Last Call Read online

  First published by The Writer’s Coffee Shop, 2011

  Copyright © Jennifer Schmidt, 2011

  The right of Jennifer Schmidt to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000

  This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Writer’s Coffee Shop

  (Australia) PO Box 2013 Hornsby Westfield NSW 1635

  (USA) PO Box 2116 Waxahachie TX 75168

  Paperback ISBN- 978-1-61213-064-4

  E-book ISBN- 978-1-61213-065-1

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the US Congress Library.

  Cover image by: Claudio Monni

  Cover design by: Jennifer McGuire

  www.thewriterscoffeeshop.com/jschmidt

  Growing up in a small town in the Interlake region of Manitoba, there wasn’t always a lot to do. Having to entertain one’s self, Jennifer soon discovered a love for reading, and later, one of writing.

  She wrote her first novel at the age of 15. Six hundred hand written pages later, it was put away and forgotten about. It wasn’t until she found an online writing community that she took the first step and, hiding behind a pen name, posted her work. After some persuasion from family and friends, Jennifer shed the pen name and entered the 2010 TWCS Original Fiction Contest and won for best romance.

  After moving and living in a couple of different cities around the country, Jennifer came back home to Ashern where she lives with her two young sons, Hayden and Nicholas.

  To my boys, Hayden and Nicholas, who not only find new ways every day to drive me crazy, but who have taught me that a little bit of craziness is a whole lot of love.

  My parents, family, and friends who encouraged me and believed I could accomplish this goal when I had no belief in myself.

  And Nick for lending Dean his ink, threatening to kick my ass when writer’s block became so bad I wanted to quit and give up, and helping to inspire the naughtiness that fills these pages.

  xoxo

  Even without meeting his gaze, she could feel his eyes on her. She kept her gaze locked on her cocktail glass, her hair around her face to hide her smile. He had been sitting there for a good ten minutes now, watching her. Normally it would creep her out, make her stomach flip to the point of being nauseous, to have someone stare at her like he was doing. But oddly she liked it.

  Flirtatiously, she twisted her shoulder while still keeping her eyes on her glass. She turned her body, slowly twirling on the stool so her bottom half faced him. She began to swing her leg back in forth slowly, lazily. She didn’t have to look to know his eyes were now on her legs, probably drifting up to where her skirt ended just above her knee.

  She softly giggled at her actions, knowing what it was doing to him. She felt sexy sitting four barstools down from a total stranger, knowing she was turning him on. Or at the very least that he was captivated by her for the moment.

  The bartender must have been making her drinks with a little splash of something extra tonight. She’d never behaved like this in all of her twenty-six years.

  But she was in Las Vegas, and everyone knew what happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas.

  Not that there was anyone she knew to witness her actions anyway. She had come alone, her first real vacation, and knew no one in the city. It was a time to be by herself, to celebrate how far she had come in the past few years, and to welcome the different woman she was becoming with open arms.

  And apparently that new woman liked to tease strangers in Las Vegas casinos.

  She giggled again at the thought.

  “Excuse me?”

  She looked up, meeting the eyes of Mr. Four Barstools Down. She opened and closed her mouth, the innocent game suddenly at a whole new level now that he had approached her.

  This is where she would normally smile nervously, maybe let him engage in chitchat for a few minutes and then excuse herself so she could hurry away.

  But for reasons she would never be able to explain to anyone, including herself, no part of her wanted to flee. She stared into the blue eyes of the man before her and wanted nothing more than to stay. She felt a surreal pull towards this man, making it impossible for her to want to run away.

  “I couldn’t help but notice you were alone,” he said. His voice was deep, yet soft. “Could I buy you a drink?”

  She looked down at her glass as if realizing she had one in front of her and then back up at the man.

  “Okay.”

  Immediately she wanted to smack herself for such silly response. Okay? The man asked to buy her a drink and all she said was okay?

  He smiled and took the seat next to her, signaling the bartender for another round.

  She smiled shyly at him when the drink was set in front of her, even though she felt anything but shy in that moment. His leg bumped hers as he made himself more comfortable on the barstool and she had to bite back the grin that wanted to spread across her face at the contact.

  He apologized and then introduced himself; she told him not to worry about it and did the same.

  “What brings you to Vegas?” he asked.

  “Vacation,” she answered. “I needed a little bright lights and big city.”

  “You don’t seem like the bright lights and big city type,” he said. She raised her eyebrows at the assumption. “I don’t mean that in a bad way,” he assured her quickly. “There’s just something about you that doesn’t fit in here.”

  “Fit in how?” she asked, genuinely curious about his answer.

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the innocence.” He grinned.

