Page 10

Tarynn

T his room is far too fancy. It’s a suite with a jet tub in the middle of the room, a king bed, a desk, ornate nightstands with matching lamps, and a massive minibar complete with a flat screen TV above. Even the bathroom, with its separate space for a toilet, a vanity with three sinks, and a huge glass shower, is impressive.

There are brown paper bags and boxes stacked along the far wall, all from the Harley store. I keep vacillating between gratitude and horror every single time I look at them, considering how much they cost and how much the room had to have set Crow back.

He’s in the adjoining suite. Literally, all that separates us is a locked door in the wall between the two rooms.

We’re in one of the fanciest hotels on the Strip, complete with a moat that boasts actual boat rides along a manmade canal, and a painted ceiling in the lobby that would rival any European palace.

I knew it had to be expensive, but just like at the store, Crow took charge. He asked for adjoining suites and the woman at the front desk wearing the crisp black skirt suit never gave the price. She just took his ID and his credit card, and we were good to go.

I thought we were done for the night, and even though the day had been filled with far too much change, I was faced with the crashing disappointment of having to try to sleep in a city that’s so alive it’s practically pulsing.

Crow must have known because he told me he just wanted a shower and then we could go for a walk along the Strip to find somewhere to eat.

My brain should be just about done trying to process all of this, but here I am, focused solely on how good the warm water in this fancy shower feels as it cascades down on me from above, drenching me in a rainfall the likes of what I’ve only dreamed about.

I shampoo and conditioner my hair, trying to be fast so that I have time to blow-dry it before Crow knocks on the door. Or was I supposed to knock on his?

Apparently, my brain isn’t too tired to conjure the image of Crow completely naked, showering in his room, in the exact same layout.

It’s wicked, but in my mind, his hand goes straight to his massive cock, stroking down the soapy length of it while he thinks of me. My nipples instantly harden to sharp points, the emptiness between my legs nearly unbearable.

Great. Now I’m pulsing just like the city.

I have zero time to deal with this, but even if I did, getting off to a mental image of a man who has become very real for me, feels wrong. He’s a person with feelings and thoughts, and using him as an object of lust makes me feel guilty.

I want more than just getting myself off. I want it to be his hands, his mouth, his cock.

Even though the shower is a normal temperature, my body is quick to feel overheated. I turn the water off and wrap up in the biggest, fluffiest white towel I have ever seen. There are no less than eight in here, so I use one for my hair as well, wrapping it tightly in hopes that I can cut the drying time.

I have my little cosmetic bag in here, but I hardly own any makeup. That was always a hard no with my parents, even when I was far past being old enough to make my own decisions. I don’t own anything but mascara and lip balm. I couldn’t bring much on the plane with me anyway. My cleansers, toners, and rose hip oil had to stay behind.

I pat my face dry, apply the mascara, and slide on a fresh pass of the coconut vanilla flavored lip balm. I have a toothbrush, but no toothpaste. I’m going to have to remember to duck into a store when I see one.

While my hair dries in the towel, I’m faced with the onerous decision of what to wear. I can’t say that I’ve ever had this problem before. All my clothes were pretty much the same. Shapeless. Chaste.

The bags out in the room are the opposite of boring.

My pulse spikes thinking about the sinful getup that I tried on for Crow. Of all the things I bought, most that I didn’t even try on, I suddenly know what I’m going to pick. That exact outfit.

I leave the bathroom with both towels still on, unpack half the bags until I find everything I want, then snap the tags off. I don’t want to look at the price, but when I catch sight of it anyway, my stomach bottoms out.

The stuff in these bags must have been two grand or more.

I know Crow said he’d make it back, but how can anyone make that much money playing poker? He was so certain, but how can I keep these things, knowing that he paid for them? It doesn’t feel right. At the same time, going over to his room and telling him that I want to return everything in the morning feels like I’d be spitting in his face.

I get dressed quickly, but I can’t stop the confusion that wraps around my brain like fog. Feelings are a luxury. They’re something that I shouldn’t be able to afford, especially when it comes to Crow. Is that what I have, or is it just hormones? Is it both?

In the bathroom, I rush through drying my hair with the blow dryer from under the counter. After a good brushing, it’s light and airy. It’s still half damp on the underside, but it’s hot out there and it will dry. Hopefully not into a ball of frizz, but with no product at hand, I can’t do anything about that.

