Waking Up in Vegas(71)

My lips were glued together and my tongue tasted faintly like puke, despite the Colgate and mouthwash routine I’d done earlier. “I’m in bed.” Christ, my voice sounded like I’d gargled razor blades.

I heard her coming down the hall, thanks to the hyper dogs. She snapped her fingers twice and told them to back off before coming into my room. Amazingly, they both sat down outside the door, panting happily. “And here I was going to apologize for being so late. You look like hell, by the way.”

“Matches how I feel.” I ran a hand over my head, trying to make order out of the bed-head. “Better?”

“Marginally.” She smirked. “My ex- landlord called and told me my deposit check was ready.”

“Well, that’s a surprise.” I was starting to sound more normal, but I still didn’t feel like coming out from under the blankets.

“I took it to his bank to cash it,” she said. “I don’t trust the bastard. After, I called Carmen and we went out for lunch.”

The mere suggestion of food made my gut roll, and leave it to Jen to notice. “You just turned green.”

I nodded, worried that if I opened my lips to speak, whatever might be left in my stomach would launch across the room.

“That’s so weird. We ate that same thing, and I feel fine.”

That’s because you don’t have a bunch of gremlins jumping around in your belly, wearing tee shirts emblazoned with ‘Jensen is Really Leaving.’

“Would crackers help?”

I fought my way out of the covers and barely made it to the bathroom in time to heave.

At least I wouldn’t be wrestling with my conscience and The Rule today.

Or all night, as it turned out.

Jen went out for saltines and ginger ale, and after bringing them to me, left and came back with an armload of pillows. She piled some up behind my shoulders, then made a stack out of the rest for herself.

I turned on the TV as she slid her hand into mine.

I dozed off while her thumb rubbed little circles onto the back of my hand.

When I woke up around three-thirty because a loud infomercial had taken over TNT, she was still in her blouse and jeans, but under the blankets and snuggled into my side.

I sighed and tucked her in closer, falling back to sleep wondering how to keep her there for good.





Chapter 22




*With 0r Without You*



It’s our last show together.

I can’t believe it.

It utterly defies explanation that Jensen would choose being alone in Phoenix over staying in Las Vegas with me.

Physically, I was feeling better, but my outlook and attitude had not been equally healed by crackers and Canada Dry.

We drove in together because I insisted on it (small battles won and all that crap) and I immediately regretted pushing the issue. All we did was bicker the whole way to work—she wants to say goodbye to the listeners, and I told her I’d break off her damn microphone altogether if she even tried.

I’ll tell them myself on Monday. Jensen telling the entire metro area makes it too damn real.

So now it’s five minutes to six and we’re silent and glaring.

Silent, unless you count the grinding noises coming from my molars, that is.

What a way to wake up the beautiful citizens of Sin City.

There will be no signature Good Morning, Las Vegas today.

I don’t even want to fucking be here.

Where I want to be is on my hands and knees over Jensen’s naked skin, convincing her with my body to stay.

‘Cause I haven’t been able to persuade her any other way.

I finally broke away from her livid stare to string a few songs up to play. ‘Breathe’ by Breaking Benjamin and the Goo Goo Dolls ‘Before It’s Too Late’ were both not in our normal rotation, but screw it. They said exactly how I felt, and therefore were what Jen really needed to hear. Besides, it was early for all those office workers and I didn’t think anyone would call in to complain about a slow and easy start to a Friday.

One verse into Breathe, she took off her headphones.

Christ, what did I have to do to get through to her?

I turned up the volume in the studio, so she was stuck with the lyrics I was sending.

And what did she do?

She slid off her stool and went out in the hall, that’s what.

I left the volume up anyway and added Dirty Vegas’ ‘Days Go By’ to the queue. In the Fuck the Playlist Olympics, I might as well go for the gold.

Jen came back in with a few pages in her hands while the last line (…Without you…) repeated over and over as the song wound down. She didn’t look at me, just climbed back into her seat, pulled her mic a little closer and flicked her glance up at the speaker in the corner.

I wasn’t sure if it was the lyric or the potential feedback that was irritating her, but I turned off the booth sound, anyway.