Waking Up in Vegas(59)

I still didn’t know what to do about the Grand Gesture idea, but I was absolutely certain that horking my breakfast into her lap was not on the list of things to consider. This greasy-food cure of hers had better work.

My belly chimed in with a hopeful rumble as the smell got stronger and the restaurant came into view.

So, of course, that was the moment we were cornered by some fans.

“Hey, it’s Tack and Jen! Wow, you two do hang out together.” The guy was exiting the buffet with a girl and another couple, and held out his hand in greeting.

I took it and chuckled, telling him I was surprised he recognized us since we looked like we’d just rolled out of bed. He popped a curious eyebrow at that, and I felt compelled to clarify. “Not that way. We’re both suffering from a bout of the cocktail flu.”

He laughed at that and the sound made me feel like Jensen was already out of my life.

Did people think it was unfathomable that we actually might be a couple? Or did they just assume that I never could be half of pair?

Jen thanked him for listening, and we talked for a few minutes about the upcoming Slanker Knox interview, his favorite bands, and music in general. As the chat wound down, one of the women told Jen she was a ‘breath of fresh air from the usual morning testosterone-fest’, and while Jensen blushed, I said I couldn’t agree more.

As they walked away, I heard one of the women stage-whisper, “Well, that was unusual. Last time I bumped into Tack Morgan, he was a self-absorbed asshole.”

The other one replied (not even bothering with the hushed voice), “I give all the credit to Jensen.”

Yeah. So did I.



After scarfing down two platefuls of almost every offering on the steamtables, I had to admit the grease-and-sugar cure had its merits. The hangover was finally lifting and my gut was pleasantly full of porkfat and maple syrup. My arteries, on the other hand, were probably hardening into concrete.

As we sat at our table, nursing mugfuls of the warm dreck that Caesar’s tried to pass off as coffee, Jen was looking at me in a way I couldn’t decipher.

“What?”

“What, what?”

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Was I staring?” She sipped at her mug and made a face at the liquid inside. “I hadn’t realized.”

I countered with a smirk. “Bullshit. ‘Fess up, Jen.” Because I was totally off-kilter, and I didn’t know if the blame belonged to last night’s Irish whiskey or the sharp look in Jensen’s eyes.

“The truth?” she said, rolling her coffee cup between her palms and watching the contents slosh around. “I was a little surprised by you with the fans earlier.” She glanced back up at me and lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“I’m always nice to listeners.” I considered taking another sip from my own chipped mug, just for something to do with my hands, but decided I liked my stomach too much to inflict that on it.

“Well, duh. You’re always nice. But that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you be genuine. Tack Morgan, human being, interacting with the rest of us mere mortals. It was refreshing.”

“It was the hangover. I’m too wiped to live up to their celebrity expectations today.” The lie popped out on instinct. I wasn’t ready to admit to her that the effects were all her doing. Hell, I’d just barely acknowledged it to myself.

“Mmm-hmm.” She was still looking at me like a bug under a microscope.

This time, I did choke down a mouthful of brown awfulness, just for the excuse to break away from her eyes.

I guess I grimaced, because Jen said, “I can’t believe you actually swallowed that.”

“Me, neither.” I smiled and, wonder of wonders, my face didn’t fall off. If I’d have tried doing that pre-breakfast, I’m pretty sure it would have shattered and fallen into my lap.

She tossed a five onto the table for the guy who’d cleared the dishes. “Let’s go home.”

Jen referring to my house as home was an even better tonic than the food had been. I reached for her hand to help her out of the booth, grinning like an idiot.

“Tack, is that you?” a regrettably familiar voice rang out from behind me.

Dear God, no.

My smile evaporated.

I turned to face the one person capable of making me feel worse than my recently vacated hangover.

“Hi, Mom.”

Her greeting to me out of the way, I was now invisible and she turned to Jen, plucking up the hand of hers I wasn’t holding. “It’s so good to see you, Miss MacKenzie.”

“Please, call me Jensen, Mrs. Morgan.”

“Then I insist that you call me Ramona.” She turned to me; I guess I’d reappeared in her radar. “What brings you out so early?”