Page 37 of Rev

A pause.

“I wanted to see you.”

He frowns, as if I’m speaking a different language. “I told you, girl. Forget me. Forget this place. You don’t belong here.”

“I belong where I decide I want to be. And maybe I’ve decided I’m curious about you.”

“Then you got shit for brains and worse judgment.” He holds my gaze, then shakes his head. “Go home, Myka. You do not belong in this world.” He gestures at Sin with a sweep of his arm. “And you sure as fuck don’t belong in mine.”

And then he’s gone, vanished into the crowd.

I know he’s right.

I should forget him, forget Sin. I should leave Vegas. Hit California, maybe follow the coast north. Find somewhere I do belong.

I even try to convince myself to do as he says. I’m nominally successful. I make it out of Sin, having had precisely two beers, and having danced with and been propositioned by Tommy Chaos himself.

I make it to my motel room.

I shower off the stink and grime of the club.

What I do not manage is to forget Rev. I do not manage to convince myself to pack up my stuff and drive west.

I do not manage to resist the need to use my vibrator while imagining Rev kneeling between my thighs as I sit on the edge of my bed.

It’s a fantasy. I know it’s nothing but a fantasy, I know he’ll never want someone like me. He probably sleeps with the topless bartender. He probably does it rough and quick, with no expectations.

And there’s the problem—I am simply not capable of having sex without developing expectations. I know this. I mean shoot, I’ve only ever had the one partner, Darren. I have no capacity for a one-night stand, or a random hookup. I’m just not that girl.

But I can fantasize, right?

* * *

I’m in my Jeep,waiting outside Lisa’s apartment. Usually, I show up here at eight a.m. and she comes out to give me my supplies and my assignment. She’s always punctual, always coming out at exactly 7:59.

It’s 8:15.

Finally, I call her. It rings and rings, goes to voicemail.

I wait till 8:20.

Head up to her door, knock. Wait. Knock louder.

Listen—silence.

“Lisa?” I call. “It’s Myka!”

Nothing.

I knock again, harder, longer, and louder. Faintly, I hear something. A moan?

I try the door—locked. “Lisa? Lisa!”

Definitely a moan.

I have no idea how to do what Rev did, but I slide a card from my wallet and wiggle it in the slot between the door and post. Something clicks and lets go. I think about doors, and latches, and try again.

Click.