“And you’re a king among men,” I said, laughing and holding my glass up for him to toast with his water. “Get yourself a cocktail in celebration of efficient pharmacies everywhere.”
“Why do I feel like I’m only getting half this conversation?” Will asked, looking dumbly between us. His eyes narrowed. “Is something going on we don’t know about?”
I barked out a laugh. “Don’t know what you’re on about, mate. Just taking the piss.”
Henry began studying the menu but Will seemed less convinced, looking away only when Henry called his attention to a cart of flaming meat being rolled by our table.
Satisfied they were sufficiently distracted, I leaned toward Bennett. “Where’s Sara?”
“Wouldn’t you love to know?”
I narrowed my eyes at him, scowling. “Arsehole.”
“Hey, you started this,” Bennett said, reaching for my drink.
I smacked his hand away. “Me? What are you on about?”
“You know: Chloe? Here? As grateful as I am, don’t try and pretend it wasn’t you who suggested the whole lap dance thing.”
“For you.”
“For me,” he said, smirking. “Right. So I’d be distracted and you could be with Sara in that club.”
Maybe he had a point.
“You can’t tell me if Sara teased you for forty-five minutes in a strip club you wouldn’t immediately go find her and . . . fix things. Even if you were meant to be hanging out with the guys.”
I laughed. “Too right.” I leaned closer, voice low. The idea of being able to slip out of here and have Sara one more time was too delicious to pass up. “This dinner is going to take at least two hours. I could be back in twenty.”
This time when he reached for my drink, I let him take it. “She’s visiting a friend,” he whispered.
I paused. “Visiting . . . what?”
“Oh, that bothers you? Leaves you feeling unresolved? I’m not so sure I should tell you,” he said, studying me. “It’s pretty clear the start of this night has gone far better for you than for me. Maybe your focus should be on my bachelor party instead of what’s in your pants.”
“Or,” I began, “I could tell Henry about that time you shagged two girls in his bed when he was stuck working at school over the uni holidays.”
That sobered him up. “She has a friend that dances in some show at Planet Hollywood. Chloe mentioned something about Sara going over there for sound check or something between performances.”
Sara, sitting in a dark theater all alone? That was all I needed to hear. Pushing away from the table, I stood. Will and Henry looked up at me from their menus. “Where are you going?” Henry asked. “They have a forty-ounce rib eye!”
“Toilet,” I said, placing a hand over my stomach. “I’m, ah . . . not feeling well.”
“You, too?” Will asked.
I nodded, hesitating for only a moment before saying, “Back in a bit.”
And I was off, sprinting from the restaurant, blood pumping hot in my legs and that untethered need to be with her buzzing steadily under my skin.
The smell of asphalt hit me in the face as I raced down to the curb, looking up the distance to Planet Hollywood on my phone as I walked. This was shite. It was several blocks away, and at this point in the night the streets were packed with slow-walking tourists looking and pointing at every possible sight between here and where I would find Sara.
Although the car traffic on Las Vegas Boulevard had cleared up significantly, the valet area was still a mess: some of the same cars were parked curbside and there wasn’t a taxi in sight. Fuck, how was I going to get there? I looked down into the car next to me: door still open, Eiffel Tower key chain hanging from the ignition.
The keys were swinging, as if they were actually trying to grab my attention.
It took me all of five seconds to decide that I’d lived my entire life without stealing a car, and how could I possibly have let that happen?
Borrowing, I thought. I was borrowing.
With a quick look ’round, I slipped in through the open door and turned the key. A dark hat sat on the leather seat next to me and I picked it up, turning it over once before placing it on my head. Oh well, when in Rome and all that.
I had no idea what in the actual hell I was doing as I raced away from the curb, but I rationed that at this point, nothing else could possibly go wrong.
* * *
It turned out that driving a stolen—borrowed—limousine was every bit as difficult as one might imagine. It was awkward and handled like shit, and wasn’t exactly the most inconspicuous thing on the road. But traffic was almost nonexistent and soon I was arriving at the blazing neon casino.