I give myself a once over in the mirror, gasping just like I did when I checked myself out in the change room earlier.

I almost don’t recognize the stranger standing before me. The face is mine, certainly the hair is too, but from the neck down, I look like someone else entirely. The shirt shows far too much of my breasts. It actually looks like I have something in that department, because it’s cut so low down between them that they can’t be anything other than obvious. It’s cropped above my bellybutton, showcasing my flat stomach, but also the swell of my hips. The miniskirt rides low, the leather ties bisecting the front. It’s so short that it barely covers my butt cheeks, but all I own are granny panties anyway, which cover me thoroughly. They’re black, so they blend in. The thing might as well be a skort, but it still feels sinful.

Sinful in a good way, which my dad would say doesn’t exist, but he’s not right about everything.

I should miss my parents right now. I should be worried about them. I should be fretting about how I’m going to call them, and when, what words I’m going to say, but honestly? It’s the furthest thing from my mind. I’m still drinking in the fresh, pure air of freedom. This is my first night to myself, doing what I want, with who I want, and it feels marvelous.

If the regret is coming, it hasn’t sunk in yet.

Since we’re going to be walking, I choose the flat, heavy leather boots with silver buckles. They’re obviously real biker boots and they’re heavy, but the other option is my flat canvas shoes or the boots with the spike heels. One I probably can’t walk more than ten steps in and the other would ruin the look of the outfit, so these it is.

I grab my purse and I’m nearly at the door when a solid knock sounds from the other side.

I don’t even check the peephole. I know that it’s Crow.

He’s pulled his long black hair into a ponytail. His black t-shirt, black jeans, and black leather jacket all give emo vibes, but his chunky black boots and the ink covering the backs of his hands and scrolling up around the sides of his neck are far too kick ass. The fresh stitches in his face also look badass.

He rakes his eyes over me, taking in every detail. I don’t feel like myself, and right now, I want that, but a trickle of doubt creeps in. I cut it off before it can turn into a torrent, but I keep one hand on the doorknob.

“Is this too much? Are you going to tell me to get changed or to cover up?”

He’s still for an instant, doing that thing where I think he gets up in his head, like he’s having a conversation with himself in there. I can’t explain it, but it’s like he goes somewhere else, tuning everything out. When he crashes back into his body it’s like watching him get a cold chill.

“No,” he scoffs, to cover up the change in his voice. It’s huskier, but only just slightly. If he was any other man and if I wasn’t hopeless at knowing these kind of things, maybe I’d be able to tell if he was attracted to me or not.

If he likes what he’s seeing.

“No?”

“You’re beautiful. You wear whatever you feel comfortable and confident in and even if I have to take on the whole city and fight off an army of drunk, horny fuckers, I’ll do it.”

He doesn’t smile like he’s joking.

I don’t think he is joking.

My eyes prickle at the unexpected sweetness. This is more than just a burst of freedom. It’s more everything . An inevitable lead up, but to what ?

“Are you starved?” he asks casually, but I can tell there’s a point behind it.

For you. Shit. I really hope that for once, my face isn’t giving everything away. “I can wait if you have something else in mind.”

He pulls a pair of aviator sunglasses out of his pocket. “Poker first, then a walk. I promise it won’t take more than an hour to win back what those clothes cost, and probably your tuition for your entire first year of hair school too.”

Oomph. That’s the sound of my jaw dislocating from my face and going for a walk around the freaking block.

“I- what? That’s like fifteen thousand dollars!”

He nods like it’s no biggie. We could be discussing if we want to eat at the Italian restaurant we saw in the lobby here or venture further.

“Um, okay. But how? An hour? Are you going straight to the high roller section?”

“I plan on making money, not losing it. The five dollar, ten dollar table will do just fine.”

“How do you plan to turn five dollars into fifteen grand?”

He flashes me a cocky grin that is so unlike him. It seems to say, oh ye of little faith.

If only he knew just how much faith I have in him, and it might be messed up, but I don’t even feel like it’s misplaced.

“Are you ready to watch and learn?”

I nod tightly, real anxiety settling in as we head downstairs, taking the elevator. The casino is part of the hotel. A massive part. The whole main floor just opens up into it. I can’t even fathom the magnitude of these places.

“There are shops all the way down the halls in here if you get bored,” Crow says low under his breath as we walk through the noisy, flashy casino, side by side.

“Am I not allowed to watch?”

“Certainly. I just don’t want you to feel bored. Do you know how to play?”

