Gus by Kim Holden Read Free Book Online Page B

hugs me.  
    I hug her back. It's an apology. "Morning, Ma."
    "Good morning, Gus." She's forgiving me.
    I love her to death for it, because she shouldn't forgive me.  

    The flight is short and we've landed in no time. A cab drops us off in front of some monstrosity of a hotel on the strip. It's eleven o'clock. I'm ready for a few stiff drinks and a nap, but Hitler met us at the door and wastes no time ushering us through the masses to an elevator.  
    It's not until we're tucked away inside a shiny elevator that he starts talking at us. "Jamie and Robbie arrived about a half hour ago. The two of you have ... " he pulls back the cuff of his dress shirt to get a look at his Rolex knock-off, " ... twenty minutes before the photo shoot begins."
    Jamie and Robbie have been in Vegas for a few days. A mini-vacation. Good for them.
    I look at myself in the mirrored wall in front of me. My clothes look like I slept in them. Come to think of it, maybe I did. My hair hasn't been washed in a couple of days and it's pulled back in a ponytail. It's getting long again. I'm thankful for the sunglasses because I can't see my tired, bloodshot eyes staring back at me. Admonishing me.
    Hitler doesn't say anything else.  
    Neither do we.
    The elevator stops on the fifteenth floor, and when the doors open we follow him out. Everything in Vegas is opulent and over-the-top. I've always hated it. It's pretentious and fake, just a lot of smoke and mirrors. Hitler stops a few doors down and opens the door to what we soon discover is a suite, like a house inside a hotel. The furniture has been cleared from one end of the living room and a crew is setting up backdrops, lighting, and cameras.  
    Franco and I drop our bags and Franco walks over to sit on one of the numerous leather sofas with Robbie and Jamie. I walk over to the bar and pour myself a glass of whiskey. Three gulps and the glass is drained. I fill it up again and take it with me to sit with the guys.
    I must have started to drift off, because minutes later I'm roused from near sleep by a cute blond in tight jeans and a black tank top. "Come with me, Gustov." Her voice is hypnotic. Or maybe it's her ass. Or her small but unbelievably perfect breasts.
    "Gladly," I respond. And just like that the two of us are behind closed doors and she's pulling my clothes off.
    "We don't have much time," she says.
    Damn right we don't. I need you right fucking now.  
    She hands me a pair of black jeans. "Put these on."
    I'm confused. "Wait. You want me to put these on?"  
    She blinks her doe-like brown eyes at me. "That's what I said. Hurry up, we need to do something with your hair before they come in to do your makeup."
    Dammit. She really does want me to get dressed. I thought shit was about to go down. Now I'm standing here in my underwear, hard, and she wants to fix my hair.
    I don't miss the fact that her eyes flit down to my manhood standing at full attention before she turns her back on me to sort through a pile of shirts on the bed.
    I slip into the jeans. They fit well, despite the bulge.
    "I'm Lindsey, by the way," she says as she turns toward me again. She shakes my hand before handing me a shirt.
    Now I feel like an idiot because she seems pretty cool. "And I'm an asshole, by the way."
    She laughs at my admission.  
    "Sorry about that." I wouldn't usually apologize for something like this, because she didn't seem offended and I still have the feeling that we might hook up later, but she just seems ... nice.
    "No worries. I've done this job for ten years. I've heard and seen it all." She looks older than I am, but I never would've guessed that she's been doing this job for a whole decade.  
    It's my turn to laugh and it feels like a weight's been lifted off my chest. I shrug on the shirt.  
    "Sit here, please," she says, gesturing toward a chair. After tugging the elastic band out of my hair, she rakes her fingers through it a few times. It's tangled.  
    "Hmm." She's thinking.
    I look