“Like The Hangover?” Lawson asks.
“Exactly like The Hangover,” I agree, tapping my nose and pointing back at him with a wink and a finger gunshot.
“Yeah, I’m in,” Canon agrees with an easy shrug.
“That sounds like a real great idea.” This from Vince, his tone laced with sarcasm.
Canon and I exchange an eye roll. I know it sounds like a bad idea, but my life coach said bad decisions lead to good decisions because you learn from your mistakes, and I bet this is exactly the kind of scenario she was referring to. I wonder if I can convince Vince to get a life coach.
“You’ve already done your good deed for the day. Let’s have fun,” Canon responds as I nod and order a round of shots. “Besides, it’s not like you’re needed here. You have a manager who runs this place.”
“Is the manager hot?” I ask because hey, Vince had his chance.
“The manager is a woman,” Vince retorts.
“Don’t judge me,” I snap back.
Canon looks between us and laughs again.
“Listen, Vince,” I ask, “is it better to have loved and lost or to never have loved at all?”
“What in the hell does that even mean?” He knocks back a shot, setting the empty glass onto the coffee table with a thud before settling into his chair again. “I have no idea what expression you’re fucking up this time.”
“You know, I’m not sure either. I thought I was going somewhere with that but you’re right, it doesn’t make sense.” I shrug because they can’t all be winners. “The point is, we’re gonna have a real good time tonight.”
“Is that so?”
“Pretty sure. Or we’re all getting arrested and someone will have to hold my hair while I vomit. It could go either way. It’s the unknown that makes it fun, don’t you think?”
Fuck it. I send the waitress back for a tray of shots. This single round bullshit isn’t going to get this circus out of the bigtop. Besides, it’s on Vince.
“We can skinny-dip in the fountain at the Bellagio.” I start by holding up my index finger and tapping it with the opposite index finger to keep count of all the fantastic ideas I have for tonight. Which is impressive since what I had planned for tonight was having sex with Vince. Good thing I’m both adaptable and a quick thinker.
“Eh, that’s not actually something we can do.” This is from Canon, which hurts because I thought he was going to be my fun side piece. Wait, that’s not right. I thought he was going to be my fun sidekick. Like a wingman. “Security is top-notch over there. We’d be arrested before we had a chance to get completely naked.”
That’s valid feedback.
“You, sir”—I point at him—“have just been promoted. Have another shot.”
Shots all around.
“Okay, number one,” I start over, tapping one index finger with the other again. “There’s a place where we can rent fancy sports cars and drive them as fast as we want around a track. Like race car drivers!”
“They closed hours ago. And we’re already tipsy so they wouldn’t let us drive,” Lawson points out.
God, these guys.
“Well, that’s just great,” I gripe. “I suppose this means that place where you can operate a bulldozer is out too.”
“Probably so,” Lawson agrees. “TopGolf is open.”
“Oh, come on!” I toss my hands up in frustration. “I’m wearing fuck-me heels. We are not going to hit golf balls. You”—I point at Lawson—“take another shot.” I scowl at all three of them. “If one of you suggests a five dollar buffet, so help me…”
Vince smiles at that. His smile is more of a smirk though, a sexy little smirk that hits me right in the gut and makes me forget that I’m over him. I stare at his lips a moment longer, remembering how they felt pressed against my own. The firmness of his chest, the soft pressure of his hand on my jaw. My heart speeds up and I lick my lips as I relive that freaking perfect kiss. So I’m not totally over him then. But really, who am I to question fate? I’m not the fate police. Plus it’s been like twenty minutes. I’m not made of stone.
“Number one,” I repeat for the third time, then stop myself. I need to treat this trio like I treat bridezillas: limit their choices. “Forget the numbers. We’re moving to a lettered system. Your choices are A or B. Got it?”
Canon and Lawson nod. Vince winks.
“You.” This time I point at Vince. “Why are you all winky and flirty and pretty and kissy? I tried to fast-pass you and you turned me down! Yet you keep looking at me, sitting there all broody and mysterious like every woman’s bad boy dream come to life. Looking at me with your perfect face and your kissable lips and your panty-melting brown eyes. Doing that thing with your eyes. Like you’re undressing me and liking what you see. You’re driving me crazy! Just”—I wave my hand around in a gesture similar to the one I use to dry my nails—“look somewhere else.”
“A fast pass?” Vince is laughing now, and he’s not even attempting to honor my request to stop looking at me. Nope. Instead he’s looking directly at me, his grin fading into a lazy smirk before he drags his eyes over me from head to toe and back again. Slowly. Deliberately. Infuriatingly.
“Stop looking at me!”
He won’t. He’s looking at me like he like I’m fascinating, which is my kryptonite. Wait, did I ever figure out if I was using that word correctly? I don’t think I did. In any case, I like it, the way he looks at me. I don’t think the way he looks at me is going to cause me a slow and painful death. Definitely not.
Maybe.
Okay, it might.
“Everyone focus,” I announce. “Back to your choices. Option A: we can skydive off the side of the Stratosphere, or Option B: ride the roller coaster at New York, New York.”
“What’s option C?” Canon asks, brows drawn together. I think he’s unimpressed with my idea.
“There is no option C.” I glare at Canon. “A or B. Firm and final.”
Chapter Ten
Option C, as it turns out, is Fremont Street. “Old-school Vegas,” Canon called it.
Whatever, it’ll still be fun. Thrill rides and alcohol don’t really mix anyway. We take a town car from the club. Apparently they’ve got them on standby because providing customers with a free ride is a thing. I told Vince if his customers didn’t have the money for a cab they surely didn’t have the money to pay for lap dances. He didn’t think that was funny. He’s wrong, but it’s okay because I’m not a grudge-holder.
It’s not far to Fremont, but it’s Saturday night in Vegas so it takes twenty minutes to go three miles. Twenty minutes in which I’m pressed against Vince in the back seat of the town car. Twenty long, hard minutes.
For me. Who the hell knows what Vince is feeling.
I love being pressed against him. There’s more than enough room in the back seat of this car for me not to be near sitting on Vince’s lap, but seize the day, am I right? He’s warm and soft and hard and delicious. I know that’s an oxymoron, soft and hard. But he’s so perfectly male. Big and firm, yet his shoulder makes such a nice place for me to rest my head.