  She laughed.

  “I am far from innocent,” she said, and then frowned.

  No, that wasn’t exactly true. In some ways she was innocent, even to the point of being naïve. But in other ways, she had experienced more than most young women of her age.

  She glanced back up at the man beside her, puzzled by why she was sitting there talking to him. He smiled kindly at her, his eyes vibrant as he watched her, and yet, not once did she feel like he was checking her out in a sleazy way.

  His eyes didn’t stray to her breasts, they didn’t travel up and down her body—although she would bet dollars to donuts he had been eyeing her legs earlier. But even that didn’t make her skin crawl.

  There was something oddly comforting about this man. She couldn’t say what it was, but for the first time in years she didn’t feel like she had to be on guard.

  “Have you enjoyed your visit with us so far?” he asked, taking a sip of his drink.

  She nodded.

  “I have, but honestly, you were right, I’m not much of a city girl. At least not a city this size.” She smiled. “I’ll be glad to be home tomorrow.”

  “Well, if it’s your last night I insist on making it a memorable one.” He turned around in his seat and glanced towards the casino. “How are you at blackjack?”

  She chuckled, “Horrible. I’m more of a slots girl.”

  “In that case,” he stood and held out his arm to her, “care to accompany me to the slots, ma’am?”

  She looked from his arm up to
his face and bit her lip, slowly nodding her head.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Now, there’s a trick to this,” he told her once they were standing in front of a machine.

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. Let me show you.”

  Gently, he put his hands on her hips. The touch was so light she had to look down to make sure she hadn’t imagined him doing it.

  He must have caught her look because he pulled his hands away slightly and asked, “Is this okay?”

  She nodded, swallowing over the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat at his touch.

  He put his hands back on her hips and moved her to stand directly in front of the slot machine.

  “Now,” he said, sliding his right hand down her arm and gently grasping her hand, lifting it to the lever, “the key is to pull down really slow,” he murmured.

  “Why slow?” she asked, thickly.

  “Everything’s better when it’s slow the first time,” he answered just as huskily.

  Her heart beat faster at the words and she let him help her pull the handle, her head feeling as if it were spinning right along with the images in the tiny display windows.

  “Are you okay?” he asked when her breath hitched.

  “Fine,” she all but croaked. “I think I need a drink.”

  He smiled.

  “Let me get it for you.”

  He ended up getting them both a few drinks, and what could have been hours later, they were laughing at every attempt they made to play the games around them. He excused himself to take a call during the middle of their fun and she watched him out of the corner of her eye. His demeanor seemed to change while on the phone and she couldn’t help but notice he seemed a lot tenser than he was before the call.

  “Everything okay?” she asked, even though it was none of her business.

  “Fine,” he replied, but his smile was tight and forced.

  “I’ve had a great time. Definitely a few too many of these,” she added with a laugh, holding up her glass, “but a great time.”

  This time the smile he gave her was genuine.

  “I’m glad.”

  “I’ve never done anything like that before!” she suddenly exclaimed. “At least not for a long time. It feels so good to let loose. It kind of makes me want to do something crazy,” she added with a laugh.

  He watched her, shook his head and she swore she heard him curse under his breath, before he looked back up and asked with a charming smile, “Just how crazy do you want to get?”

  “As crazy as you want to be,” she answered in almost a whisper.

  She couldn’t help it. It was that damn smile. Those dimples that carved his cheeks made her feel all weak in the knees. And he made her feel whole again. It was messed up and made no sense but he made her feel like a real woman again.

  Something no one had been able to do for a long time.

  He leaned forward and also whispering said, “You know, there’s a chapel just a few blocks down that does mock marriages. Feel like getting hitched?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

  She laughed, but shook her head.

  “I couldn’t do that!”

  “Why not?” He shrugged. “It’s all phony. No harm done. We say some sappy vows, take a few pictures for a laugh and you go home having done something wild and crazy.”

  She bit her lip as she thought of what he said.

  “And what do you get out of the deal?” she asked.

  “Me? I get the memory of once having a very beautiful bride,” he teased. “Something that will make all my friends jealous.”

  Finding his charm irresistible, she set down her glass with a little too much enthusiasm and cried, “What the hell! Let’s get married.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.” She laughed again, a definite sign she’d had too much to drink. She was never this giddy. “What harm could it do?”

  Her head throbbed, making it almost impossible to open her eyes. When she finally did manage to crack them open, fractions at a time, the lights were so blinding she had to slam her lids closed again. The small action caused a rush of pain to surge through her forehead.

  She moaned and covered her face with her hands and slowly turned onto her side to bury her head under the pillow. Under the protection of the thick material, she attempted to open her eyes again, groaning from the effort.

