“Want to dance?” she asks, surprising me as she finishes her beer and holds out a hand. I raise my brows and reach out to take it, letting her lead me into the fray. She guides my hands exactly where she wants them, placing one on either of her hips as she wraps her arms around my neck. The warm feel of her body against mine is so goddamn intoxicating. And I love-love-love the fact that I'm out with her in public, all these people seeing us dancing together. I want to lay my claim on her in front of all of them.
Um. What? Jesus Christ, Zayden.
I put a huge red stop sign on all of that shit and focus on the way Brooke's breasts squish against my chest. Her hands feel like brands on the back of my neck, burning hot prints into my skin as we swirl and rock in an inexpert little waltz, doing our best to match the music.
She smiles at me the whole time, her hair swinging with the motions, her mouth painted with this silly peach-pink color that makes her look several years younger than her fresh-face really needs. But wow. Those lips are full and they curve in the most sinuous sort of way. Her lashes are long and dark and the eyes they frame are brimming with intelligence. She is, like, so much smarter than I am it's not even funny.
When the song ends, Brooke pulls away laughing and does this stupid little jig that I can only credit the alcohol with.
“Are you a lightweight?” I ask as I lean my elbow against the tall surface of the table and watch her finish off the rest of my beer.
“Not really,” she tells me as she slams the empty glass down on the table. “I just feel like this might be my last night to go out for a while. With the new job and class and the girls, it's only going to get harder, especially without you around.” She pauses and flicks her gaze up to me, blushing a little before she turns away. “You know, because I'll have to find a babysitter.” A pause before she looks back and smiles at me. “And a new lover.” Brooke leans across the table toward me and I let her put her mouth against my ear. “Because … I think I'm starting to get addicted to having sex.”
“Whoa, whoa, baby. Listen to you, you dirty bitch.” I wink at her and she laughs, taking my hand and leading me out to the street. We parade up and down Main, checking out the booths and disappearing into crowded shops filled with black and white photos, dragon statues, glass bongs, and all sorts of ocean inspired art.
Brooke buys herself a stupid white wool cap with a pink flower and a snags a few colorful pinwheels for the kids from a local artist, jamming them into a knitted brown and orange bag she buys from yet another vendor.
“I know I shouldn't be spending anything,” she says, but I wave her excuses away before they come.
“No. Stop that. Look, you're twenty-two, Brooke. Relax, have some fun and don't worry about justifying any of it.” I look down at her in that weird hat and think she looks so damn cute that I shove a fifty into her purse when she isn't looking to pay for it. I kind of owe her because I am drinking in her quirky look like it's lemonade, baby. Sweet and sour all at the same time.
I buy Brooke and me some burritos at one of the food carts and we walk along the boardwalk together, the soft whisper of water against the shore mixing with the music and the chatter. For a small town get-together, it's totally bomb.
“What's it like, living in Las Vegas? I can imagine what it'd be like to visit, but to live there? Is it just craziness all the time?” I laugh and chew my bite of burrito, doing a little twirl to the chortling of the saxophone as Brooke chuckles and clutches her foil wrapped food in both hands.
“It's always a hoot and a holler, you know? Our shop is right,” I slick my hand through the air, “on the Strip, so there are tourists galore parading in and out at all hours. We're open twenty-four seven, too. So much weird shit happens at night.”
“Do you pierce … everything?” Brooke asks, glancing sidelong at me as we pass under puddles of light from the street lamps, couples gathered on benches, cuddling up or necking like teenagers. “Like …” She waves one of her hands in the area of her crotch. “Vaginas and stuff.”
I laugh again and shake my head, kicking my red and black knee-high Converse against the pavement as I hop up on a bench and take a look out at the bay. Damn. One of the few things I missed about this place was the view of the water. I mean there's water in Vegas, in all the fountains and faux waterfalls and fake ass lakes, but that's just it—it's artificial as hell. In the middle of a goddamn desert and there's just … all of this crap everywhere that doesn't belong there. It's never bothered me before, but to be honest, it's kind of bugging me right now.