When Kyle calls and says he wants me to meet a woman, my dick stiffens. It’s been too long, far too long, since I had even a kiss. But with Kyle, I know I’m likely to get laid, if I don’t fuck it up.

So I slick back my hair, slide my jacket on, and head out into the night. My imagination runs wild, which pumps me. My blood races with sensual possibility. On the highway, my coupe slides in and out of traffic like a shark through a school of fish. Fast, slow. Fast, fast, slow. The excitement adds to the crackle that covers my skin.

I truly love going to see Kyle at his job in the mountain casinos. This late in the evening, I hit US 6 with little traffic and get to floor it around the twists and turns. Halfway up the canyon, I slow behind a camper, but leave it in the dust at the next wide stretch. It’s long out of sight before I round the turn into Blackhawk.

Despite my visits, I’ve never understood this town. Small stakes gambling was supposed to revive its economy, but ended up swamping it. The old general store and art galleries are long gone in favor of glitz and noise and drunken retirees waiting for the bus to take them back to some parking lot in Denver. With a five-dollar max bet, it’s a pale imitation of Vegas, but that doesn’t prevent it from trying. It doesn’t prevent it from being filled with people with too much time and not enough skill at math. So it has its lights and flashing noise and over-touted buffets with everyone from the parking attendant on up looking for tips.

To my surprise, it also has a ‘what happens in Blackhawk stays in Blackhawk’ mentality. Not among the aged guests so much as the staff. In eight years, Kyle’s worked in four casinos and I’ve met several dozen people. Not one of them, even the married ones, remained faithful to a partner. The booze flowed, the trash talk flew, and spare beds in the hotels got comped on a whim. A few times to my benefit.

I pull into the parking lot of The Palace. I am ready.

Kyle’s not. In fact, he’s nowhere to be seen when I arrive in the blackjack room. I circle the room to be sure. Several tables have a handful of players, but more stand empty. The woman in the dealer’s uniform at the closest looks bored.

I smile and approach. She’s a dirty blonde with black roots, in her forties, and her skin shows the effects of too much tanning booth and not enough sunscreen. The curl of her mouth looks wrong without a cigarette. Still, her body’s tight and she’s displaying a healthy expanse of cleavage. I wonder if she’s one of the past-her-prime strippers that Kyle regularly hires. Her name tag says Trixie. I decide to put on the charm. I mean, who knows where it could go? I certainly have my hopes.

“Hey,” I say, “Kyle around?”

She looks up, takes me in, and shrugs. “He might be in back.”

“Mind if I wait?”

“You gonna play?”

There’s no one else at her table. She’s unconsciously tapping her fingers and fiddling with the large ring on her right hand. It looks like one that used to live on her left, back when times were good.

“Sure. Let me get some chips.”

She smiles and waits for my return.

As we play, I flirt. She warms up as the cards fly. I tip big and chortle when she beats me with an Ace draw. I work on getting her to talk about herself. She’s been in Blackhawk three years and at The Palace two months. She thinks Kyle’s a good boss, and she’s heard about his hot tub parties. Never attended one, which isn’t a surprise. I think I’d remember her if she had.

I work in a few comments about my coupe and my job. I compliment her on her eyes, which draws an amused puff. She knows what I’m doing and she’s heard it before, but she doesn’t shoot me down. A waitress brings me a Jack and Coke and I offer Trixie one, but she declines.

“I can’t while I’m working,” she says.

“So when do you get off?”

Kyle’s hand clamps down on my shoulder. “Her shift ends at one.” He grins at me. “When she gets off is up to her.”

Trixie forces a grin and the waitress disappears.

Kyle eases into the chair next to me and plunks a couple of chips down. He’s looking sharp, as usual. Handsome in his pressed shirt and slacks. Trixie deals him in but he doesn’t look at her. Instead he smiles at me.

“Looking good, Tommy Boy, looking good.”

I shrug. Of course I’m looking good. I’m looking to get laid.

We play a few hands and catch up on each other’s lives over the past two months. He’s gotten semi-serious about a woman, Shelley, who’s moved out on her husband and is now staying at his place. I have a new case at work that’s proving difficult, but I’m confident I can handle it. Trixie listens and I try to pull her into the conversation, but she’s more reserved now that Kyle’s here. When Kyle stands up and says it’s time to go to get a drink, I suggest Trixie meet us after her shift.

Her derisive snort is all the ‘no’ I need. I try not to let it bother me.

We grab two stools at one end of the deserted bar. Kyle orders scotch, neat, and I go for a martini. The bartender, a grizzled old guy with hair coming out of his ears, pours the drinks and then slides down to the far end to talk to a dyed-hair redhead in a tight blouse and push-up bra.

Kyle raises his drink, “Salud.”

I toast him back.

“So,” I ask after we’ve each taken a slug of our booze, “what’s the plan?”

He shrugs. “We wait here for the girls.”

I can’t help a small smile. I like the plural.

“What are they like?” I ask.

“Well,” he says, “you’ve met Shelley.”

I nod. It was before they hooked up, and she didn’t make much of an impression on me besides “young and cute.”

“She’s bringing her friend Dana. She’s nice. Shelley says she can get a bit wild, though.”

I grin. “Wild” only means one thing to Kyle.

We sip our drinks and chat about football and life. Mostly life, as Kyle follows football largely for gambling purposes, whereas I’m a diehard Broncos fan. Still, we wander in and out of sports and other trivia since not much has changed for us since we last got together a month ago, other than him temporarily living with a fuck buddy. It’s just good to talk to him. His relaxed sense of the world is contagious.

Kyle straightens up in his seat and looks past me. I turn and see the women approaching. Shelley’s as I remember her—short, busty, and vivacious with an outgoing attitude that would fit right in at the circus. Her grin lights up the room when she sees us.