“No!”

“I don’t know if they’ll let you stand right behind me or sit beside me. If you’re sitting, you might have to play.”

He pulls out his phone, cues up a video, and passes it to me. “Minute to learn, lifetime to master kind of a deal.”

I don’t think that this is what that saying is supposed to apply to, but as I watch the brief tutorial, I have to admit, he might be right. Within five minutes, I get the gist of it. It’s not like I’ve never played cards before.

“Just remember that four of a kind is great, matching suits is phenomenal, suits in a row is even better. You’re set if you can do it with high cards. It’s not that part of poker that’s hard. It’s reading people. Knowing how to bet and when, knowing how to read your opponent to see if they’re bluffing. Part of it is luck, but even more than that, it’s a game of strategy.”

I lean in and whisper under my breath. “You mean like card counting?”

Crow’s face immediately blanks. “Not if you don’t want to get turfed out on your ass. But having a good memory helps. You can calculate the odds with basic math.”

He takes out his wallet and peels off five one hundred dollar bills, stuffing them into my hand like it’s nothing. “You can buy chips with that right at the table. Don’t feel pressure. You can always fold every hand. Most of the time, until you have to do the big or small blind, which is just your turn to pay into the pot for that round, you can just fold and lose nothing. Many people who come to Vegas are just looking to have a good time. They’re not professionals.”

I finally understand at least part of how Crow plans to make money.

He’s smart. Combine that with people who maybe aren’t so smart, and it’s Vegas. Even I know that people come here to get drunk, party, and pretend they’re millionaires for a night. He just handed me five hundred bucks. How easy would it be for someone to sit down with that, or more, and lose it all? How many chairs are there at the table? Eight? Ten? More? He wouldn’t have to win every round. Just a few big pots.

Crow leads us to the poker section. It’s massive. I expected one single table, but there are at least twenty or more.

“It’s a big room,” he tells me. “Other hotels have ones that are much smaller. Just a few tables. Those ones are for more serious players. They’re also more fun. Like a home game.”

We sit down at a table where there are two chairs side by side. I let out my coiled breath, a tiny bit of the tension leaving me, but I’m still a ball of nerves.

Crow buys four massive stacks of chips, but I keep some of the money he gave me in my wallet, buying two hundred dollars of the five dollar and ten dollar chips. My red and black stacks aren’t nearly the size of some people’s at the table. It looks like a few of these guys—and they’re all men—have been here for hours already. They’re cleaning up.

A new flood of sensation fills my belly. It’s not nerves. It’s excitement.

A few of the men are wearing sunglasses, so people can’t read their eyes. Crow slips his on as well, but for him, I think it’s about blending in. There’s no way he needs them. These guys have no idea what’s about to hit, but the craziest part is, neither do I.

I shiver in anticipation.

For the first few rounds, I’m clumsy and awkward, but no one seems to mind. A few of the men even send me encouraging smiles. Two look so young that I can’t believe they’re old enough to be here, but the others are mostly middle aged. I catch an older, portly man with a huge bulbous nose ogling my breasts more than once. I fight the urge to cower or feel ashamed. Fuck that. If he wants to check me out instead of focusing on his cards, then he’ll only lose hands.

Crow doesn’t look at me once, but I know that he’s ever aware of my presence and our surroundings. I do know that if I caught his eye and signaled that I wanted to leave, he’d grab his chips that instant and see me out of here.

I spot waitresses, pretty girls of all ethnicities and body types, walking around carrying trays. They stop and chat people up, or just smile and take drink orders.

I’m astonished when I get asked if I’d like a drink, but as I gape at a stunning brunette with a friendly smile, I wonder why I feel that way. I’m old enough to drink. I’m here, playing, just like anyone else.

“Umm, how much are they?”

She doesn’t laugh at me. “They’re free.”

“Free?”

“In here, they are.”

Oh. She means that if you’re playing, they’re free. That’s a great strategy. I search my mind for the easiest thing I can order. It’s not like she came all this way to get me a glass of water.

“Do you have cranberry juice?”

“We certainly do, but alcoholic beverages are free too.”

I figured that. I just didn’t want one.

Or do I?

This is my first night of freedom. I’m not driving. I’m not working. I’m basically just going to fold every round so that Crow can play while I sit here. I feel like if I was walking around in here or going to shops to look in the windows at all the wonderful things, he wouldn’t be able to fully focus for worrying about me.

