“Incident?”
Callie nodded. “I need to throw this in the dryer for a couple of minutes, or you’re going to be wet all night.” Gage stripped off the soft cotton shirt, and Callie’s mouth went dry. She swallowed. Not the smartest move she’d ever made, having Gage get naked from the waist up. She hurried to the laundry room and tossed the green polo into the dryer.
“Incident?” Gage’s voice was close behind her, and when she turned he was mere inches away. Callie took a step back. Too close. Way too close. This was a date, and not their first, but every time he came around, she lost a little more equilibrium and it took a little longer to get back to thinking about work. Today’s issue with the party was a perfect example. If she’d paid more attention, been more adamant about the feel of the grand opening, the planner wouldn’t have come up with that ridiculous idea.
“Incident?” He couldn’t be talking about the near boho-catastrophe because he didn’t know about it. And there was going to be an incident in her laundry room if Gage didn’t back away, but he couldn’t read her mind so she knew he was talking about something else.
He leaned his naked shoulder against the doorjamb and folded toned—and tattooed—arms over his equally toned chest. “Towel. Fourth of July. Incident?”
Right. That incident. “Mandy broke up with her boyfriend a few weeks ago. She came over to purge, things got a little out of control, and cotton towels aren’t the best fire retardants.”
Gage’s brown eyes widened. “What were you purging, exactly?”
“She had a box of mementos. Old movie tickets, a few pictures. One lethal bottle of Jim Beam that he bought on their second date. We took it all out to the desert, and I thought towels would be a good idea, just in case things got out of control.”
“Mandy dated a guy who brought her Jim Beam instead of flowers?”
She had to get out of the laundry room. Her fingers itched to touch his chest, but she was pretty sure Mandy’s boyfriend-purge blaze would be a candle flicker compared to what might happen if she touched Gage’s chest. So she turned sideways and slipped past. His heat engulfed her in the second it took to get out of the room, and Callie grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge.
“He didn’t wrap it up in tissue paper. They were on Fremont—she likes Fremont better than Disneyland—and one of the vendors had collectible bottles. This one happened to be Spock-shaped—he’s her favorite alien—and he bought it for her. It was really sweet.”
“She seems like such a normal girl.” Gage sat at the counter, abs rippling as he did. Callie gulped more water.
“She is a normal girl. I’m a Disney fan, myself, but Fremont has its perks.” He raised an eyebrow. “Did we or did we not have a fun time down on Fremont the other night?” He continued to look at her. “So a collectible bottle of Spock-whiskey isn’t my idea of a romantic gift. But it was important to her, and when Teddy dumped her, it made her emotional, hence the purge.”
“I can’t believe you lit a bottle of whiskey on fire for a friend.”
Callie busied herself with folding a towel. “I didn’t light the bottle on fire. We lit the entire box, in my big metal trash can for safety, in the middle of the desert, and the bottle happened to be in it. It was nearly empty, by the way, so the danger was minimal.”
Gage reached across the counter and stilled her hands over the towel, which was now the size of a plastic baggie. “What is your idea of a romantic gift?”
“What?”
“You said Spock-whiskey wasn’t romantic. I’m asking you what is. Flowers? An all-inclusive spa package? What would you save in a box to remember a great date?”
She nibbled her lower lip. She didn’t have any boxes. Eddie had forever been taking her places, but they were to his taste, not hers, and she’d never saved so much as a ticket stub. It was kind of ridiculous that Eddie was the first and last of her great relationship adventures.
When they were burning Mandy’s box of memories, Callie had wondered what it would be like to have something to save. A movie ticket stub, maybe, or a note written on a napkin. “I think the point of keeping something from dates you’ve been on is that the thing you keep isn’t off a shelf.”
“So if I see a princess crown or a bottle of Jack inside a Charlie Brown mug, I shouldn’t buy it?”
“You don’t ever need to buy me Jack Daniels, that stuff is lethal, and it would be a crime against Charlie Browndom if whiskey were anywhere near the characters. As for the crown, if it’s plastic and glittery, yes, don’t buy it.” Her heart beat a little faster. “But if you’re talking real tiara … I’m kind of a sucker for those.”
“Already aiming for the jewels. Nice, Cal.”
“You asked. And if you did buy me a tiara, it wouldn’t go in a box. Something like that should be displayed or worn as often as possible.”
• • •
He was in trouble. Trouble spelled C-A-L-L-I-E.
She sat across from him, telling him about the grand opening party, and all he could think about was how the dim light inside the revolving restaurant at the top of the Stratosphere made her blue eyes sparkle. She wore tight jeans and another floaty top thing that flirted with the tops of her breasts. Instead of the jeweled sandals from that morning, she wore wedge heels that gave her body a nice sway as she walked. As they came into the restaurant, Gage’s hands itched to touch her hip or the indentation at her waist. Sitting across the table, he was entranced with how the sun setting behind the mountains gave her skin a pink glow. He wondered how that soft mop of blonde hair might feel under his hands.
This could be a problem.
