Worth Saving(11)

I step out into the Nevada morning sun, still smothered in that smell, and I make my way over to the curb. The customer brought me over to the Marriot in his rented Escalade, but I didn’t want to have to get a ride back with him, so now I’m in need of a taxi. When I reach the curb, I look down the road to see if there’s one coming. There isn’t. There’s nothing but the never-ending onslaught of cars and shuttle buses. It’s just my luck that I’m going to have to stand here like an idiot for twenty minutes, drenched in the scent of a chubby minute-man, while I wait for a taxi to drive by. Or, I could call Marlene.

I pull my cell phone from my bag and quickly find Marlene’s number, but it’s eight in the morning and she doesn’t answer. I know she worked the late shift and probably only got home a couple of hours ago. Shit. I decide to leave her a message.

“Hey, it’s Layla. Listen, I’m so sorry to have to call you like this, but you know how I hate calling for cabs and dealing with all those nosy ass, horny drivers. I was kind of hoping you could come get me from the Marriot. I’m just now leaving and I didn’t want to have to wake up the customer to get a ride back to Red Pony to get my car. Ugh. I know you’re asleep. Shit. Well, never mind, sweetie, get your rest. I’ll figure something out. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

I end the call just as I see a spot of yellow down the road coming in my direction. My heart jumps for joy when I see the light on the top. It’s a cab! I step up to the curb and put my hand in the air, and I’m thrilled when the cab stops in front of me. I hate taxi cab drivers, but I’m tired and willing to deal with it for the ten minutes it’ll take to get back to Red Pony.

I flash an obviously fake smile to the driver and reach for the handle in the back. When the metal touches my skin, I hear a car slam on its breaks. I look up and see a dark gray Camaro stopped in the middle of the street right next to the cab I’m reaching for. Its windows are tinted so I can’t see who’s inside. Typical Vegas drivers, I think to myself as I open the door to the cab, but when I start to get in, the driver’s door of the Camaro pops open right there in the middle of the road. I hesitate for only a second when I see a shoe step onto the pavement. It’s a nice shoe—gray, with a black pant leg hanging over it. I follow those pants all the way up the body of the man who’s now standing in the middle of the street staring at me like it’s me who’s in the road holding up traffic.

At first I’m just confused, but then I recognize him. It’s the guy I met at the bar a few nights ago. He’s dressed very business casual, his brown hair fixed to perfection, and I can see those blue eyes even clearer in the morning sun. Holy shit, he’s even hotter than before.

I don’t speak. I’m not even sure I’m breathing. It’s more like I’m just existing in an immovable silence as his mouth shifts into a flawless smile.

“Hi,” he says, oblivious to the fact that he’s got four cars behind him. “I thought that was you. Do you remember me?”

I don’t know how I want to respond. I mean, of course I remember him—how the hell could a girl forget a guy who looks like this?—but do I want to admit that I remember him? I don’t want it to seem like I’ve been sitting up thinking about him for the past three days like I’m obsessed or something. What do I say? Crap.

“I’m not sure I do. Do we know each other?” I reply, satisfied with my answer.

“I wouldn’t exactly say we know each other, but we met a few nights ago at Stacy’s Bar. Your name’s Layla, right?”

He remembered my name.

I force back a smile. “Good memory. I’m not sure what your name is though,” I lie.

“It’s Austin,” he answers just as a horn blares like a thousand trumpets from behind him. He jumps a little at the sound, and then smiles at me like it wasn’t embarrassing. “Listen, I was actually on my way to go get some breakfast, and you look like you could use a ride. You hungry?”

Now I feel like I’m in a real predicament. Here I am, standing next to a cab with the only man who hasn’t annoyed me or tried to pay to get in my pants, he’s asking me to go have breakfast with him, but I’m still wearing my dress from last night and I still have the chubby guy’s stench on me. I know I should say no, but I kind of don’t want to.

“Umm,” I start, but a horn goes off again, and then Austin speaks up.

“Come on,” he says, smiling like the pissed off drivers behind him don’t bother him one bit. “I don’t want to have to keep holding up traffic like this. You hear this? You could save me by getting in.” Another horn, this one from two cars back, which seems to set off the whole line as they all start pressing their horns. “If you don’t hurry, they might actually kill me. You don’t want me to die, do you? This is your chance to save my life.”

The horns are like a symphony of hate, but Austin’s totally unfazed and smiling.

“Ugh. Okay, but only because I don’t want to see you get beat up by all these people.”

I speed walk over to the car—his smile never fades—and climb into the passenger seat. The inside of the Camaro is a pristine red and it just screams sexy. The low rumble of the engine gives my legs a tiny massage. As he puts the car in first gear and slowly lets up off the clutch, I rub the leather seat, marveling at how well kept it is.