“You do now,” he grinned.
“Okay, but I don’t have anything to wear. No heels, no tight dresses.”
“It’s not that kind of going out. It’s so cold out there already you’re going to need to borrow my jacket. We’re going to walk the Strip and do every cheesy thing tourists do. Eiffel Tower drinks; gondola rides; paying the street musicians; posing for pictures in front of every damn waterfall, neon sign, pirate ship, and oversized spaceship there is.”
I groaned, hiding the creeping smile. “Do we have to? My feet are killing me.”
“Yes, we have to. I’ll carry you on my back if I have to. You can’t go out on the Strip and not feel like life is just a little more awesome in Vegas—and I think that’s exactly what you need right now. Wait here. I’ll get changed, and then I’m going to show you a good time.”
Something about the wink that accompanied those words made me think that maybe, just maybe, he meant in more than one way.
The only good thing about Ryder in a shirt—as opposed to topless and gorgeous—was the way his clothes smelled. His rich, warm scent combined with dryer sheets was pure, comfortable sexiness. The kind of sexiness that made me want to pull him into my room back at the extended-stay place and say fuck the Strip.
But I didn’t. Mostly because his puppy-dog enthusiasm about giving me a great night out was too adorable to pass up. I’d been taking care of myself ever since I moved away to college. I’d developed my own coping mechanisms, my own pep talks. I was okay all on my own.
No, you weren’t, you idiot. I bit my lip at the realization. Mom had always bolstered me with the words of comfort I’d heard from her since I was a little girl: that I was smart and strong, that I could do anything I set my mind to. Even though it was mostly over the phone, Mom had always been there.
And now she just wasn’t anymore.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. I couldn’t keep thinking about Mom nonstop like this. Especially when there wasn’t a damn thing I could do. Maybe it wouldn’t kill me to have a distraction, something to help me forget about my fear for a change.
The Strip was only five minutes from the Shooting Starr, and I gasped as we turned the corner on I-15 that brought it into full view. Even in Philly, there weren’t this many concentrated lights at night downtown. The whole Strip blinked and glittered with every color imaginable. It was an adult playground, and I was seriously in need of some playtime.
Ryder pulled into the meticulously landscaped circle drive of a spotless hotels, with a gold-trimmed front door and a giant bronze statue of a war horse prancing through a circular field of flowers and ferns right in front of it. It was luxurious and fantastical and took me to another place entirely. It was exactly what I needed.
Ryder jumped out of the truck, handing the keys to a valet along with an extra wad of cash.
“Oh, God,” I said. “I’ll totally buy you a drink.”
“Nope,” he said, helping me down out of the truck and slinging his arm around my neck—like a brother or a best friend might do. It was comfortable and safe. Exactly what I needed. “Tonight is on me. You’re not a local, so it’s my responsibility to show you a good time.”
I bit my bottom lip and smiled up at him. “Well, technically, I am a local,” I said. “Just haven’t been here since before I was legal.”
He laughed. “Then you missed literally everything that is fun about this street, and I’m going to show you all of it. First stop, Paris.” He motioned to a huge, lit Eiffel Tower stretching up from the Strip’s skyline. “I hope you have good walking shoes.”
I did—my leather flats were the cutest and most comfortable shoes I owned. As we strolled out to the Strip from the hotel’s entrance, I realized there were two kinds of people walking down this street: tourists who were dressed to the nines ready for a fancy night out and tourists who looked like…well, tourists. In my worn jeans, bland flats, t-shirt and hoodie, I definitely looked like the latter. I stopped dead in my tracks, making Ryder almost choke me.
“What?” he said, alarmed.
“I look like a damn tourist.”
Ryder threw back his head and laughed. For a split-second, I was insanely focused on the bob of his Adam’s apple and thoughts of putting my mouth there. “You are a tourist. Sort of. Come on, once we get to Paris, you won’t care anymore.”