Gage usually had no problem separating work from the rest of his life. But Callie was part of his work. The more he was around her, the more he wanted her as part of his life, too. He couldn’t remember a woman ever being this much of a distraction, and the distraction had very little to do with Callie’s business. Her plans were simple and should be effective. His building was the perfect location. She could ignore the grand opening altogether and people would find her. The distraction had nothing to do with business and everything to do with the fact that Gage couldn’t understand how he’d never seen her in high school.
She’d been around enough. They talked. There were those few tense months after the funeral when she seemed to only think of him as a friend and he couldn’t stop thinking of her as … something else. Something dangerous. And since she was one of the most steady things in his life, he’d shoved the feelings down deep and tried like hell to ignore them.
Now she was here, and he saw her. Felt her. Heard her. She missed her parents. She wanted roots, and she wanted to build something that was completely her own. Not because her parents gave her everything as a child, but because they’d instilled a work ethic that told her the best value was in achieving something without the help of others. That confidence and determination was the sexiest thing he’d seen on a woman in … maybe forever.
The problem—and therefore the trouble—was that he wanted to be part of her long-term plan. Gage had never done long term. He promised himself after the third time Helena ran off and Caleb left to chase her that long term would never cross his mind. He didn’t want to need anyone the way Caleb had needed Helena. Like Helena had needed gambling. Now he was planning dates and wondering what he could get Callie that would wind up in a boyfriend box. Ridiculous. He hadn’t even known there was such a thing as a boyfriend box until she told him about Mandy and the towel.
Maybe it was time to let go of that promise.
“What do you think?”
Callie’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “What do I think about what?”
“Having some kind of discount attached to the grand opening. Everyone through the door gets a discounted facial or something. It seems to work across the board.”
“I think a discount for locals is a good idea. Your target market, though, is tourists, and the tourists interested in spa services won’t care if they get a
ten-percent discount on face goop or eyebrow wax.”
“Cynic.”
“Realist. But I do like the idea of a locals discount. Maybe after the grand opening. And isn’t this a date?” Stupid, Gage, stupid, stupid, stupid. You were just telling yourself she was getting too close, and now you cut off the work talk. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “I might have more plans for our evening, if you’ve finished your prawns. Unless you want another glass of wine?”
“So this isn’t just a dinner date.” Callie’s blue eyes danced. “Next to Disney, surprises are my favorite thing.”
Gage paid the bill, and they took the elevator to the street level. He took her hand as they crossed to the parking garage, and in a few minutes they were off the Strip. He pulled into a small parking lot with a low building. The idea to come here had struck midway through dinner, when shadows from the rooftop roller coaster had dimmed the light coming in the window. It was only a split second, but Callie’s wistful expression, combined with her vehemence that she wouldn’t ride even if she were still a teenager and stupid, made him wonder what other Vegas attractions she’d missed growing up.
This was one of his favorite places. The indoor mini-golf course was cheesy and themed around KISS, the old rock band, but Gage considered it a rite of passage. It was time Callie enjoyed more of Vegas.
“Mini-golf?” she asked.
Gage opened her door and led the way inside. “Mini-golf with a twist,” he said as he pulled open the door.
“My God, did someone raid Gene Simmons’s closet?”
“Something like that. This place is KISS themed, and if you beat my score, I’ll buy you a ticket to try on his boots.”
“Which boots?” Callie turned, excitement clear on her face.
Gage paid for their clubs and balls and at the first hole handed Callie’s to her. “Do we have a bet?”
“If I beat you, you buy me a ticket to wear a pair of boots. If you win, what? I pay for my own ticket? Doesn’t seem like much of a wager. I mean, now that I’m financially solvent I don’t have to think about buying the ticket or buying my dinner.”
“They’re the boots from the Destroyer Tour.”
Her eyes widened. “Those are killer. Dang but they had good costuming in the seventies. But if we’re making a bet on this game”—Callie bounced her ball off the edge of her club a few times—“we should make it good.”
Gage watched her for a moment. Her tell the other night was the nibbling on her lower lip. She bounced the ball again, distracting him. “What did you have in mind?”
Callie bounced the ball one last time, and it rolled to a stop at the tee. “If I win, I get a picture of you wearing the boots—and only the boots—and holding up your Bachelor of the Month headline.”
“I know you want to see me naked … ” He paused for effect. “But I don’t think they’d allow that.” At least he hoped not, because that newspaper being the only thing hiding his junk was just sick. Maybe he had judged Callie wrong. She wasn’t the sweet girl from high school. She was twisted.
“I think you could work your charm on that girl behind the counter and make it happen. A bet’s a bet.” She walked her fingers up his chest. “And when I want to see you naked, believe me, you’ll know it.”
Gage’s breathing became shallow. She wanted him. It wasn’t just teasing in her gaze, and it wasn’t just a bet. And sleeping with Callie was definitely something he wanted. Just maybe not because she’d won a bet. He cleared his throat. “Then, if I win, not only do you not get the ticket, but we go back to the Strat and you ride the Insanity with me.”
“I don’t think trying on a pair of boots is equal to possible death-by-falling from the top of the Stratosphere.”
“You said we should make it good. You know I don’t like that headline. Getting me naked with said headline and a smelly pair of boots is as embarrassing as facing your fear of heights.”
