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Outside, he says something to the driver. A moment later, the limo moves. Back to the Strip. To the strip club on the Strip.
Zack's idea of clever.
"I guess I can borrow his dare. You can knock out both in one shot." Daphne settles into her seat across from me. She smooths her denim shorts and uncrosses and recrosses her legs. "This is the one idea of Las Vegas fun we haven't touched."
"We haven't gone on a roller coaster," I say.
"That's not Las Vegas specific." She brushes a dark strand behind her ear. "But I won't hold you to it." She smiles in a teasing way,
But I still hearyou're no funechoing through the space.
Every girlfriend I've ever had said the same thing. I'm a great guy. On paper, a perfect partner. In reality, I'm just not ready to give fifty percent of my heart, time, thoughts, effort, life.
But damn, you're great in bed.
Sometimes, they try to stay because of that. Sometimes, they do what Maddie did, and they try to maintain only that part of our relationship.
We could just have fun.
But that doesn't work either. I'm missing something.
With Daphne—
I don't want to miss anything. I want to experience everything.
I shouldn't, I know. I should go home. Back to LA. Far, far away from the furry handcuffs in the hotel room and the desire in her eyes and the smell of her shampoo.
But I don't.
I can't.
I need to be near her. I need it in a way I haven't needed anything in a long, long time.
At least we're in public here.
Sort of.
"Let's do it," I say. And fast. The limo is too private. My view is too good.
Those long legs spread over the leather—
I want wrapped around me.
"You sure?" she asks.
I nodyes.
She watches me carefully, deciding if she believes my change to party-guy. I'm not sure if she does or she doesn't, but she nods in agreement, and she sits up straight. "Can we stop at the hotel though?" she asks. "I want to change first."
Fuck me. No. I can work with this. "I'll wait in the car."
She frowns, but it's a quick thing. Short-lived. "Sure. No problem." She gives instructions to the driver.
He turns around and heads to the hotel. When we arrive, she nearly runs out the door.
I try not to watch her hips sway as she moves, but I fail.
And when she returns, fifteen minutes later, in a tight, short, low-cut, low-back white dress, I try not to imagine the silky fabric on the floor.
