Page 26 of Play Fake
“He threw the first punch,” the dealer says, nodding at Dex.
Oh my God. I’m freaking mortified. Dex punched him because of some rude comment he made aboutme, aboutus, when we’re literally nothing more than practical strangers who happen to share a bit of history.
“Come with us, sir,” the security man says to Dex. I’m up and out of my chair, game and apparently the two thousand dollars be damned, and the guy Dex punched starts yelling after us as we’re guided out toward the ballroom exit.
“It’s a charity event, man. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Dude, what happened?” another guy asks, following us toward the ballroom exit.
“It was nothing,” Dex huffs. He rips his arm away from the security guard, who’s guiding him out by the elbow. “Get your paws the fuck off of me.”
“My brother is going to rip you a new one,” the guy who followed us says.
Why would his brother care?
“Whatever,” Dex mutters.
“I’ll try to smooth it over for you first,” he says.
I’m beyond confused, and I’m not even sure how to ask the questions that are on my mind, but for now, I keep my mouth decidedly shut.
“We’re going to have to ask you to leave, sir,” security says once we’re at the hotel exit.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dex says. “Fuck off.”
“Get out,” one of the burly guys says, and he sort of pushes Dex, who’s already a live wire.
“Dex, come on. Let’s just go,” I say, and I tug his arm, not really sure how to deal with this situation. He lets me pull him out the front doors, and then we’re standing on the sidewalk as we look at the cars still arriving at the event.
It just started. It’s so early yet that people are still arriving. I’d barely even touched my drink. I didn’t even get to the cherries yet.
“Did you want to call Milton and have him send the car?” I ask.
He presses his lips together and stares at me for a beat.
“Do you want me to order an Uber instead?” I ask, trying to figure out what he wants here.
He shakes his head.
I sigh with frustration. “Come on, Dex. Let’s just get out of here. Let’s go home and call it a night.”
He shakes his head again, and I feel way out of my depth here. I’m not sure how to deal with a dude who just punched another dude. He doesn’t think before he acts. He’s got a temper, and he doesn’t give a shit about consequences. He lives his entire life without thinking through the consequences, actually.
Maybe he needs a walk. He needs to cool off. Or…
“Are you thinking of going back in there? We just got kicked out.” I hear the begging in my own voice. I just want to get out of here.
Instead of answering, he grabs my hand. “Come with me.”
He starts walking down the long sidewalk toward Las Vegas Boulevard. Soon we’re in a crush of people also walking along the Strip on a Friday night.
“Who was that guy you slugged?” I finally ask.
“Jensen Bybee. I’ve known him a long time. We played in college together, and we were always battling for a starting position. He’s a defensive end for the San Diego Storm now. We’ve never gotten along.” He shrugs.
“How come? Because of the starting thing?”
“Nah. Because he’s a dick who makes comments like that. And, you know, I slept with his girl once.”