“I’m not afraid of heights. I’m afraid of falling a third of a mile and going splat on the concrete while tourists take pictures of my flattened body.”
“We could go back to winner-buys-the-tickets.”
She seemed to consider the lessened bet. A part of Gage hoped she’d take the offer because he hadn’t played mini-golf since high school.
Finally, Callie held out her hand. “It’s a bet.”
“Which one?”
Callie thought for a long moment. “Coaster.”
“Ladies first, then,” he said, stepping off the green.
They played through the first nine holes at a tie. Callie’s strength was long-putting, while Gage’s was short. A few families were ahead of them on the next green and no one was behind, so he suggested they sit under a potted palm with their drinks.
Callie crossed her legs and sipped her Coke. “I’m going to kick your butt on the back nine.”
“Dreamer. I’ve used the first nine holes to figure out your game.”
She looked around the course, which was oddly quiet for a Thursday night in the summer. “I always wanted to do stuff like this when I was a kid.”
“You and your friends had more expensive tastes?”
She snorted. “More like my friends and I had no cars and strict parents. Other than the occasional football or baseball game and my 4-H meetings, I went to school and went home.”
He hadn’t known that. His dad died their senior year, but even before that Gage had been free to come and go. He had a curfew, but it was rarely enforced. He and his buddies figured out how to sneak into the casino clubs, rented dune buggies in the desert, and did whatever other activity crossed their minds.
“I kind of figured, because our paths didn’t cross more, that you were out doing your own thing.”
“Well, I wasn’t a princess locked in a tower or a hermit afraid of the world. But when you live forty minutes from town and you don’t have a car, it’s hard to get anywhere.”
“You made it to our lake often enough.”
She rolled her eyes. “Vegas regulations make it a felony to tie up a horse outside Caesars or the Tropicana. At the very least, that kind of thing is frowned upon. But I had a good childhood. Dad and I had the coyote project one winter, and there were always cows to raise for 4-H or a horse to ride. I wasn’t lonely.”
But she couldn’t have been all that unlonely, either. Everything about high school was social. Callie was social, or she wouldn’t want to run a service business. The family group moved ahead three holes, and Gage brought them back to the course. The next hole was a straight shot but with a deceptive hill leading up. His ball rolled sadly down the hill, and he tried again. This time he hit the ball too hard, and it popped over the lip and into the rocks on the outside. Callie crowed.
“That’s two, and however many it takes to get out of the rough.” She lined up her shot, and the ball rolled up the incline, over the lip, and fell straight into the hole. “In one, Reeves, in one!” She did a little dance at the tee, shaking her butt and twisting her feet against the green felt.
Gage glanced at the score sheet. She led him by three strokes. Damn. He measured his shot and plopped the ball back on the green. Callie practically vibrated beside him.
“You’re going to look so sweet in those boots.”
“Dream on, Cal. You’re going to scream like a baby from the top of the Strat.” He putted the ball into the hold, and they moved on. He took the next three holes, drawing even with Callie’s score, but she was tough and won the next three. He checked the scores again at the eighteenth hole. Dead even. He had to get his game going.
Callie glanced at the score sheet and then added the numbers again. “I can’t believe we’re playing mini-golf on a date,” she said.
“You’re used to wine and prawns and, what, symphonies in the moonlight?”
She shook her head. “Mostly, I’m shocked our scores are basically even at this point. I haven’t played mini-golf in a long time.”
“In my defense”—Gage measured his shot a
nd putted around an S curve—“I’m used to playing on real courses now.” His ball slid to a stop a few inches from the hole.
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.” Callie measured and then glanced at him. “Are you taking it easy on me? Making it seem like I have a chance to not die tonight when really you’re just waiting to see the heart attack firsthand?” She hit the ball, which fell short of the hole, next to Gage’s.
“You’re the one with the hole in one, you tell me.” He hit the ball in on the next putt, and so did she.
Gage walked around the final hole, taking note of the tunnel and looking for a shortcut just in case. Nothing jumped out at him, and he blew out a breath. Callie put her ball through the tunnel opening, and it bounced to a stop on the far side of the green. Well, that was a good sign. Gage hit his ball off the tunnel opening and tried again. It went through, bouncing straight into the cup. He listened to the faint sound of it rolling down the tube to the front desk, grinning.
The game was his. Callie’s strength was the long game; she’d never make the putt. She would love the thrill ride, he had a feeling. It was the thought of the ride that scared people. The harnesses and rails ensured safety, but getting off the roof and into the car was the biggest leap of faith.
She considered the hole and looked at the score sheet again. If she got the ball in on the next putt, they’d be tied. She hit the ball, and it rolled across the green felt right into the hole. She heaved out a breath and wrote her score. Grinning, she said, “Tie! No coaster for me.”
They walked to the front desk to turn in their clubs. Gage bought a ticket for the boots. “That isn’t what a tie means.”
“I didn’t win, so no boot-wearing for you. You didn’t win, so no death for me. That’s the way a bet works.”
Gage took the ticket from the teenage boy behind the counter. “No.” He shook his head. “A tie means we’re equal winners. So you get to wear the boots, and I get the ride.”
What the Bachelor Gets Page 15