Not even fourteen hours into the weekend and Drew knew it was a mistake to come to Vegas. He didn't even gamble, really, for Christ's sakes, and it wasn't like he had the extra padding in his checking account these days. The whole place felt like he could look but not touch. Swarovski, Tiffany, Cartier and the rest of the stores that only foreigners seemed to shop in, the High Roller tables cordoned off with velvet ropes, the cocktail waitresses with too high hemlines and too low necklines. He stopped , closed his eyes against the pulsing and blinking lights from the Cosmopolitan's gaming floor and pictured himself sprawled on the sofa, longnecked Lone Star in hand, game on, cares forgotten. Go back to his room, pick up an overpriced six pack, watch the game, shut out the lights and the bleeps and tones of the slots, sleep away the rest of the afternoon and try this all again later. Not a bad plan.
Except the first half would just about be over by the time he made it back to the Mirage. The Cosmopolitan sports book—he could crash there, drink, sit next to some old-timer with a racing sheet and chain smoking. He never made it to the sports book, because before he even found it he came across a bar with about twenty-five television screens including one that looked as big as the side of his townhouse.
He sank into a leather armchair, a girl came over, took his order, plenty of thigh visible under her short black skirt. Not gorgeous, but cute. Vegas was packed to the rafters with chicks like that. They must bus them in from Iowa or something. What did they do when they got off shift? Hooking up with lonely tourists probably wasn't it.
Drew had seen more good looking women in a day in Vegas than he'd seen in three weeks in Kansas City, but there was a problem. Every one of them was either a casino employee or part of a couple. Two hundred thousand each weekend, surely there were some single women in the mix somewhere, right? Twenty minutes to tip off, one beer half gone, he felt better already.
The bar was an open plan in the middle of the gaming floor, slots and table games on all sides, the bar an oasis of sofas and leather chairs, huge flatscreen tv's everywhere. A group in the corner seemed to have a lot invested in the current game, Kansas on the road, down late. A frat boy type in an untucked Ralph Lauren button must have gone to KU the way he was bitching and carrying on, putting on a show of his displeasure. His girlfriend looked like she wished she was somewhere else.
Sometimes he'd see single women at the bar, heads lowered to look at the video poker screens, cigarette in one hand, free drink in another. Last night he tried talking to a few at the Wynn, not so much that he wanted to take anyone back to his room. Just having someone to talk to would be nice enough. Anyway, the video poker women all seemed to have a lot of mileage on them.
The cocktail girl came back, he put another beer on his tab, watched her as she worked the bar, picking up empties, making nice with the frat boy KU fan and his group. Couples drifted in and out, the KU game ended, Longhorns were coming up next, tip off just a few minutes away. Drew hoped the KU fans would be replaced by a bachelorette party. Or at least someone less obnoxious.
Tipoff came, big conference game against Oklahoma. The bar started filling up, but it didn't look like everyone was there for the game. Drew wondered whether he was the only UT fan in the place, he was sporting the burnt orange ball cap he'd had since he graduated more than a decade ago.
Longhorns got off to a good start, freshman shooting guard driving and kicking out for a jumper at the time of the key, good work on the boards by the big guys underneath, took a four point lead into the first commercial break. He was halfway into the second beer now, fuzzy edges of a buzz creeping in, sounds and lights of the casino a pleasant background now.
About one swallow left of his second beer, OU's All-American jammed home his own miss, brought the Sooners within two, the home crowd in frenzy. He heard clapping behind him, a female voice saying, "That's it, that's the way!"
Drew turned around, surprised, the girl on the big sofa behind him, caught his eye when he turned, she said, "How you like that, Austin?"
Drew smiled, taking her in, straight dark hair to her shoulders , maybe his age, small features, slightly crooked nose, and a tight OU tshirt with a vee-neck, not really enough to contain her chest. He followedthe cleavage down, saw a bit of black bra in there somewhere.
"I like it just fine," he said, eyes on her, letting her know he was checking her out.
"Got money on the game?" she asked. Drew was buzzed enough that he kept his eyes on her, didn't feel the need to pretend he's only looking her in the face. Her tits were big enough that on a smaller girl they'd look fake. Had a lot of curve to her, solid build. Drew liked that. Not fat, but a little thick, he remembers one of his friends saying one time about a chick they went to school with, "I like when a girl has some hips on her." This was a girl with some hips on her, Drew hoped she'll walk around some, give him a look at the back side.
"Just pride on the line," he said. He glanced over his shoulder for the waitress, wanting another beer. Saw the game is back on, but didn't turn around, rather talk to this apple-cheeked girl with the OU lettering on her t-shirt stretched tight.
She made a face, teasing. "You gotta have something on the game," she said.
"I'll bet you a beer," he said, then immediately wished he had thought of something better.
"Oh! A beer." But she was smiling, teasing, he felt good now, forgetting about the game, wanting to move to sit next to her on the big sofa.
"Okay, that was lame. I'll just buy you a beer, instead. Deal? In the meantime, I'll think of something better to bet on." He turned around, eyed the waitress, called her over.
"My boyfriend's paying," she said, voice level, not giving anything away.
"Is that right?" It's all he could come up with, just glad he didn't say What the FUCK? which was what he was thinking.
"Don't worry, he's not the jealous type, he likes when I make friends."
"Maybe he should be buying me a beer then, here I am making friends with you, it's like I'm doing him a favor, giving him something he likes."