I reluctantly plodded forward. “Promise?”
“I promise,” he said.
We walked past at least two streetwalkers, four AstroTurf fields, an accordion player, and half a dozen couples posing for cell phone pictures before I finally saw the base of the Tower—which was good because my feet were killing me. I groaned with relief.
Ryder stopped in his tracks. “What? What’s the matter?”
“Oh, just those heels. They destroyed my feet. I feel like the freaking bones are starting to stick through.” I tried to laugh, but it just came out as a pitiful sad chuckle.
Ryder’s face fell. “Why didn’t you tell me? How can you fully enjoy the Strip when you’re in pain? I bet there’s no way you even fully appreciated the incredible trainwreck that was the makeup on those hookers.” His face was all serious, but I knew he was trying to get me to laugh. His puppy-dog expression, with sagging eyes and the slightest pout, was seriously growing on me.
I grinned. “Well, I’m telling you now. And no, I didn’t fully appreciate the hookers. I can’t even tell you what color eye shadow they were wearing.”
He grinned, and for a split-second, all the pain in my arches melted away. Then he crouched down, sitting on his heels, and said, “Well, come on. The sooner we get you there, the sooner we can medicate with a nice big drink.”
I laughed. “What are you doing?”
“I told you I would carry you if I had to, and clearly it’s been a pretty dire situation for the last—what—two blocks?”
I bit my lip again. But the way his eyes flashed told me that, whether I was trying to or not, it was working. “How about…since we left work?”
He shook his head with a mock look of disgust. “Get on. I’m going to stay down here until you do.”
So, feeling like a total idiot, I straddled his back. His shoulders seemed even broader with my arms hooked around them from behind, and there was something undeniably sexual in the feel of his hips moving beneath my thighs. When he stood up, lifting me up with a whoosh of air, I tried to keep from squealing, but a little one squeaked out, along with a giggle. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d giggled.
Without having to wait for me to keep up, Ryder’s long legs carried him faster through the crowd, and he made a big show of weaving and bobbing through the tourists.
“Entirely sober cocktail waitress coming through!” he announced to anyone giving us a weird look. “Just got off her first shift! Gotta get this girl a big ol’ drink as soon as possible!”
Pretty soon, I was laughing so hard I was crying, and we were standing right in front of the Eiffel Tower. He set me down, and I let out an oomph when my feet hit the ground.
“Don’t worry,” he grinned. “You won’t feel a thing soon. Come with me.” He led me around a tan building with blue-painted windows to a little out-of-the-way garden where all the sights of the Strip melted away. There were tiny waterfalls, fountains, and potted flowers dotting the perimeter of the little oasis of a patio. Ryder pulled me over to an intricately designed black metal table and chairs. “Sit,” he commanded.
He strolled over to the little café window, which was topped by swooping red-and-white-striped awnings. His jeans fit absolutely perfectly, and I couldn’t take my eyes off his ass. When he leaned against the counter and talked to the girl at the cash register, I watched the muscles in his shoulders flex through his shirt and was momentarily consumed by thoughts of stripping that shirt off and clawing my way up his back—with him on top of me, instead of carrying me throu
gh the Strip.
He shot a laughing grin over his shoulder. “Pink, yellow, or green?”
I could only assume he was talking about drinks. “Uh…yellow?”
A few seconds later, Ryder turned with two ridiculous, two-foot-tall, plastic Eiffel-Tower-shaped glasses with a humungous straw sticking out the top.
I tried to focus on coming up with something intelligent to say while he made the short walk back to the table. When he sat down, I flicked up an eyebrow and stifled a full-on grin. “You were really serious about wanting to get me drunk, my friend.”
Ryder beamed in response. “Friends, huh? I’ve been friend-zoned?” Before I could say anything, he took a long draw on his straw and said, “You’re lucky I have tonight off.”
“Oh?” I giggled. “And why is that?”
