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Or he did. I sat in the passenger seat, listened to my podcast that he found disturbing, ate snacks, and told him stories about my childhood while he shared a little about his, which honestly sounded sad.
He never once mentioned playing outside with his friends or siblings. He didn’t talk about baking cookies with his mom or things he did with his dad. All his stories revolved around the sports teams he was on or the extra tutoring he took to make sure he was prepared for the next year of school. Besides his story about when he went to sleepaway camp as a kid, nothing he’s ever told me has led me to believe he even had a childhood. At least not one I could relate to.
“I’m good if you are.” He uses his chin to pull my hair back, and I feel his lips on my neck while his fingers slide under the waistband of the sleep shorts I put on after I got out of the shower. As his fingers start to skim lower, I hold my breath and wait, but he doesn’t go any farther. Instead, he pulls his hand free and touches his lips to my neck one last time before taking a step back. “Get dressed, and we can go.”
Licking my lips, I turn to face him and wonder how he can have so much control when I constantly feel like I’m going to come out of my skin every time he touches me. And since the seal was broken, he’s touched me a lot, but we still haven’t gone past heavy petting. It’s driving me crazy.
So crazy that I bought a box of condoms myself before we left San Francisco.
Not that I think I’m brave enough to tell him about them or even brave enough to push the subject of us taking things further. Because if he turns me down, I’m not sure I will ever recover from that kind of embarrassment.
Dropping my eyes from his, I walk to my bag and pull out my bralette and one of the lightweight dresses that I own—a dress that is nowhere near as nice as the dress he bought for me in San Francisco, a dress that made me feel like a movie star, even if the price tag that was still attached made me want to puke.
Turning my back to him, I take off the tank top I have on, then put on the strapless lace bralette and slip the dress on over my head. After taking off my shorts, I turn around and find him dragging a T-shirt down over his head.
“Ready?” he asks, his eyes meeting mine.
“Yep.” I grab my purse and slip on my flip-flops, then follow him to the door that he holds open. Taking his hand, we walk down the hall toward the elevator.
“Did your mom like to gamble?” he asks when we get downstairs to the casino, where the sound of the slot machines is almost deafening.
“Yes.” I smile up at him. “I might not have understood why she wanted to see the Golden Gate Bridge, but I know exactly why she wanted to come here.” I take my eyes off him as he maneuvers us around a group of people. “She loved to gamble and dragged me to the casino more than once to sit with her while she played the penny slots.” I smile at the memory.
“Did she win?”
“Rarely, but only because she would never max out her bets. But twenty dollars could hold her over for an entire night, and win or lose, she did it smiling.”
“Did you want to play the slots?”
“Not really. I’d rather just walk the Strip and see the lights if that’s okay.”
“Whatever you want.” He leads me through the crowds and out the front door, where the air is no longer filled with smoke but instead smells like stale beer, marijuana, and about a million different types of cologne and perfume.
As we walk down the sidewalk, I’m amazed by how many people are out. I don’t think I’ve seen this many people in my life, not even while walking around San Francisco. I for sure have never seen so many bachelorettes in one place. They seem to be everywhere we look.
“Oh, that looks fun,” I tell Roman when a woman passes us with a cup that is bright pink, glowing, and as tall as I am.
“Do you want one?”
“If we pass the place she got it from,” I tell him, distracted as a guy passes me a card. When I flip it over to see what it is, my eyes widen. The guy on the back looks like a linebacker who showered in baby oil and is obviously an escort, given the outline of offers he has attached to his name.
“You don’t need that.” Roman startles me, snatching it from my hand and tossing it to the ground. I start to tell him he shouldn’t litter, but I notice the entire sidewalk is covered with cards, each of them featuring a different man or woman.
“Do people actually use those services?”
“Yes,” he grumbles, tugging my hand so I’ll follow him into a small shop where slushy machines line the wall behind the counter and plastic cups in all different shapes and sizes are stacked on shelves.
After ordering my drink in the same cup I saw the girl with, we walk until we stumble upon an outdoor area where a live DJ is playing, and people are dancing. Finding a seat on the outer edge of the makeshift dance floor, Roman pulls me down to sit on his lap, locking his hand around my hip as I sway to the music and sip my drink.
When one of my favorite songs from Hozier comes on, I sing along until the song gets to the chorus. The words about not even death being able to keep the artist from the person he loves feel a little different while sitting on Roman’s lap after everything we’ve experienced together. I turn to look at him over my shoulder when his fingers tighten around my hips, and something beyond words passes between us as he looks into my eyes. Dragging me back against his chest, he wraps his arms around me and presses his lips to the side of my head.
When the song ends, another one that is more upbeat starts to play, and I look around at the people dancing. My mom would have loved this and would’ve been in the crowd dancing, even if she looked out of place surrounded by people half her age.
She never let a moment of living life pass her up. I can’t even count the number of times she would just start dancing in the grocery store or in the kitchen if a song she liked came on. Getting to my feet, I turn and pull Roman up with me. I honestly expect him to scoff when I start to dance, but as the music blasts through the speakers, he pulls me close and moves to the beat with his body plastered against mine. Buzzed from the alcohol and high on the moment, I laugh and dance with him until my skin feels flushed and my feet start to hurt.
When the music changes to something a little slower, I look up at him with a smile on my face, feeling my rib cage tighten around my heart and lungs when I see him smiling back at me.
Even though hundreds of strangers surround us, it feels like it’s just us, and when he wraps his arms around me and moves his lips to my ear, whispering, “Happy”, my nose stings. It’s not a question; it’s a statement. He’s happy, and somehow, I’m able to give that to him. Wrapping my arms around him, I rest my head against his chest and sway with him as the music plays, people dance, and the stars over Vegas glitter in the dark sky above us.
