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We both peruse the menu, and even though it’s quiet at our table, it doesn’t feel awkward.
“Want to split a bottle of the red?” he asks.
I nod. “What are you ordering?” I’m not really a charred octopus kind of person, but I’ve also never tried it.
“The salmon, I think. You?”
“I was looking at the chicken kebabs.”
“Can I try yours?” he asks.
“Only if I can try yours.”
He chuckles. “Of course.”
We place our orders, and after we hand our menus over, I ask, “So where do you stay when you come to town?”
“Usually with my brother Lincoln, and sometimes with my brother Grayson. Sometimes I get a hotel. It depends what everyone has going on,” he says.
“Not your dad?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Dad and my youngest brother, Asher, are in a two-bedroom place, and I’d have to sleep on the couch. And Dad and Asher can be…a lot sometimes.”
“Are you with Lincoln this trip?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I’m staying at the Aria.”
Our server brings our bottle of wine and pours us each a glass, and we clink glasses without a toast.
“Do you gamble?” I ask after I take a sip.
“Sometimes. I like blackjack. It’s one of the few games there’s an actual strategy to. Have you ever been to Vegas?” he asks. I shake my head, and his brows rise. “You haven’t?”
“Nope. How many times have you been here?” I ask.
“Oh, I have no idea. Dozens. Between playing here against the Aces and visiting family now that they’re here, plus the occasional trip for fun before they moved here.” He shrugs.
“What is there to do in Vegas? I always hear how great it is, but I’ve never gotten to experience it for myself.” I’m not sure why I ask. It’s not like he’s going to take me on a tour of the town.
“Depends what you’re into. Nightlife, shows, food, gambling.” He shrugs. “I can take you on a mini tour while you’re here, if you want.”
“Are you a nightlife kind of guy?” I ask—mostly teasingly.
“I can bust a move on the dance floor if that’s what you’re asking. After a few drinks, anyway.”
I laugh and hold up my glass of wine. “Then get to drinking, my friend.”
He chuckles, but he does take a sip of his wine, and is he really going to take me to a Vegas nightclub tonight?
Apparently, the answer to that is yes.
We finish our meals—and our bottle—and as the bottle empties, the laughter and conversation at our table gets louder and more boisterous. The awkwardness feels like it’s stripped away as I let go of all the inner turmoil and just enjoy a meal with the man sitting across from me.
And once we’ve paid and the bottle is empty, he leads me through the casino and stops at a blackjack table.
“I thought you were taking me to a nightclub,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him as he pulls out a chair and motions for me to sit.
He laughs. “It’s only nine. The club doesn’t even open for another ninety minutes.” He takes the chair beside me and tosses some money onto the table, and I follow suit.