“Because I have a feeling you’re a lightweight, and you’re going to need me to take care of you after this very special piña colada, which I saw my friend Max over there dump two full bottles of rum into as we walked in.”
I was a lightweight, but I didn’t want this guy I barely knew having to babysit pathetic, drunk me.
“You have a feeling, huh?” I teased. “All you know about me is—”
“A lot more than I know about most girls I meet here. But go on.” He leaned back, teasing me with a look that dared me to spill everything about myself. He was too cute to satisfy so easily.
“You know what? I think I’m going to make you work for it. After all, there’s not a lot I know about you either, and a lot I’d like to know.” Holy shit. I didn’t even know what the hell I meant by that. All I knew was that I was trying to flirt, and I wasn’t sure it was working out so well.
Ryder took a long drink from his tower, then threaded his fingers together and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m listening,” he said in voice that had to be intentionally lower and sexier than his normal one.
I slid my drink to the middle of the table. “Truth or dare?”
He scoffed. “What—like little girls at a slumber party?”
My eyes shot up to his when he said slumber party, and the way he winked at me when our eyes met told me that was completely intentional.
“Sort of,” I said, leaning forward, mimicking him. “But Adult Truth or Dare. We barely know each other, so we take a drink before each one for courage. First questions are easier.”
He nodded slowly, scanning the café around us. It was just us and the cheesy waiters. On a Wednesday night, it seemed the quieter hangouts weren’t crowded. “I can get behind that.”
“Okay, I’ll go first.” I grinned. “Truth or dare?”
Guys in cheesy striped shirts and painted-on curling mustaches strolled around with violins as one or two more patrons took seats in the little faux-Parisian watering hole.
“I’m just getting settled, and I’m not quite ready to leave my seat yet., so…truth.”
“What’s your middle name?” I asked instantly. It was one of those questions that was always easy to answer but brought two people closer together—intimate, in a way.
His cheeks turned red, and he stared up at the lights of the tower before licking his lips and leaning in for a drink.
I laughed. “Seriously? That bad?”
He looked up at me from where his lips wrapped around the straw, raised his head the slightest bit, and whispered, “Harold.”
A laugh burst out of me. “Seriously, that is not that bad! I mean, it sounds like an old man, but other than that, Ryder Harold…?” I trailed off with a question in my voice. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t even caught his last name.
“Yep,” he choked out, then coughed, covering his mouth with a fist. “I have never told that to anyone before,” he stammered, clearing his throat.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just went down the wrong pipe. And now it’s my turn. What’s yours?”
I leaned forward to drink, even though I didn’t really need any more liquid courage for this particular question. The cold yellow concoction exploded with chilly sweetness in my mouth, and I only tasted the alcohol on the slight afterburn down my throat. Exactly how I liked it. I looked up and licked my lips.
“Linda. It means ‘beautiful’ in Spanish, and it was the first word my Mom said when she saw my face.” That old lump was back in my throat at the first mention of Mom since we got the Strip, and I focused on Ryder’s reaction to make it go away.
Amazingly, it worked because he just said, “One hundred percent true. She’s a smart lady.”
Okay. Ryder thought I was beautiful. Or maybe he was just trying to get me to relax and have fun. As clear as the signals were that he liked me, I didn’t really know him. Maybe charming—the way he was around the high-rolling ladies checking into the Shooting Starr -– was just the way he was toward everyone. How else would he have gotten his job?
Not wanting to think about that, I said, “Your turn. Truth or dare.”
He shrugged. “What the hell? Dare.” His eyes sparkled in the million lights of the Strip, and his hair looked just messed up enough for me to want my fingers in it.
Suddenly, the utter and complete beauty of Ryder hit me, just as my head was starting to go the slightest bit fuzzy. I realized, bemused, that I didn’t even know his last name. I also realized that I was in the middle of this not-quite-French plaza and actually relaxing for the first time in a very, very, very long time.