“I guess, do you have vodka?” it’s a common drink order at Patti’s, so it’s the first thing I think of.

The waitress smiles back. “Sure. A vodka cranberry then?” I nod. “I’ll be right back with it.”

She is. Not more than five minutes later, I have a midsize glass with ice. It’s barely pink, which looks disconcerting. It’s probably more vodka than cranberry. She said they were free, but after digging in my purse, I find that I only have twenty dollar bills and the hundreds Crow gave me. I can’t not tip her. Not when I’m a waitress myself.

I take one of the five dollar chips off my stack. “Can you take these?”

The woman nods. “Certainly.”

“Thank you so much for the drink and for being so nice. It’s my first time.”

Her smile grows. “A Vegas virgin. Be careful out there.”

I incline my head to indicate Crow. “I’m with him.”

Her smile wobbles a little, but not enough that if I wasn’t watching, I wouldn’t have caught it. “He looks like he can take care of the both of you.”

I let her continue on, placing drinks around the table. Crow doesn’t order anything. He’s completely dialed in.

Half an hour later, his chip stack has doubled.

An hour later, he’s at least tripled that.

I don’t really know how it happened, but I’ve also had a few more drinks. She’s not just my table’s waitress, but the same brunette keeps the drinks coming without me even asking, taking away my old glass as soon as I’m done.

The warm swimming sensation isn’t entirely unpleasant. I nurse the drinks, not wanting to down them too fast. I know that I’m getting drunk and honestly? I don’t really want to stop. It’s not like I’m trying to escape anything through drinking. I just enjoy the way the tensions ease off.

I cut myself off after the fifth drink, shaking my head when I catch the waitress eyeing my glass. She smiles and nods. I would have thought I’d be seeing double by now, but I just feel like my brain is thicker, swimming around in a foreign substance. I can see the cards just fine. I can concentrate. I just keep folding, over and over. I don’t have the courage to bet, even when I have decent cards.

When I get two aces, I close my eyes, breathing rapidly. I can’t fold that , but the thought of bidding makes me feel slightly ill.

Thankfully, when I push a stack of chips onto the table, everyone else folds. They’ve realized by now that the only time when I’m going to get involved is when I have something stellar, and they want no part in it.

I gratefully rake in the tiny little pot, content to sit for the rest of the time, thankful that I don’t get anything else dealt to me that’s too good to throw away.

I try not to watch Crow too closely. I don’t want it to be obvious that we’re not just here as casual players. Besides, if it appears that I don’t know what I’m doing, maybe it will come off like he’s just amateur hour too.

We keep going, even though I’m sure it’s been an hour and a half.

Things get exciting when Crow pushes a large bet after the flop. Three other guys match him. This is probably exactly what he wants. Something that will involve everyone. Hopefully, in the end, he’ll have something better than they all do.

I hold my breath as the bets get larger and larger. I think the guy on the end with the big nose is trying to push the others out. I don’t think he actually has anything. He knows he’s beat, but he’s too far into it to quit. The other two have that determined expression that says they’re not bluffing.

And Crow? It’s impossible to read him. He stares straight forward, but his pose is about as non-threatening as someone like him can be.

If someone who looked like he does, sat down anywhere in Hart, people would be immediately alert. But In Vegas? There are all sorts of different looking people here. Crow doesn’t seem that out of place.

All of a sudden, cards are being turned up. As I thought, the guy on the end has nothing. He pushes back from the table, gathering up the few chips that he has left, but still smiling. He even cops one last look at my chest before he turns and heads out.

The two guys in the middle are next. One has a pair of aces, which makes three of a kind. The third guy snorts in disgust as he throws down his pair of tens. He had three of a kind too, but the three aces beats that. There’s an ace, a ten, two twos, and a king on the table. Unless Crow has a full house, I’m not sure how he could win. Wait. Maybe a jack and a queen. Would that beat three of a kind?

This is exactly why alcohol shouldn’t be mixed in. I can’t even think straight. It’s probably also because I’m such a beginner at this.

I hold my breath. Crow calmly lays down a pair of twos.

Holy shit! Oh. My. God. He has four of a kind?

It blows my mind that he had the courage to bet big like that with just that pair, but I guess part of the flop was a two and that gave him three of a kind, but there were higher cards on the table. He stuck with it and saw it through to the end.

I have no idea how much money he’s won, but the amount of chips that he gathers up, added to his already massive stack, is gigantic.

