7. Nick

SEVEN

NICK

How many sequins is too many?

Nick mentally patted himself on the back for packing supplies. He'd needed that.

Was he shocked that he and Doug had done The Deed? Maybe a little. He snickered at the mini-lecture he'd been on the receiving end of afterward, all only one time with just a dash of no expectations .

Duh. As if. Nick had managed to resist rolling his eyes.

The Ace of Clubs was hopping by the time they returned. Nick recognized the bartender from the night before and a few of the patrons sitting at the tables away from the dance floor. But there were plenty of folks he didn't recognize, like the bachelorette party that arrived just after them.

"Wanna dance?" Nick asked Doug, knowing his answer. The big man did not like to dance. The fact that he had last night was a bit of a mystery, especially since Nick had noted his slight limp becoming more pronounced by the end of it. This afternoon's dance had been different, but Nick was not complaining.

"No."

"Well, fine. I'm breaking out my best moves tonight, just warning you."

"If they're anything like last night's, I don't think there's anything to worry about. Stay where I can see you."

"Aw, are you worried someone else will swoop in and carry me away?"

Nick took a sip of his fruity drink and coughed, spewing pineapple juice and alcohol everywhere.

"Holy shit. That's so strong it burned going down my throat." Nick sidled closer to Doug, who was staring down at his now damp shirt. "Sorry, babe. I'll make it up to you later."

"Stay where I can see you," Doug repeated.

"Are you worried about me, or do you like to watch?" Nick teased.

The expression that darkened Doug's eyes didn't answer his question. Nick set a follow-up question aside for later.

"I'll be back in a bit, just gonna get some kinks out."

With that, Nick sashayed out to the dance floor. They weren't playing Sade tonight. It must've been '80s music night again though—not a hardship as far as he was concerned. Raising his arms over his head, Nick began to sway to the thump and boom of the music. He lost himself for a little while, enjoying flitting around the dance floor, smiling at the other dancers, and generally spreading good will.

He danced with the bride-to-be for a couple songs and then each of the bridesmaids. Every so often, he'd glance out at the table where Doug was waiting, and each time, he caught Doug's eye and tossed him a cheeky grin.

Calling up his best Dancing Tube Man impression, Nick shut his eyes and let the sound flow through him. A few second later, large strong hands landed on his hips and a warm chest pressed against his back. He recognized Doug's aftershave. He also recognized that was likely a problem but chose to ignore it.

"Mm," Nick said even though Doug wouldn't be able to hear him. He let himself grind against Doug's larger body. Probably getting themselves worked up at a club wasn't a great idea, but Nick couldn't help himself. The sex they'd had earlier only made him hungry for more.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Nick looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Dancing?"

Doug huffed a laugh, the first one Nick had heard from him since the afternoon. A dimple appeared and Nick's mind boggled. Doug Swanson had a dimple. That automatically meant that Nick had to do everything in his power to get Doug to smile more often. A dimple could not be wasted on a man as sexy as Agent Swanson.

Nick's newest mission became making Doug laugh as often as he could. And no, he wasn't going to think too much about that, either.

"What dance is this? Does it have a name?"

"I call it Wind Guy."

Using his strength, Doug spun Nick around so they were chest to chest, crotch to crotch. "Were you inspired by strip mall smoke shops?" he asked.

"Maybe?" Nick replied. The red or yellow tube men meant to get customers' attention always made him laugh.

"It's awful."

"I think I'm offended."

"No, you're not. I bet you have some fact in your head about how dancing helps old people stay healthy."

"Well… now that you mention it."

Doug bent so he was whispering in Nick's ear. "Don't—don't do anything stupid, but the coin worked. We've been invited to the back."

"Oh." Nick ground harder against Doug, hoping to get more of a rise out of him. "Are we going in?"

"Yes. But first I need to use the restroom."

"Are we having public sex? I've never done that."

Doug let him go and stepped back. "No, we are not. There is no study anywhere that claims public sex is good for a person's health."

"Fine," Nick pouted. "I'll just stay here and dance with the girls. Bethany likes me. She said I was cute and a good dancer."