I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had happened—maybe it was after freshman year, when I realized I just really didn’t like the sorority and frat house party scene. Maybe it was when I started volunteering at the hospital and felt fulfilled enough by the good work that I didn’t actually need a social life. Either way, it had been a long time since I’d had a serious drink, and a much longer time since one had tasted this good– and felt this right.
And, goddammit, I felt like having fun.
“Hmmm,” I said. “Gimme a sec to think about it.” In fact, the only thing I was really thinking about was how badly I wanted to see his body again. Too bad “take me home and fuck me silly” wasn’t a really great way to ease into this potentially very good Truth-or-Dare situation I had going on here. Finally, I decided. “Do a cartwheel.”
Ryder practically hopped off his seat. “No problem.” He moved to the open space in the café area, mumbling something to the fake-mustachioed workers, and they all fanned out to leave space for him.
I snorted. “Okay, Ryder, seriously. It’s just a cartwheel.”
When he backed up two steps in prep, he snuck a look over to me and gave me a fast wink. Then he charged forward and launched into a full back-handspring with a flip at the end. My mouth dropped open, and even though his briefly exposed torso was stunning enough to achieve that, it was really his skill level. Ryder had to weigh 200 pounds, but the way he flipped through the air made it looked like he was half that. I shook my head slowly back and forth and clapped, sneaking in a wolf whistle for good measure. He sauntered back to the table.
“Even though you didn’t technically follow instructions,” I said, “I’ll take it. That was incredible. How do you know how to do that? Are you a professional dancer? Do you perform with the Cirque du Soleil for your night job or something?” I hadn’t actually thought about Ryder’s second job until right this moment, but now I was curious.
He waggled his finger as he lounged in his chair again, taking another drink.. “Nuh-uh. It’s your turn now. No questions for me. Truth or dare?” he asked lazily.
The drink had my muscles feeling all relaxed and me so overall contented that I felt like I could do anything. “Dare,” I said, leaning forward for another drink.. The glass was almost a quarter of the way down, and instead of feeling colder in the increasingly chilly night, I felt nice and warm, full of that same restless, tense energy I’d had the night before.
&nbs
p; Ryder plucked the cherry from the edge of his drink. They had left stem intact, and right away, I knew what he was going to ask me to do. “Tie it in a knot. With your tongue.”
“Ha!” My hand darted across the table, and I snatched it from his hand, reveling in the feel of his fingers against mine. Absolutely familiar, after only a couple days. Absolutely right. “You just want to watch me do it,” I teased before popping it into my mouth.
He leaned back, smiling, and shrugged. Goddamn, those shoulders. A swish and flick of the stem was all it took. I’d become an expert at this during high school parties when everyone else around me was drinking themselves sick and had appointed me the designated driver hours ago. I felt the way my tongue pushed my lips around, watched the way Ryder’s eyes followed them carefully. Yeah, he wanted to watch. I slowly stretched two fingers up to my lips and pulled the cherry stem out, displaying the perfect knot I’d left.
Ryder laughed, a look of pleased astonishment on his face. I took a mock bow in my seat and giggled. God, it felt so good just to be out with someone, having fun and enjoying myself for once. Even thoughts about Mom’s stressful day in the hospital receded to the back of my mind as the buzz of the alcohol and the high of being in such close proximity, alone, to this beautiful man took over my brain.
“Your turrrrrn,” I practically sang, wiggling in my seat, soaking up the feel of the chilling night air and the pastel ombre of the sunset sky on the horizon. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” he said. “I want to save my energy.”
Holy shit. Was everything this guy said a double entendre, or did I seriously need to get laid? “Why did you break up with your last girlfriend?”
That question surprised even me. At the same time, though, an anxiousness to know the answer burned through me. I wanted to know what kind of girl she was, how long ago it was, whether they had been in love. I wanted to know everything about her so I could do better.
“Wow. You sure know how to hit hard, don’t you?” Ryder asked, his face falling.
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