Chapter 3
Colin
WE STARE AT each other, saying the word together, as though we each need to speak it to believe it.
Is she as stunned as I am by this?
Better: why is it such a big deal? It’s one drink.
As if on cue, two drinks appear and pull us out of our collective stupor, a tequila for me and a wine for her. “Cheers!” the bartender says, lifting his hands with a flourish before turning to another set of customers.
“We don’t have to do this,” I blurt.
“I want to,” she answers, her words tumbling out just as mine do. Her hand trembles as she reaches for the fresh glass of wine, and my heart squeezes.
“Seriously,” I say, extending my hand to stop her. A tingle runs up my skin as my fingers touch her arm, and I jerk away in surprise.
“You shocked me!” She laughs and rubs her forearm, flashing that wide grin at me again, the tiny gap between her teeth far more adorable than it should be.
And that’s what does it. There’s no denying this woman. So I grab my glass and hold it up, locking my gaze with hers and walking to the metaphorical cliff. The sea stretches out before me, beckoning. “Here’s to rules.”
A corner of Sam’s mouth tips up, the look as devastatingly mischievous as she’d warned. “And to breaking them.”
The ground beneath my feet shifts, the metaphorical cliff beginning to crumble. But instead of worrying and wondering how I can fix it, or stop it, or at least control the rate of my fall, I ignore all of it. I jump.
We hold each other’s gaze as we drink. My body warms to a pleasant hum beneath her study, and I clench my free hand to stop myself from reaching for her. Touching that soft skin once more.
“You know, we may as well keep this going.”
“How’s that?” I ask.
“More coin tosses.”
I pocket the quarter and aim for a counterargument. “What about a simple dare?”
Her eyes flash. “We’re in Vegas. Seems more bets are the way to go.”
“Oh, we’ll get there,” I promise, then lean close, needing to catch the scent of her. I’m in free-fall now. “But let’s have some fun while we do it.”
Her laugh is sultry and low, sending shivers down my spine. “You’re trouble.”
I wink. “Tonight I am. With a capital T. Just remember that you started it.”
She leans closer. “I have another rule.”
My heart kicks in my chest. This woman might be the absolute ruin of me.
Forty-two years of living on this planet, and all I’ve been doing was marching toward fifteen minutes with a gap-toothed whirlwind of a woman.
But I don’t care that I’m going down. If anything, I’m eager for it.
I want to taste what this feels like. Experience something I’ll never experience again.
Feel what it’s like to be in this amazing woman’s orbit for just a little longer.
I steady myself and prepare for my doom. “And what’s that?”
“To always finish what I start.”
Fuck. Me. Here lies Colin Matthew Thicke. Cause of death: Sam. I twist on the stool so that my knee touches hers, and of course, she doesn’t move. I laugh, a singular puff of air leaving me. “I think I might be falling in love with you, Sam, watch out with those sexy words.”
She tilts her head back as she laughs, her neck on display and making me want to lick it. “What’s the first dare, Matthew?”
I consider. “Swap something with me for an hour.”
She doesn’t waver, her fingers trailing along the gold of her necklace as she pins me with a look that I swear says, “Is that all you’ve got?”
I hesitate for a moment, then pull my watch off and drop it into her hand as she pools the delicate necklace into my palm.
“It’s heavy,” she says, holding my watch up for inspection. “A Rolex? What do you do for a living, Matthew?”
“It was my grandfather’s,” I answer, my throat tight with the last vestiges of grief that never seemed to abate.
He gave it to me for safekeeping when I was twelve, knowing I’d keep it hidden away from my alcoholic father.
When he died a month later, the last tether my family had to anything safe was gone. Giving her the whole story is too much.
Her face softens. “He’s…passed?” At my nod, she thrusts the watch back. “This is too precious. I can’t.”
“Scared?” I tease softly.
Her chin lifts. “Fine.” She clasps the gold watch onto her wrist, and again, my heart ka-thunks at the view. It’s far too big for her delicate frame, but I have no doubt she’ll keep it safe.
I inspect the necklace she handed over. “A sea turtle?” It’s small and gold, resting on a simple gold chain.
“They’re the most wonderful creatures,” she says, a note of something almost childlike in her tone.
“And there’s still so much we don’t know about them.
Their early years, why they travel such lengths between feeding and nesting grounds, how they know to make their way back to their birthplace to mate and lay eggs. They’re magical.”
Her unabashed love for them is so clear, so unvarnished, that it utterly charms me. I grin as I secure the necklace behind my neck. “So, not your grandfather’s?”
She takes a drink of wine and grins back. “No. But it is from home, and it’s the one piece of jewelry I never take off.”
“Another rule?”
“Mm-hmm. It suits you.”
“The necklace?”
She smiles wide, showing off that bewitching gap. I swear I really might fall for her at the rate I’m going. Never have I felt like this – ever. But it feels so natural that I can’t question it. “That watch looks pretty good on you, too.”
She preens. “Bet you say that to all the girls who wear it.”
I allow myself to trace my finger over her forearm, running over the Rolex’s navy blue face before traveling farther.
Her skin is soft and warm. She flips her hand over, revealing her palm, and I sketch the soft flesh there, circling tighter and tighter, wishing my finger was my tongue and her palm was something far more sensitive.
When I reach the center, I breathe deep and look up.
“No one else has ever had that privilege.”
She shifts on the stool, then slides her hand away to grab the glass of wine. “No one?”
I hold her gaze and shake my head.
Feline satisfaction crosses her face as she drinks. “Good.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the rest of the world forgotten, until she says, “Next dare.”
I straighten. “Lay it on me.”
