Read Online Royal Flush by Stephanie Caffrey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephanie Caffrey
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T-shirt clung to his massive pecs, and the aforementioned biceps were threatening to rip the fabric on his short sleeves.
It wasn't a bad look, but it wasn't going to work at the club.
"Let's get inside and look around first," I said. "We might have to go shopping."
Carlos pouted again, which drew a stern elbow in the ribs from me.
We walked into the MGM Grand and immediately went up the escalator, which led us right to Hakkasan. Not that we needed directions. The thumping music coming from within would have made it more than obvious. A modest line of glittering girls and young men extended out the door. I left Carlos behind and approached the door, squinting at a sign posted outside. The dress code was pretty basic, but it did require a collared shirt for men. I should have expected that.
I sighed. "I don't think there are any clothing stores in here, but I'm sure they have a gift shop."
Carlos cringed. "This is gonna mess with my image, isn't it?"
"Almost certainly," I said, grabbing his left bicep playfully. It was like grabbing an over-inflated football.
"Try this one," he said, thrusting his right arm toward me.
I gave it a squeeze. "Impressive."
He seemed quite pleased with himself. "Now it's my turn to squeeze something," he said, staring at my cleavage.
"Dream on. And we're in the middle of a giant casino, you troglodyte. Come on, let's go."
Carlos's lusty ways had long ago ceased to bother me. In the years he'd worked at Cougar's with me, he had openly proposed all kinds of sexual acts, and he was never shy about abandoning his bouncer duties in order to take in one of my acts. It was flattering, to be honest. With all the beautiful and younger naked ladies surrounding him, I was still clearly his favorite. And now that we sometimes worked together outside of the strip club setting, he was growing on me. On the side, he was attending business school at UNLV, and he owned a string of apartment buildings, which he also found time to manage.
Carlos was standing there as if he was glued to the floor, so I dragged him by the bicep, which required two hands, and we made our way back downstairs and through the ding-ding-ding of the casino toward the lobby, where a large store called Grand was still open. Casino hotel stores all carried an amusing array of products—everything from booze and wine to Preparation-H and Zantac, the kinds of things almost every Vegas visitor needed at some point on their trip. One thing they all had in common was an array of cheesy Vegas-themed clothing, and I dragged Carlos in the direction of the clothing racks in the back of the store.
"Everything with a collar here is lame," he muttered, thumbing idly through some golf shirts with the MGM Grand logo on them.
"Just pick one," I said. "Nobody's going to be looking at you anyway."
He smiled. "That's what you think."
I found two shirts and held them up in front of Carlos. One was a Tommy Bahama-style button-down shirt with a logo from KÀ , the long-running Asian-themed Cirque du Soleil show playing at the MGM. The other was a pink golf shirt with MGM's lion logo on the breast.
Carlos shrugged apathetically.
"Large?" I asked.
"Whatever."
I grabbed his muscle again. "For a guy with such big muscles, you sure act like a spoiled little kid sometimes."
He looked me up and down, a tiny smile breaking out on his face. "I'm supposed to take advice from someone dressed like Elvira?"
"Is it that bad?" I asked, suddenly worried.
"Let's just go," he muttered, grabbing the golf shirt.
I put the shirt on my credit card, and Carlos went to the bathroom to change.
When he emerged, I had to stifle a giggle.
"That is totally you," I said. "Pink must be your color."
He shrugged off my sarcasm. "I actually like it," he said. "So let's get in there and get this over with."
I guessed the reason he wasn't protesting more was that the shirt was about two sizes too small for his buff torso, and Carlos obviously counted bulging out of shirts
It wasn't a bad look, but it wasn't going to work at the club.
"Let's get inside and look around first," I said. "We might have to go shopping."
Carlos pouted again, which drew a stern elbow in the ribs from me.
We walked into the MGM Grand and immediately went up the escalator, which led us right to Hakkasan. Not that we needed directions. The thumping music coming from within would have made it more than obvious. A modest line of glittering girls and young men extended out the door. I left Carlos behind and approached the door, squinting at a sign posted outside. The dress code was pretty basic, but it did require a collared shirt for men. I should have expected that.
I sighed. "I don't think there are any clothing stores in here, but I'm sure they have a gift shop."
Carlos cringed. "This is gonna mess with my image, isn't it?"
"Almost certainly," I said, grabbing his left bicep playfully. It was like grabbing an over-inflated football.
"Try this one," he said, thrusting his right arm toward me.
I gave it a squeeze. "Impressive."
He seemed quite pleased with himself. "Now it's my turn to squeeze something," he said, staring at my cleavage.
"Dream on. And we're in the middle of a giant casino, you troglodyte. Come on, let's go."
Carlos's lusty ways had long ago ceased to bother me. In the years he'd worked at Cougar's with me, he had openly proposed all kinds of sexual acts, and he was never shy about abandoning his bouncer duties in order to take in one of my acts. It was flattering, to be honest. With all the beautiful and younger naked ladies surrounding him, I was still clearly his favorite. And now that we sometimes worked together outside of the strip club setting, he was growing on me. On the side, he was attending business school at UNLV, and he owned a string of apartment buildings, which he also found time to manage.
Carlos was standing there as if he was glued to the floor, so I dragged him by the bicep, which required two hands, and we made our way back downstairs and through the ding-ding-ding of the casino toward the lobby, where a large store called Grand was still open. Casino hotel stores all carried an amusing array of products—everything from booze and wine to Preparation-H and Zantac, the kinds of things almost every Vegas visitor needed at some point on their trip. One thing they all had in common was an array of cheesy Vegas-themed clothing, and I dragged Carlos in the direction of the clothing racks in the back of the store.
"Everything with a collar here is lame," he muttered, thumbing idly through some golf shirts with the MGM Grand logo on them.
"Just pick one," I said. "Nobody's going to be looking at you anyway."
He smiled. "That's what you think."
I found two shirts and held them up in front of Carlos. One was a Tommy Bahama-style button-down shirt with a logo from KÀ , the long-running Asian-themed Cirque du Soleil show playing at the MGM. The other was a pink golf shirt with MGM's lion logo on the breast.
Carlos shrugged apathetically.
"Large?" I asked.
"Whatever."
I grabbed his muscle again. "For a guy with such big muscles, you sure act like a spoiled little kid sometimes."
He looked me up and down, a tiny smile breaking out on his face. "I'm supposed to take advice from someone dressed like Elvira?"
"Is it that bad?" I asked, suddenly worried.
"Let's just go," he muttered, grabbing the golf shirt.
I put the shirt on my credit card, and Carlos went to the bathroom to change.
When he emerged, I had to stifle a giggle.
"That is totally you," I said. "Pink must be your color."
He shrugged off my sarcasm. "I actually like it," he said. "So let's get in there and get this over with."
I guessed the reason he wasn't protesting more was that the shirt was about two sizes too small for his buff torso, and Carlos obviously counted bulging out of shirts
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