and Ethan had certainly looked happily married, but Elijah would lay good money Sam and Randy had dated once upon a time. They danced like lovers. And since Elijah was dancing with them…

  Well. He didn’t seem quite Uncle Randy anymore.

  Elijah worried he was going to be a third wheel, but neither Randy nor Sam would let him turn into one. They danced close together, but they brought him into their flow with ease. Sam sang along with the songs and lured Elijah into doing it with him. Randy ran hands down both their backs and led them along the beat. They were all sweat and hard breaths before long, but they laughed too.

  The dance floor was fuller now, as were the booths dotting the edges. The lights flashed and slashed across them in a way that would have sent Baz to the ER, but Baz wasn’t there, so Elijah rode the disorienting feelings they gave him.

  When “Bang Bang” came on, he followed Randy and Sam’s lead without blinking, arms up, grinding between the two of them as music pounded. He laughed. He lip-synced Nicki Minaj. He cut loose, so loose he practically melted boneless onto the floor. When a tall Latino guy slid into their threesome, welcomed by Sam and Randy as if he belonged there, Elijah took it in stride. This one had moves to spare, and now they were a quartet, not a trio. It was great. It was perfect. It was just what Elijah needed.

  Then he looked across the room and saw the outline of Baz’s hair and shoulders, the edge of his glasses.

  The insulation Randy had woven around Elijah vanished. Ducking Sam’s arm, Elijah stepped around the Latino guy and wove his way through the dancers, the only thought on his mind getting to his fiancé before he disappeared again.

  ALL BAZ COULD think was how happy Elijah had been—right up until he’d seen Baz. He was ready to turn around and go back to the room, but Steve and the guy he was chatting with had him boxed in. Before he could get himself organized enough to escape, Elijah was in front of him. He looked angry and worried.