Waking Up in Vegas(27)

“So is she cute, this new morning girly of yours?”

“She’s not mine, Mother.” The full Mother just slipped out. But now she knew she was getting to me. Fantastic.

“So she’s cute.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you didn’t deny it. So that means she’s attractive.”

“Her picture just got put up on a billboard that you drive past every day to get to work. Don’t tell me you don’t know what she looks like.” And there we were, just like always, wandering off the topic as we descended into bickering.

“Of course I know what she looks like. I’m trying to figure out if you know how she looks.”

“I see her five mornings a week, Mom. I obviously know she’s cute.”

Aaaand there we had it. Mom’s Needling–1, Keeping Confessions to Myself–0. I should have suspected when she caved on the whole Tack thing without arguing. Because the woman never gives in. And lately, what she hadn’t wanted to give in on was finding me a happily-ever-after. She was living proof that there was no such thing, so I don’t know why she bothered.

I switched back to the topic at hand before she could swing in for the kill.

“So we’re agreed, then? You’ll keep Spartacus under wraps until I say otherwise?”

She smiled like a snake and reached up to pat my cheek, once again affirming that I would be forever a child in her eyes. “Of course, dear.”





I’d been watching Jen suck back the drinks since we were officially dismissed from celebrity duty. With a frame as tiny as hers, I didn’t know where she put all that alcohol, nor how she managed to not be on-her-ass drunk. And I knew exactly how many she’d had—the place was so crowded that, after the radio-station junk came off the table, we stayed where we were because there was nowhere else to go.

We weren’t talking to each other. And for once, not because she’d pissed me off or vice-versa; I’d found a pretty blonde who seemed on-board with Tack’s Rules of Engagement, and Jen was busy talking to a guy who made my skin kind of crawly.

He looked alright, and he said things that made Jen laugh; still, I kept half an ear on their conversation, because the guy’s vibe was... off. Unfortunately, the gem who had Tack Jr. standing up in interest had noticed that she wasn’t the sole object of my attention and thought I wanted to drag our tablemates into our conversation.

“Hey, Jensen,” the nameless gem said, “what’s it like seeing this guy’s smiling face every morning?”

Jen flicked her eyes over to me, and left them there. “I’ll let you know, once he starts smiling in the mornings.”

Now that was entirely unfair. “I smile in the mornings.”

“Not lately.”

“And whose fault is that?”

She polished off her drink and waved to the waitress for another. “Whomever you spent the night before with, I would imagine.” She batted her eyes and tried to look innocent, but I knew better.

There was no way in hell I was admitting (in front of the woman who would be breaking my dry streak, no less) that there had not, in fact, been anyone warming my sheets, so I mumbled something that wasn’t even words. A quick moment later and girly-drink-with-an-umbrella number six was delivered.

Three slurps and she had that sucker down to red-streaked ice with a bent straw. Jen snatched up the umbrella by the button on the top and attempted to eat the cherry it was stuck in. She went from grinning to giggling, and when she missed her mouth for the fourth time, had begun to list to one side. Right into the chest of Skin-Crawling Guy who seemed more than happy to prop her back up again.

By using her boob as a hand-grip.

Jen didn’t seem to notice the catch-and-grab and her thanks for keeping her from falling off the stool had a distinctly fuzzy edge. He kept an arm locked around her shoulder, even when she got herself back upright. I watched her shrug a couple of times, and even lean forward onto the table on her elbows, but that arm stayed clamped tight as a vice. So she did what any self-respecting girl would do: she asked my sweet evening selection if she wanted to hit the ladies room.

To this day, I still do not understand the peeing-in-pairs thing.

Skin-Crawly snatched up his drink and headed off without a word; I assumed he finally got the shrug-lean-away-then-leave message and didn’t make any attempt to stop him. If I had, maybe things would have turned out differently.

Or maybe they wouldn’t. Since then, I’ve pondered the inevitability of some things… but once again, I’m getting ahead of myself. Sorry about that.

My prospective bed-sports partner zoomed back to the table–as hurried as she could manage in those fuck-me heels, anyway, which we should take a moment to admire (both the way her legs looked in the stilettos, and the speed she managed to accomplish in them)—looking worried and saying that Jensen was having some sort of trouble with the guy who had been at our table. Big Brother Mode kicked in and I asked her where she saw them last.