"No. You're coming with me."

"But you said no sex."

"Oh. My. God."

Doug grabbed Nick's hand and dragged him to a dark hallway with a restroom sign at the end. Turning the handle and pushing the door open, Doug gave Nick a gentle shove inside. The restroom was a single. And it had a lock.

"You are brilliant," Nick stated.

"This is just to get the edge off. You've been teasing me since we got here."

"Right, right. No expectations. I remember."

"Good. Unzip those jeans. I don't want to rip anything."

Leaning his ass against the sink, Nick unzipped his favorite pair of skinny jeans. His cock popped out like it had been waiting for this moment forever.

"No underwear," Doug growled.

"You watched me get dressed."

"I forgot."

Languidly, Nick began to stroke himself. "I'm not sure forgetting important facts like whether I'd gone commando even before you retire is a good sign. What are you waiting for? My hand is great and all, but yours feels better. Much better."

In a move that surprised Nick, Doug dropped to his knees—Nick managed not to make a comment about being careful—and wrapped his big hands around Nick's hips. Then he took Nick's cock into his mouth.

If he knew he was going to die, could he roll back time and stop it from happening? If he was about to have the most incredible orgasm he'd ever experienced, could he make it happen over and over again?

"Quit fucking thinking, it's distracting me," Doug grumbled.

Nick forgot everything.

He might die in a public restroom, but he would die happy. Nick might not have a superpower, but Doug did, and it was making Nick feel like he could fly.

When they made their way back to the dance floor, Nick gaped at the much larger crowd.

"Where did all these people come from?" Nick wanted to know.

"It's after midnight. They come out like zombies."

"Oh, look, there's our friend, Sven."

Sven was serving yet another bachelorette group. Nick figured they didn't get many straight bachelors in here. A thought struck him.

"We don't have to go to a trad dance club, do we?"

"I'm not going to ask why you want to know that," Doug said, heading for the bar again.

Nick was quite fond of the female form; he enjoyed women in all shapes and sizes. Just not naked. Although, maybe after another drink, he wouldn't care.

Hold it. Weren't they supposed to be investigating a crime?

"Should we be asking questions? What's our cover story?" he said to Doug's back.

Doug reached the serving station and was leaning against the counter when Nick caught up with him.

"A whisky soda and a virgin mai tai for my son," he said when the bartender finally came over.

"You do have a sense of humor!" Nick chortled. "But I'm not a virgin, am I?" he waggled his eyebrows and his butt.

"We have an invite to the games in back," Doug said, pulling out the silver coin and setting it on the counter. "Who do I talk to?"

Kyle, or so the name tag said, gave Doug a hard look while completely ignoring Nick.

That was fine, he was used to being ignored. Being ignored meant he got to look around and check things out, watch people who didn't know they were being observed.

Sliding over a tall glass with enough fruit loaded on the edge to feed a kindergarten class, the bartender said, "There's an admission fee." He flicked a glance Nick's direction. "And your friend can't stay out here."

Nick rolled his eyes; what, was he a danger to others? A menace to society?

"Believe me, I understand. Nick's a handful. He'll just sit by my side and watch. He's good luck."

Nick managed not to spit out the pineapple juice, but it was a close thing. Never once in his life had anyone claimed he was good luck. More often than not, it was the opposite. Bad things tended to happen when Nick was around—but he stopped them occasionally too. Doug hadn't been crushed by a Humvee, had he?

"Don't these people require wads of cash?" Nick whispered. "What about the James Bond movies? Was that all a lie?"

"Yes, Nick, it was a lie. Those movies were filmed in Hollywood—which is all about the lie."

"Did you just say something profound?"

Kyle slid a different card reader over to Doug and slipped the coin off the countertop without looking at it.

"I think you could've played James Bond. Well, in your prime."

Doug turned his head to look at Nick.

"What? You could've. But now that you've gone to seed, you're doomed to live in a moldy old cabin with spiders—I hate spiders—and eat a lot of bananas to keep you regular."

Kyle choked back a laugh, but when Doug turned his stern face to him, he just said, "Sven will escort you to the back."

