Money For Something

4- Viva Las Vegas

**Willow**

My credit card was going to hate me. Last minute flights from Las Vegas to Chicago were priced somewhere in the region between extortionate and offer-up-your-first-born child. Definitely out of my budget.

It was going to hurt but what choice did I have? Jack, asshole, scummy, low life, faithless Jack, had left me high and dry. Actually, it was worse than that because according to Jack, he hadn't left me high and dry. He'd just expected that I'd happily change my role in his life from oblivious-rock-girlfriend to deliberately-blind-rock-wife. In other words, Jack and I had been in an open relationship but only one of us, Jack, was aware of that fact.

I was a stupid, blind, broke idiot.

Rock stars were bad news. Or maybe that was just wannabe rock stars; the legit article sitting opposite me sucking back a Pina Colada so big I could have worn the garnish as a hair accessory, seemed to be an okay guy. He was a bit of a blue haired oddball, but he didn't give off any skeevy vibes.

But then neither had Jack. Or maybe Jack and I'd been together so long I hadn't noticed him change. The seventeen-year-old Jack of my memories, the one I first started dating, didn't seem like he'd grow up to expect me to just turn a blind eye to other women. Especially the ones I'd find wrapped around him in his hotel room. I guess the old saying is true, fame changes people. In Jacks case, the first sniff of fame turned him into a cheating douche.

"You okay over there? Need another cocktail? That first one seems to be going down excellently. I told you; cocktails and truffle fries were just what you needed." Ace Whittier grinned at me as he shovelled fries into his mouth.

I hadn't recognised him at first. It wasn't until he'd laid that ridiculously charming smile on me that I'd realised he was the same blue haired guy gracing the covers of the music magazines Jack had left strewn around our apartment. I'd always noticed him, not just for the hair colour although that had played a big part, but because while the rest of his band and been busy shooting sexy glowers down the camera lens he'd always been smiling as if life was too much fun not to smile.

Jack loved Polarstar. I'm not even going to pretend that the main reason for me agreeing to dinner with Ace wasn't as a giant fuck you to Jack. It was tempting to take a selfie of the two of us to send to Jack. It was a temptation I resisted, but the fantasies were vivid.

I gulped back the last of my cocktail and slowly chewed my way through another couple of fries as I pondered the grim results of my airfare search.

"Not really sure they're exactly what I needed but they certainly make the imminent destruction of my credit rating easier to bear. My life is already circling the drain. You're right, why shouldn't I have another drink? It's not like it's going to make anything worse. Hit me with something frosty."

Fuck it, if I was about to hit book on an airfare that would destroy any pretence I had at financial cushioning when I slunk back to Chicago with my tail between my legs, I may as well do it whilst slightly tipsy. Then, when I lay staring at the ceiling in Greg and Deb's spare bedroom contemplating my financial stupidity – I had no doubt that humiliating as it would be for me, they'd take me in – I'd be able to blame the alcohol for finishing the job that Jack started on my bank balance.

Ace just grinned at me as our server arrived at the table and deposited a glass in front of me before whisking my empty glass away. A similar glass had been placed in front of Ace.

"What's this?"

"A frozen Margarita as big as your head! You're welcome!"

The abomination in front of me was a luminous, florescent pink. My teeth ached just looking at it. I stared at it in horror for a moment or two before closing my lips around the straw and sucking.