He gets up to leave and I stand up too.

“Sir,” the dealer—a middle aged man says, freezing Crow. He waits but doesn’t remove his sunglasses.

I break out in a clammy, nauseating sweat.

“We pay a bonus for four of a kind. If you just hold on, someone will be here shortly.”

Crow sinks back into his chair. I do the same, my head reeling. I had no idea. Maybe he did or maybe he didn’t. Maybe this is new. Has he been here before? He seems ridiculously good at this. He had a calculated strategy, like it certainly wasn’t his first rodeo. I know so little about him, but when two people meet, isn’t that how it usually is? Isn’t the fun in getting to fill in all those blanks?

Either way, it’s a little late for the stranger danger meter to go off.

The guys at the table want Crow to stay and play more, but he makes his excuses, telling them it’s time for dinner. He plays it off like he just sat down and got lucky. He thanks them for the good game and for the fun, and tells them he might be back tomorrow night for another round. Everyone at the table is a good sport, even the two men he beat. I admire that, as well as his cool, easy attitude.

Soon, a man in a suit comes and pays Crow in bonus chips, clearly hoping he’ll stick around and play them, but they also give him a large plastic bucket. Crow gathers everything up. I do the same, picking up my meagre piles and following him to the cashier’s cage at the back.

He seems to intrinsically know his way around this place. Has he been here specifically, or does he just know how casinos are generally laid out?

It takes a minute for all the cash to be counted, and someone has to come and sign off on such a large sum, I guess.

My knees nearly give out at the total. It’s just shy of seventeen thousand dollars. After starting out with five hundred. Who the hell knew that five dollars and ten dollars could turn into something like that?

Crow knew.

He masterfully executed his plan exactly as he said he would.

“Are you okay to come back up to the rooms and put this in the safe?” he asks after.

I can’t even speak. I just nod.

Now that I’m standing, I feel the effects of the vodka far more clearly than I did at the table. From the outside, maybe I still look normal, because Crow doesn’t seem to notice. He finally slips off the sunglasses when we get into the elevator. He’s so quiet. I have no idea what he’s thinking. If he’s excited or triumphant, he’s tunneled back into that part of himself that he doesn’t share with the rest of the world.

I stand in the doorway as he tucks the wad of cash into the safe and shuts it. My passport is locked in an identical one in my room. There’s no way I’m carrying that on me here.

We head back down, me on shaky legs with a swimming head. Crow leads the way outside, a walking freaking GPS that doesn’t get the least bit confused in the massive building.

I gulp in the night air gratefully. It’s tinged with the scents of the city and is more noxious and warm than fresh, but it still feels good.

All the excitement of being here, finally leaving my parents’ house, of a future that I’m in charge of, Crow winning all that money, just Crow himself , bubbles up.

This place is fucking magic.

It could also be the vodka.

“It’s so absolutely wondrous here! I want the whole Vegas experience, right now.”

“A salt pretzel and a giant caramel apple?” he suggests with a slight tilt of his lips. They’re nice, masculine lips. I know I’m staring at them too long, but I can’t look away.

Until I can. I spread my arms out at the sides and twirl around like people do in rainstorms outdoors. “I want to… to dye my hair! No! Shave half my head! I want to get a tattoo. On my shaved head. I want to get my nipples pieced. I want to see strippers!”

Crow is suddenly right at my side. He tilts my face up, pinching my chin lightly between his strong index finger and thumb. His eyes crash into mine, searching and assessing. “Have you—” he pauses as he assesses me closely. “Were you drinking back there?”

“Cranberry juice.”

“And what else?”

“Maybe vodka.”

“Fuck. How many of those did you drink?”

“Two.”

His eyes narrow dangerously. Ominously. He’s so close. I could just arch up and into him and I’d be able to taste the words right off his lips before he says them. “Tarynn.”

Holy fuck, my name on his tongue sounds delicious. “Five.”

“Do you know how strong those drinks are? They give them free to get people drunk because then they’re sloppy and free with their cash.”

“I- are you mad? They were just really good, and I was thirsty. I liked the way it felt to get warm and tingly. I know that you’re here to keep me safe. I’ll just have some water and something to eat and I’m sure that the buzz will go away in no time.”

“If you’re just buzzed, it hasn’t truly hit yet. I think we should go back to the room. We can order some food there.”