The back room was bigger than the entire front of the club. Was this what it was like everywhere in Vegas?

"Kyle seated you at table five," Sven told Doug.

"Oh, five's my lucky number," Nick said. That was a lie; eight was his lucky number, but Sven didn't need to know that.

The casino seemed typical of what Nick had seen at their hotel and on TV. There were several tables set up where people played various card games—mostly poker, he assumed. Now that the effect of the high-octane drink he'd had earlier—and the orgasm—had worn off a bit, he could think more clearly.

There were several servers wandering around with trays of drinks, handing them out to other gamers. Bettors? At the back of the room was a stage where young women and young men danced, slithering like snakes with no bones in their bodies. It was mesmerizing to watch and a shame that no one else was paying any attention to them. Almost everyone was focused on the gambling.

"There must be an infinite number of sequins in Vegas. I wonder if anyone has ever tried to figure it out. Now there would be a good wager. But," he said thoughtfully as he followed Doug to their table, "then someone would have to count each one. Can you imagine if they lost count and had to start all over again?"

"Sit," said Doug, doing that dog-owner impression thing again.

Nick decided to argue the point later. He was, after all, on his very first mission. He sat.

"What should I do?"

"Watch and learn, grasshopper."

Nick narrowed his eyes at Doug. "Isn't that a line from an old movie?"

Doug sighed and shook his head. He proceeded to ignore Nick and make himself comfortable in the cushy chair. The dealer, or whatever they were officially called, approached them, speaking to Doug since he was obviously the Man in Charge. What Nick knew about Vegas games would fit on one of those sequins he'd been thinking about.

"The game starts again in five minutes, are you in?"

Doug nodded. The dealer moved over to another new player.

"Seriously, what am I supposed to do?"

"Do what you're doing, be yourself. Watch and ask questions—but don't interrupt the game. Note if anyone seems nervous. You really need to be quiet during play, and don't touch the table in any way, but these hands tend to go fast. We'll stay for a few rounds and then head out."

"How am I supposed to drink my cocktail if I don't touch the table?"

Doug gave him a look and Nick rolled his eyes.

This was the most boring first mission Nick had ever been on. Except for the dancing and the bathroom, he would rather have been back at the hotel room hanging out with Tim.

Unlike every single James Bond movie he'd seen, which was all of them, there were no heated glances. A seductive person did not sidle up to Doug and try and distract him. No gunfire pierced the air, forcing the dancers to stumble.

That part was good actually.

Nick watched and learned.

He learned that most of the players at the table were bad, but they didn't seem to care about losing more money in five minutes than Nick earned in several months. Or in a year, if he was being honest. Even though they were playing with poker chips, Nick could tell the guy across the table from Doug was hemorrhaging cash.

He discovered where another back room was after spotting a server heading through a hidden pocket door carrying a tray loaded with drinks. When she'd reappeared, it was piled high with empties.

He learned he had a small bladder and had to pee again.

Sensing that Doug would flip his lid if he mentioned his need to urinate, Nick tried to ignore his bladder. Doug won a hand, or at least he got to scoop in the pile of chips in a very sexy MI6 kind of way.

"Oh, do that again," Nick whispered.

"Another half hour and then we're leaving."

"Okay?"

A server approached their table taking drink orders. On a whim, Nick ordered a glass of champagne. Doug ordered a fancy drink that ended up being just another way of saying water.

"Flat water? What the hell is flat water? Why can't a person just order water?" Nick hissed.

Doug was back to ignoring him. Nick returned to trying to learn everything he could about the room. How were they going to find the disappeared or possibly murdered agents if all they were doing was playing cards? Doug had told him The Ace of Clubs—which Nick just now realized was a ridiculous pun in its own right—was the last charge on the agents' cards, so SPAM assumed something had happened to them here or after they left here. But did it have to be that way?

Heavy brocade curtains drew closed in front of the dancers and low music started to play overhead. Not loudly, nothing that would interfere with the concentration of the players. Nick was bored. The server returned with a flute of champagne for Nick and set a tumbler of water with a slice of lime clinging to the edge next to Doug.

