Read Online Out of Aces by Stephanie Guerra - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephanie Guerra
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are stu pid.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve obviously done a lot of research on t his.”
“Only because you wo n’t.”
I tried to make my voice calm. I really didn’t want to fight with her, not with Micah nipping at my heels. “Even if I do have it, maybe I don’t want to know,” I said. “Don’t I have the right to decide t hat?”
She sniffed. “I don’t k now.”
When we said our good-byes, I knew she was still annoyed. So was I. I felt cornered. Pressured. If I did have dyslexia—and I didn’t think I did—I really didn’t want to know. I already felt bad enough about myself. I didn’t need to add something new.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A re you going home next week for Christmas?” Rob asked as he stacked glasses. It was early Friday night and the bar was still pretty me llow.
I thought about it. Christmas alone in Vegas seemed like a bad idea. But I’d already told my mom I wasn’t coming, and there was no way I wanted to deal with Phil’s trashed face messing up our family holiday. I could just picture the pile of Victoria’s Secret bags under the Christmas tree. I’d miss seeing Irina, but I’d gone ahead and bought her tickets like we’d talked about. So I only had to wait two weeks to see her.
Finally I said, “No, I’m staying h ere.”
“You had to think about t hat.”
“Yeah. My mom’s boyfriend is an idiot. I’m not doing Christmas with him.”
Rob opened the fruit tray, made a face, and dumped the whole thing in the trash. “Good for you. Biological family is enough of a pain. Anyway, Christmas in Vegas could be c ool.”
“Or pathetic,” I said.
“No, man. Cool in a Hunter S. Thompson kind of way.”
I smiled. “Okay, I could see that. What about you? What are you do ing?”
“MacNamara and Shaugnessy clans are getting together.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I have a k ilt.”
“No, you do n’t!”
“Yes, I do. My dad paid a lot of money to get our plaid shipped and fit ted.”
I giggled and started playing fake bagpipes, making a little moaning s ound.
“What the hell are you doing?” said Nick from behind me.
I whipped around. The guy had a se nsor.
“He was making fun of my Scottish heritage,” Rob said with a straight face.
Nick couldn’t help it—he smiled. Rob could make anybody smile. “Gabe, two security guys called in sick. I need you to take a bouncer shift. Lars will handle your bar.” Nick was looking sharp, as usual, in a tailored sports jacket and j eans.
“Okay, sure.” I wiped my hands on a towel. I’d never bounced before, but I wasn’t too worried. There had only been one fight since I started working there, and the guys were so wasted they were swinging air pun ches.
Nick took me to the main door. The bouncer stool was at the entrance, in front of a velvet rope that split the VIP from the regular line. Both lines were already wrapping around the building. Lars had a strategy of making people wait, even if it was dead inside. Terrell, head of security, was sitting on the stool, checking IDs. He was a menacing dude, at least two-fifty, with a face that never changed expres sion.
Nick tapped Terrell on the shoulder. “Gabe’s covering for Frank. Show him the ropes, then you can staff the rear.” He disappeared in side.
Terrell looked me over, and he didn’t seem too impressed. “You ever bounce bef ore?”
I shook my head.
“Just check the cards and send them to the cage.” He pointed to the window where customers paid cover. April waved at me from behind the glass, and I smiled at her. Maybe if things got slow, I could talk with her. Although on a Friday night “slow” wasn’t too li kely.
“What about VIPs?” I a sked.
“Check their VIP card and ID. Make sure the names match. If they don’t have a card, they’d better be on the list.” He handed me a clipboard and got up from the stool. “You c ool?”
“Um . . . I think so.”
“All right. If they look like trash, don’t let ’em in. If
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve obviously done a lot of research on t his.”
“Only because you wo n’t.”
I tried to make my voice calm. I really didn’t want to fight with her, not with Micah nipping at my heels. “Even if I do have it, maybe I don’t want to know,” I said. “Don’t I have the right to decide t hat?”
She sniffed. “I don’t k now.”
When we said our good-byes, I knew she was still annoyed. So was I. I felt cornered. Pressured. If I did have dyslexia—and I didn’t think I did—I really didn’t want to know. I already felt bad enough about myself. I didn’t need to add something new.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A re you going home next week for Christmas?” Rob asked as he stacked glasses. It was early Friday night and the bar was still pretty me llow.
I thought about it. Christmas alone in Vegas seemed like a bad idea. But I’d already told my mom I wasn’t coming, and there was no way I wanted to deal with Phil’s trashed face messing up our family holiday. I could just picture the pile of Victoria’s Secret bags under the Christmas tree. I’d miss seeing Irina, but I’d gone ahead and bought her tickets like we’d talked about. So I only had to wait two weeks to see her.
Finally I said, “No, I’m staying h ere.”
“You had to think about t hat.”
“Yeah. My mom’s boyfriend is an idiot. I’m not doing Christmas with him.”
Rob opened the fruit tray, made a face, and dumped the whole thing in the trash. “Good for you. Biological family is enough of a pain. Anyway, Christmas in Vegas could be c ool.”
“Or pathetic,” I said.
“No, man. Cool in a Hunter S. Thompson kind of way.”
I smiled. “Okay, I could see that. What about you? What are you do ing?”
“MacNamara and Shaugnessy clans are getting together.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I have a k ilt.”
“No, you do n’t!”
“Yes, I do. My dad paid a lot of money to get our plaid shipped and fit ted.”
I giggled and started playing fake bagpipes, making a little moaning s ound.
“What the hell are you doing?” said Nick from behind me.
I whipped around. The guy had a se nsor.
“He was making fun of my Scottish heritage,” Rob said with a straight face.
Nick couldn’t help it—he smiled. Rob could make anybody smile. “Gabe, two security guys called in sick. I need you to take a bouncer shift. Lars will handle your bar.” Nick was looking sharp, as usual, in a tailored sports jacket and j eans.
“Okay, sure.” I wiped my hands on a towel. I’d never bounced before, but I wasn’t too worried. There had only been one fight since I started working there, and the guys were so wasted they were swinging air pun ches.
Nick took me to the main door. The bouncer stool was at the entrance, in front of a velvet rope that split the VIP from the regular line. Both lines were already wrapping around the building. Lars had a strategy of making people wait, even if it was dead inside. Terrell, head of security, was sitting on the stool, checking IDs. He was a menacing dude, at least two-fifty, with a face that never changed expres sion.
Nick tapped Terrell on the shoulder. “Gabe’s covering for Frank. Show him the ropes, then you can staff the rear.” He disappeared in side.
Terrell looked me over, and he didn’t seem too impressed. “You ever bounce bef ore?”
I shook my head.
“Just check the cards and send them to the cage.” He pointed to the window where customers paid cover. April waved at me from behind the glass, and I smiled at her. Maybe if things got slow, I could talk with her. Although on a Friday night “slow” wasn’t too li kely.
“What about VIPs?” I a sked.
“Check their VIP card and ID. Make sure the names match. If they don’t have a card, they’d better be on the list.” He handed me a clipboard and got up from the stool. “You c ool?”
“Um . . . I think so.”
“All right. If they look like trash, don’t let ’em in. If
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