Seriously? No. That’s not going to happen. I’m not going to be treated like I’m a naughty child. I know that Crow feels responsible for me, but there’s just zero way that I’m going to miss out on this glorious night.

The first night of the rest of my life.

That’s always been a saying that belonged to everyone else before now.

“I might not be a drinker, but I’ve worked in a bar long enough to know how quickly alcohol hits. I’m fine,” I say stubbornly.

Crow stares deep into my eyes, then releases my chin. He rubs the back of his knuckles down my cheek. I don’t break eye contact. I let him see exactly how much I want this night.

How much I want him .

My hand shoots out, reaching up before I can hold it back. My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging at his ponytail until I reach the top of his head. I thrust myself into his space, we’re so close, our bodies not touching, but nothing more than a breath of air between us. I arch up, noting the way his eyes change. His pupils are getting larger. We haven’t even touched each other yet and they’re already blown out.

I only notice this because I’ve read about it. I wonder if I rocked against him, would I find his cock hard in his jeans? I long to do just that, to part my legs around that hard bulge and rock against it until the friction release the ache between my legs.

I part my lips, waiting for him to make the first move, half terrified to do it because I don’t know what I’m doing. Sure, I practiced on my own hand when I was somewhere around twelve, thinking that it would help me in the future, not realizing it would be almost half a lifetime yet before I ended up here.

I was basically forced to wait, but now, I’m almost glad for it.

I’m glad that my first kiss is going to be Crow.

“There’s been no one before you,” I whisper against his lips, so very close. I can almost taste him, can almost feel how rough and soft, how brutal and gentle he’d be with me. The craving to have his hands on my body, to be just us with no barriers between, is getting stronger. “I haven’t kissed anyone. Ever.”

I didn’t truly expect that he’d be gentle or exploratory. I can sense that he’s holding himself back. That he wants this as badly as I do. The reality of his mouth crushing mine, bruising my lips with his, is too wild a thing for me to have ever imagined. It’s different than I thought it would be. His lips are soft and demanding, his mouth wet and warm, open and devouring mine.

He tastes very faintly like peppermint. I remember him chewing gum as we took off on the plane right before I fell asleep. Has it lingered all this time?

He doesn’t kiss me like I’m a scared little virgin. He kisses me like he’s not worried in the slightest about breaking me. He’s far more experienced and it shows. His mouth leads mine, his hot tongue sweeping along the seam of my mouth, urging my lips apart. As a pre-med student, I know all about the basics of the human body. I know what the parts are and how they function. I know that the lips have more nerve endings than any other part of the body, but I couldn’t truly understand .

I clutch his hair, desperate to be closer, whimpering into his mouth, opening for him so his tongue can stroke inside, winding me into a dizzying frenzy that is magnified a thousand times over in the painful throbbing between my legs. I clasp my thighs together involuntarily, gasping again as soaked fabric mashes against my clit. My fingers clench in his hair over and over, my nails probably raking at his scalp as I seek to get closer. I want him, his hard body against mine. I want to be tangled with him.

I try to roll my hips against him, but he breaks away, faltering back a step. His hand flies to his mouth, the tremble there noticeable. He looks so distinctly not himself that I worry I’ve hurt him. Those stitches are fresh and they’re right there along his jawline. How could I have been so thoughtless?

I scan them quickly, but they look the same. They haven’t broken open. There’s no fresh blood. He doesn’t appear to be in pain.

That’s not it at all.

It’s the smile that turns into a grin, the way his dark eyes crinkle at the corners, the slight flare of his nostrils with the movement of his lips.

If I thought he was beautiful before, I’m unprepared for the way he looks now… now that he’s… happy . It’s like watching the sun come out in all its golden glory and warmth, when you’ve been drenched to the skin by ice cold rain and gusty cold winds. It’s stunning. Blinding. My mind sinks further into a soupy, delicious fog. I grin back just as wide, and just as foolish.

He rakes a hand through his hair, yanking out the neat ponytail and shaking the strands all over the place, until they look wild. He faces me, as drunk on happiness as I very likely am on vodka. The excitement of this place is finally hitting him too. It’s like he’s waking up after a long slumber.

Wild energy courses through me, reverberating off all my bones, but it’s nothing compared to the sensation that makes my legs watery as he takes my hand in his, threading our fingers together. He took the bandage off before we flew, and he’s been using his other hand all night, but the one he gives me is his uninjured one.

“Strippers it is.”