She gestures to the cocktail napkin. “Do a dramatic reading of whatever’s on there.”
I make a show of clearing my throat as I pull the napkin from beneath the glass.
“The Tavern,” I proclaim, projecting my voice far too loud and not caring, because it instantly makes her laugh.
“Sports! Wagers! Drinks,” I finish, dragging out the ‘s’ as she giggles.
Then I squint, seeing the tiny print at the bottom.
Lowering my pitch, I deliver the final two words as though they are absolutely critical. “The Fontainebleau.”
She claps and beams at me, and I know I’ll do whatever it takes to keep that look on her face. “Well done.”
“Thank you, thank you. That one semester of drama finally paid off.”
“Indeed it did.”
We finish our drinks a few minutes later, and I pay the tabs. “Come on,” I say as I stand.
She rises. “Who says I’m going with you?”
I point at her wrist. “My watch. We have another half hour at least.”
We head out of the bar and down to the ground floor, and she beelines to the gift shop. “Next dare,” she says, peering behind me as she strides purposefully into the shop.
I hustle to keep up. “It’s my turn to issue a dare.”
She smirks. “You took too long. You have five minutes and ten dollars. Whoever buys the best worst gift wins.”
I grin as my competitive streak kicks in. “Oh, it’s on.” I head straight for the back without hesitation.
Five minutes later, we meet back up and I reach into the bag to show off my purchase. “Ready?” I ask.
She stills my hand and turns toward the outside. “Nope. We’re heading out there and we’re going to get someone else’s opinion.”
“Perfect,” I counter. “So when I win, it’ll be fair and square.”
She rolls her eyes. “God grant me the confidence of a middle-aged white man.”
“Hey, I am not middle-aged,” I protest.
Sam huffs a laugh as she pushes through the doors and we’re hit with a blast of arid desert heat.
It’s night, around ten, and neon lights pulse all around us.
People are everywhere in various states of sobriety, and the sound of a techno beat drifts over the wind.
The scene is both exhilarating and exhausting. “How old are you?”
I swallow. “Forty-two.”
Her brows lift as her lips quirk into a teasing smile. “That’s middle-aged, mate.”
I don’t dignify that with a response.
“I’m thirty-two, if that makes you feel any better.”
“It doesn’t,” I grumble.
She cackles. “Okay, okay, it’s not middle-aged. Yet.”
I toss her a playful glare.
Her smile widens. “We need another drink.”
“I thought we were being judged on our gifts?”
“We are. In there.” She turns into a nondescript building, and I follow suit. It’s smoky and dimly lit, and I already hate it, but whatever the woman wants.
We order two beers. When the bartender returns with them, Sam drops her bag onto the bar. “We need a judge.”
The woman crosses her arms. “Depends on how much you’re tipping.” I lift a twenty in silent answer, and she nods. “Go on.”
“You decide who’s purchased the best worst gift.”
The bartender smiles. “Deal.”
We each pull our gifts out. I’ve bought a keychain with a tiny stuffed sloth on a motorcycle with the word SPEEDY written on his pleather vest. Sam pulls out a set of stick-on mustaches.
The bartender laughs. “They’re both terrible.”
Sam and I high-five, then drink.
“But she’s the winner,” the bartender says, pointing to Sam.
Sam raises her arms in victory while I protest.
“Unfair!” I pout. “Her gift is boring.”
“It’s inspired,” Sam says.
“It’s terrible, but it prolongs the agony,” the bartender agrees.
I hold up Speedy. “It’s a sloth. On a motorcycle. And his name is Speedy. Come on. I win.”
“Give her the tip and quit being a sore loser,” Sam admonishes.
“Just the tip,” the bartender quips.
I laugh and slide the bill toward her. “Thanks for nothing.”
Sam opens the mustaches and studies them. “Which one?”
“For you or for me?” I gesture at my beard. “Because I’m already sporting the real thing.”
“Guess you’re going with the blond one, then,” she laughs, then peels off the handlebar-shaped sticker and holds it up. “Look at me.”
I turn and lean down a bit to give her better access.
She reaches up with zero hesitation, pressing the fuzzy abomination onto my existing mustache with unmitigated glee.
My watch slides down her arm as she works, and I take the moment to study her face.
She’s lived a life in the sun, the tiniest of laugh lines beginning to show around her mouth and eyes. “Do you surf?”
She finishes, eyeing the placement as critically as one would a high-priced piece of art in a gallery. “I do. My whole family does. Put this on me,” she instructs, pointing at one that looks like a badly dyed Burt Reynolds number.
I obey, quickly catching onto the fact that she has no interest in talking about herself. This is a strictly surface-level situation. But I can work with that.
Focusing on my task, I position the mustache in its proper place. “Looks amazing.”
She snickers. “Pull out your phone. We need a picture of this.”
Again, I obey, opening the camera app and handing the phone to her. “You’re guaranteed to take a better picture.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m shit at it.”
We wrap our arms around each other’s sides, grinning like absolute idiots as she extends her arm and takes the shot. “It’s perfect,” she declares.
“It’s something. Finish your beer. I can’t take this smoke,” I admit.
She tilts it back and downs it in four swallows, then slams the empty bottle on the bar. “What are you staring at?”
I blink, trying to decide if I’m turned on or horrified that she totally housed the beer. Turned on. Definitely turned on. “Sorry.” Then I tip my own beer up, taking more than four drinks to finish. I push Speedy at the bartender. “For you. Even though I’m not sure you deserve him.”
She grins and holds him against her heart with delight. “Have a good night.”
Sam looks over at me. “What’s next?”