14. Bet It All on Red

14

BET IT ALL ON RED

Maeve

What even was that? Have I ever been kissed like that? Is that what epic kisses are like?

For a while, I thought I had studied too many kisses in paintings. I figured I’d put too much stock in Francesco Hayez’s seminal work— The Kiss , where an unknown Italian man in a cape kisses a woman in a silvery-gray dress so passionately, I feel the kiss in my bones whenever I look at a reproduction of it. Or I assumed Roy Lichtenstein’s pop art depictions of women looking lost in deeply intimate kisses had cast a spell on me.

Now, I think I’ve had one of those kisses. And I don’t know how to go back.

As we head to the door of our chapel, dressed in our clothes again, Mrs. Matrimony gives me a motherly hug. “I’ll send you those pics soon, doll. You looked beautiful. And don’t ever forget—the key to a happy marriage is forgiveness and selective hearing,” she says .

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, but it’s hard to think about anything except the way my husband kissed me.

Once we exit the chapel though, the warm, heady atmosphere vanishes like smoke. We’re thrust into the chaotic night again, and I don’t know what to say. Seems he doesn’t either. We pass through the concourse quietly, then step into the bright casino, and the neon lights, the clinking of slot machines, and the hum of conversation try to slingshot me back into reality.

But I’m still several steps behind, caught up in my own painting kind of kiss. Has anyone ever consumed me like Asher? Has anyone ever wanted to? Not until tonight after I said I do.

Now, Asher’s hand is pressed on the small of my back, guiding me through the late-night crowds. Like he touched me when he led me to the front of the concert venue. He’s…touchy in a way that sends a message to others—a do not touch her message. I try to understand why by sneaking glances at him, like I can read what’s going on in his head. Was the kiss as good for him? Was it a Lichtenstein kiss? A Hayez kiss? I search his eyes, but instead of answers, I find more questions. It’s like he’s at war with himself. Or maybe frustrated? Annoyed with me?

My heart races with worry. He’s arranged this whole night for me—to give me a great time since I was feeling down. But the possibility that he’s annoyed or frustrated sends a twinge of guilt through my body.

The casino is alive, the noise and energy pulling us into its midnight embrace. But I’m not entirely comfortable with that look in his eyes, so I stop walking and turn to him .

“You okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual, to mask my worry.

“I’m great,” he says, stopping too, his tone…even. That’s all. Just even.

“Are you sure?” I press, needing to know.

“Yes,” he replies, but his expression almost seems resigned, like he’s wishing he didn’t feel whatever it is he’s feeling. Or perhaps he’s wondering what happens next too. Is there a guidebook for what’s to come after you temporarily marry your best friend as part of a pact? Do we sit down and work out the specific details of our annulment?

But talking about the necessary end of this union feels too businesslike. I don’t want to tackle that right now. Do we go back to the room? What will happen if we walk through that door while I’m still feeling this kiss in every cell in my body?

That feels too dangerous. Like walking into a fire.

I scan the casino, searching for a distraction. That’s it! Vegas itself is the perfect solution. The roulette table ahead catches my attention. “Let’s play a round,” I suggest, leading the way to the table. “It’s on me.”

“You had me at let’s play, and it’s definitely on me,” Asher says, like he’s shedding whatever his frustrations were.

“I know better than to fight you on this.”

“Good,” he says as I grab his hand, catching a glimpse of the gold on his ring finger. What a strange sight. But it’ll be gone tomorrow.

The roulette table is buzzing with excitement as we approach, a mix of high rollers and tourists surrounding the table. The croupier, a sharp-looking man in a tailored suit, calls for final bets .

Asher and I join the crowd of eager gamblers, sliding in next to a man with ginger hair sticking straight up and a Hawaiian shirt. Asher tugs me a little closer, then hands me a chip from earlier. I place a small bet on black. The croupier nods, spinning the wheel with a practiced flick of his wrist. The ball clatters around the edge and the crowd leans in, all eyes on the spinning wheel.

As the ball bounces between the numbers, a woman in a fuchsia pink jumpsuit and gold hoop earrings lifts a tall glass of something toward our side of the table. “When in Vegas,” she says to the crowd, lifting her arm in a rocker salute, then toasting.

“When in Vegas,” I shout back in good times solidarity.

Then, I turn to watch the wheel too, with a mix of focus and distraction, still feeling the heat of Asher’s kiss. Absently, I lift my fingers to my lips to relive it once more. When I touch my lower lip, a spark kindles. Like my body’s remembering his mouth on me. So much for the game distracting me.

I’m distracting me.

I try to escape my thoughts, homing in on the ball as it clatters around the wheel, finally landing on red.

My shoulders slump.

“Guess luck’s not on our side tonight,” I say, but the joke doesn’t quite land, and I don’t want Asher to think for a second that I’m not having a great time. I want him to feel all the brightness, all the joy, all the exuberance of a Big Adventure. So I try again. I flash Asher a flirty grin. Maybe it’s because I can’t stop thinking about that kiss, or maybe it’s because tonight feels like the ultimate “When in Vegas” kind of night. Whatever it is, I don’t analyze it too much as I say, “How about we make a bet? ”

He raises an eyebrow. “What kind?”

“If it lands on red this time,” I say, leaning in closer, some new desire, some shimmery curiosity driving me on. “I get another kiss.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face. “You’re betting for a kiss, wife?”

When he says it like that…

Impulsively, I add, “It’s been so long since I had a good kiss, I wasn’t sure I remembered how to do it.”

His clever eyes glimmer, then briefly flick behind me, maybe to the man standing on my other side. “Is that so?” Asher asks, focusing solely on me again.

“Yes.”

“And you want your husband to help you remember how?” he asks, his voice gravelly as he loops an arm around me, his hand curling around my waist.

Possessively, once more.

Moving me a little farther away from the redheaded man. For a few heavy seconds, he stares at the man with a get the fuck away from my woman look in his eyes.

My pulse shoots to the moon.

When Asher’s gaze returns to me, I answer him.

“Yes,” I say, and I sound breathless. I feel breathless. Maybe it’s because tonight, the usual friendship rules don’t apply. Maybe we can break them this once and return to normal tomorrow.

When we leave Vegas, we’ll leave this all behind.

He glances around the table, as if he’s sizing up the crowd, and then takes his time tucking a curl of hair behind my ear, like he’s wanted to do that for some time. And like he wants them to know I’m with him. Right now, I am.

“Let’s bet on tonight,” Asher echoes, then plunks down some chips. In the tone of a man determined to get what he wants, he says to the croupier, “Red.” He turns back to me, staring at my mouth, his voice deep, commanding as he says, “Like your lips after you’ve been kissed.”

Pretty sure my panties melt off.

“Red it is,” the croupier says.

The ball spins, my heart pounding as I watch it circle the wheel. It bounces once, twice, and then lands…

On red.