"This must be a pretty great job," Nick said after glimpsing the name badge. "Is your name Ginny? My mom—she's dead—her name was Virginia, and sometimes she went by Ginny. Or at least, I remember my dad calling her that. He's dead too, in case you were curious."

Ginny, who was the proud wearer of at least a couple thousand sequins just on her own, blinked at him.

"Excuse me?" She blinked again.

This was something Nick was used to.

"Never mind. Is there a restroom back here?"

Ginny pointed to a corner opposite the other secret room and departed, clearly not wanting to engage with Nick any further. That worked perfectly fine for him.

"I'll be right back," he told Doug. Better to ask forgiveness later.

It felt good to stretch his legs. He'd been feeling a bit cramped and twitchy at the table. Sitting still was never a strong point for him, but it seemed even more difficult for him than usual in the game room.

He pushed into the bathroom. Decoratively, it was a significant level up from the one in the front room. Marble tiles on the floor and walls, mahogany stall doors, private urinals, and shiny nickel faucets all made for a fancy restroom experience.

While Nick was tucking, re-zipping, and buttoning in his stall, he heard the door open and shut. Ugh. Privacy in a stall or not, he didn't like being in bathrooms with someone he didn't know. He quickly finished up, hoping to get his hands washed before he had to make uncomfortable small talk.

Dammit.

The stranger had plonked himself in front of one of the sinks. Leaning across the counter, he was peering into the mirror that ran the length of the wall. The man was a bit on the old side, maybe even older than Doug—Nick bit back a laugh—and seemed out of place.

Out of place was unusual for Vegas. Nick had been in town just over twenty-four hours, but he'd already seen just about everything and this guy was Mr. Awkward. He was almost cartoonish, wearing an ill-fitting black suit and pointy black shoes with, inexplicably, a weird old-timey hat on his head.

Praying the man wouldn't speak to him, Nick soaped up his hands and turned the water on. There was nothing more awkward than bathroom conversation, everyone knew that. It was basic socialization.

Don't make eye contact. Don't make eye contact.

"Do you have a pair of fingernail clippers?" the man asked him.

Seriously? Rinsing his hands off, Nick tapped the air dryer. The thing was powerful enough to lift off an airplane and loud enough he didn't want to speak over it. Did Mr. Awkward truly think Nick had anywhere on his person he could hide clippers? He couldn't even get his hands in his pockets. Extracting his wallet would have been an issue, but luckily Doug was paying.

"No, sorry." Nick moved to step past him and escape back to the safety of Doug Swanson. The man stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Excuse me?" Nick stared down at the offending grasp.

The stranger frowned back at Nick, then his eyes widened and his hand fell to his side.

Scowling, Nick carefully stepped around the man and pushed back into the other room . Touching him? How weird was that. Who did that? Weirdos did that, that was who.

Doug must have been watching for him because his gaze immediately caught Nick's when he exited the restroom. Nick weaved through the tables, but Doug stood up before Nick could sit back down.

"Time to go."

"That sounds great to me. There was a weirdo in the bathroom."

"I saw him go in after you. What happened?"

Side by side, they headed for the connecting door back to the main room. Ginny swept past them and opened it for them.

"Have a lovely evening, gentlemen. Hopefully, we'll see you again."

They walked back to the hotel. For some reason, Nick kept expecting something to happen, maybe muscled men in tailored dark suits stepping out from around a corner and waving guns at them, trying to force them into an anonymous van. But nothing like that occurred, so he was forced to tell Doug about the guy in the bathroom at least seven times.

"You're sure nothing happened?" Doug asked again.

"Nothing happened, I swear. He grabbed my arm for a second, gave me a weird look, and that was that."

"I don't like it."

"I don't know what to say. I didn't like it either, but nothing happened."

"If you see him again, tell me right away."

They passed by several glitzy hotels and casinos before eventually arriving back at their hotel. Vaguely, Nick wondered if theirs was the only facility on the Strip with no neon lights, almost like the place was trying to be anonymous. Maybe it was the Men in Black Hotel.

He laughed and Doug glanced at him, but Nick decided not to share his thoughts. He sort of wanted Doug to like him.