  What the hell had she done last night?

  She shifted her body, trying to stretch out, when her foot brushed against a very hairy leg.

  Gasping, she jerked her foot away and held her breath, afraid any noise or movement might wake the stranger.

  Oh my God!

  Who had she done last night?

  She heard him mumble something in his sleep and the bed shifted as he moved.

  Please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up.

  She stayed as still as possible until his soft snore filled the room. Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, she slowly inched her way to the side of the bed. The mattress squeaked from her slight weight and she froze, squeezing her eyes shut and biting her lip so hard she tasted blood.

  To her relief her companion continued to snore beside her despite the noise. Hoping he was truly a heavy sleeper, she said a silent prayer and slid the rest of the way to the edge of the mattress. However, she misjudged the amount of room she had and rolled right off the bed, landing on the floor with a loud thud.

  She instantly curled up into a ball, covering her nakedness as best she could from prying eyes. Her cheeks burned as she thought of being caught bare-assed in that position, but the room remained silent except for the cover hog’s snoring.

  Inhaling a shaky breath, she sat up, darting her eyes over the room in search of her clothes. Her jeans lay on the floor at the foot of the bed bunched up as if she’d taken them off in a hurry. Not bothering to look for her underwear first, she reached for her pants and squirmed into the heavy material while still lying on the floor.

  After successfully wiggling into her jeans, she spied her purse on the seat of the armchair and quickly snatched it up, then crawled to the other side of the bed—his side—and saw her blouse peeking out from under the bed. She stretched out as far as she could to reach it, not wanting to get any closer to him than necessary. Finally, her fingers brushed the soft fabric and she pulled it to her, yanking it on as fast as she could while still being quiet. Then she grabbed her shoes and held them to her chest as she slowly got to her feet and backed away from the bed, her eyes never leaving the sleeping form.

  If the circumstances had been different, she’d definitely think he was a good-looking guy. His brown hair was spiked in the front—although it had flattened from sleeping—and his nose had a slight bend to it as if it had been broken at one time. His chest was bare, and she was pretty sure the rest of him was as well, revealing a very nice set of biceps. His face suddenly flashed in her mind and she knew he had brown eyes and dimples when he smiled.

  She forced her mind to focus back on quietly escaping, when her bare foot landed on a piece of paper. The crinkle echoed through the room, making her cringe. She bent down and ripped the paper off her foot, quickly glancing at it to make sure it wasn’t something of hers.

  Her eyes widened when she saw the words that were staring back at her, making her stomach roll and vomit rise in her throat.

  No fucking way.

  She tore her eyes away from the paper and looked at the man sleeping in the king-size bed. His soft breathing felt all wrong compared to how her heart was hammering in her chest. This man, this stranger, was—

  He rolled over, grumbling again in his sleep, causing her to jump. She had to get out of there before he woke up.

  Frantic now, she turned and bolted from
the room, not caring if her hasty exit woke him, just as long as she got away. As she ran down the hall she could only hope he would wake up as confused as she had been and unable to remember anything.

  Especially her.

  “When was the last time you got laid?”

  Novalee Jensen almost dropped the glass she was drying.

  “Whoa, someone’s jumpy,” Cali Donavon commented to her jittery friend.

  “You just startled me,” Novalee disagreed, placing the glass on the tray.

  “Nov, I’ve been standing here drying glasses with you for the past half-hour.”

  Novalee frowned. She hated that irritating nickname, and if it had been anyone but Cali, she would have corrected them. “I know, I... I guess I’m just in my own world,” she muttered, picking up another shooter glass.

  “Well, now that you’ve rejoined this world, answer the question.”

  Novalee looked at the woman next to her and saw she was frowning. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I haven’t gotten any in almost two months. Two months!” she cried, looking totally disgusted. “I thought breaking up with Adam meant I’d get more tail.”

  Novalee chuckled. “Why would you think that?”

  “Uh, because I’m single and smoking hot and work in a bar,” she answered stating the obvious. “Plus I’m fun, smart, and fucking fantastic in bed.”

  “Not to mention totally modest,” Novalee teased.

  Cali laughed and lifted one shoulder, shrugging coyly.

  And it was true; men should be hitting on Cali left and right. With her honey-colored hair that hung halfway down her back, piercing hazel eyes, small waist, mile-long legs and a great rack to boot, she looked more like a Playboy centerfold than a bartender in a small city.

  “Maybe they think you’re still with, Adam,” Novalee said. “The guys that come in here are regulars and know you fall into the ‘look but don’t touch’ category.”

  “Fell into that category,” Cali corrected. “But I flirt with them all the time.”