A Match Made in Vegas Read Online Crystal Kaswell

Categories Genre: Alpha Male Tags Authors: Crystal Kaswell Advertisement1

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The law isn't as exciting as it is on TV, but he loves it all the same. He doesn't say that, but he wears his passion in his expression.

It's subtle on him. The curve of his lips. The line of his brow. The energy in his voice.

There's something steady about the law. The rules make sense. They give him a structure. Order from the chaos of the world.

He doesn't have to ask if something is good or bad, right or wrong.

It's the law.

That's his north star.

It doesn't quite make sense to me, but it does too. I don't ask myself about morality very often. I want to understand the world because the quest for knowledge excites me. Because I feel some primal urge to learn about sex and love and passion.

I don't ask myself if it's the best, most moral path.

I know it's the right one for me.

"And medicine?" He shifts to a joke. "Is it like Grey's Anatomy?"

"You've never seen Grey's Anatomy," I say.

"I used to watch with you and Cassie."

Right. Mom would always walk by and shake her head that is so unrealistic. "It's true medical students are socially awkward and bad at taking care of themselves." The long hours mean we don't develop social or self-care skills. Thankfully, I had to learn mine young. So I do okay.

"So that's why you need a wingman?" he asks.

"You got me."

He smiles.

My heart thuds against my chest. Holy dimple. He has a dimple. That's just way too hot.

I look for some other stimulation. Cheap clothing. Overpriced souvenirs.

Coffee.

Perfect.

I motion to the cafe on our right. "Shall we?"

He laughs.

My cheeks flush. "What?"

"I forget how much you're like Cassie."

Yes, he sees me as an extension of his sister. Not as an attractive human woman. I am fully out of the fuck-zone. Even if I was stupid enough to make a move, he is not interested.

That's for the best.

That is good with me.

I smile my best yes, I am totally like your sister smile. "Because I want to stop for coffee?"

"That's one way."

Yes, let's stay on this whole familial dynamic, one far away from sex. "We need icy drinks to keep us cool when we step into the blistering sun," I say.

"And you want to avoid facing the music."

"Cassie would never avoid music," I say.

He smiles. "The metaphorical music."

"Why would I want that?"

"You tell me." He holds my gaze for a long moment, inviting me to elaborate on my quest for a distraction.

Is that what I'm doing? No. I just want coffee. Mostly. "Sometimes a coffee is just a coffee, Dr. Freud."

"Freud." He laughs and shakes his head of course. "You're worse than Cassie is with Hole and Nirvana." He smiles and I like it and moves into the coffee shop.

He doesn't look at the brown walls, or the teenage barista with pink hair, or the menu. He keeps his eyes on me. He keeps his attention on me.

"What is it you want?" he asks. "From Mr. Right Now."

I stop in line. "A good time."

"What does that mean to you?"

"I don't know. I had this vision of Vegas as a kid. I see something like that. Partially. A woman in a sparkly dress, who drinks enough to take a guy home. But I can't… well, you know Damon's situation."

He nods. He doesn't have to say yes, of course, I know your brother is an alcoholic. Everyone in the state of California knows. He lets concern spread over his expression and drip into his voice. "Are you worried about him?"

"Am I worried about my alcoholic brother spending time in a place where you can walk around with an Eiffel Tower filled with booze?" Maybe we should stick with sex. That's a less fraught topic. Maybe I should focus more on how much I want to fuck him. That's less risky.

He doesn't shrink at my tone. He takes in the information and nods, understanding. "Dumb question?"

"No." I appreciate the honesty. Most people treat alcoholism as the elephant in the room. "It's a good question. Everyone else wants to pretend it's a dumb question, that of course, I trust him, and I'm not worried. I do trust him, but I'm worried too."

"I get that."

"You don't trust him," I say.

He doesn't say anything in response. He watches the customer in front of us finish and moves to the register. Jackson orders an iced tea and steps aside so I can order.

After I request an iced latte with almond milk (macadamia still hasn't made it big, even though it's delicious), I let him pay.

We move to the pickup area. It's empty, like the rest of the brown shop. People don't come to Las Vegas to sit in coffee shops.

"Is that why you're here?" he asks. "To watch over your brother?"

"Is that why you're here?" I counter.

I expect resistance, but I find none. He nods. "Dad asked me to keep an eye on Cassie."


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