Convict: A Bad Boy Romance (58 page)

“Who’re you meeting that you need a drink beforehand?” Jack asked.

“Just friends,” she said quickly. She didn’t seem thrilled to be talking to them, but she didn’t move away, either.

“Must be some friends if you need a drink beforehand,” offered Houston. “They always inviting you to Tupperware parties or something?”

“My mom used to have a friend who wanted to sell her makeup every time they got lunch,” Jack offered.

The girl just shook her head, sipping her drink.

“Bad breath?” asked Houston. “Pick their toenails at the table?”

“Steal the silverware at every restaurant, and you’re always afraid they’ll get caught?” asked Jack.

The girl cracked a smile, and Houston’s pulse quickened.

“This friend wants to be on Broadway and insists on doing vocal exercises at the table,” Houston guessed.

She finally laughed, and Houston felt warmth pool in his middle, an inexplicable joy coming over him.

“No,” she said, her shoulders relaxing a little as she laughed. “Nothing that bad. I got talked into coming to Vegas for a divorce party, and it’s all a little... weird.”

Jack whistled low and leaned against a bar stool, his long legs out in front of him.

“I guess they’ve got parties for everything these days,” he said.

“Some divorces are worth celebrating,” the girl said, looking into her glass. Then she took a long drink, the tequila half-gone.

“Is it like a bachelorette party, then?” asked Houston.

He and Jack were familiar with bachelorette parties. Never the bachelorette herself, but there was invariably a hot, single bridesmaid along for the weekend.

“Right, but worse,” the girl said. “Tonight we’re going to an overpriced restaurant and then a nightclub. We went to see a male strip show last night, and I think it was one of the strangest things I’ve ever done.”

She sipped the tequila again, the clear liquid almost gone. Houston felt the germ of panic start in his gut.

“Too much baby oil?” Jack asked.

She nodded, half-rolling her light brown eyes.

“Here’s the thing,” she said, narrowing her eyes and looking from one to the other. “All the guys
doing
the strip show come off as pretty gay, you know? Which is fine, but as a straight lady, I don’t really get anything out of that.”

She’d started to turn pink, a shade that Houston found deeply appealing.

“And they’re just so... flex-y, and muscle-y, and hairless, and I just got the feeling that they’d be way more into each other than into
me
.”

“What if you got to watch?” Jack asked.

Houston straightened in alarm, his heart clenching.

Damn it, don’t ask her that
, Houston thought, even though it was a pretty standard for them to ask.
Come on, Jack. She’s a lady.

The girl raised her eyebrows, looked into her glass, finished her drink, and looked back at the two of them.

“That would be a pretty different show,” she finally said, the pink on her cheeks deepening. “I bet you could make good money from it, though.”

“I’ll start talking to investors,” Houston said drily.

The girl stepped forward and set her empty glass on the bar.

“You sure we can’t buy you one more?” Jack asked.

She shook her head, her hair cascading all over her shoulders.

“I gotta get going,” she said. “I bet my friends are already annoyed that I’m running late. I didn’t exactly tell them I needed a drink
before
dinner.”

“Can we at least get your number?” Jack said.

She thought about it.

“You’re not going to call,” she finally said. There was no malice, and she didn’t sound upset. She just sounded like she was stating a fact. “We’re both going to go home tomorrow, and I have a feeling you’re not looking for a pen pal.”

I’d take it, though
, thought Houston.

“Okay,” Houston said. “How about your name and the club where you’re going? At least give us a fighting chance of seeing you again.”

“I’m Kirsten,” she said. “And the club is called Heist,” she said, rolling her eyes again. “I didn’t pick it, or the name.”

“Is it bank-themed?” Jack asked, his green eyes lighting up.

“Something like that,” Kirsten muttered, shaking her head. “I wanted to go to karaoke night at a bar, but I got outvoted.”

“Kirsten, at Heist,” said Houston, holding up the remnants of his whiskey. “Houston and Jack. If you’re not there, we’ll have to come find you.”

She laughed, turning that light shade of pink again.

“I don’t think I can get out of it,” she said, then took a step away. “See you later, maybe?”

“Definitely,” said Houston.

She wiggled her fingers at them in a slightly confused wave, then turned and walked away. When she finally turned a corner, Houston had to fight the urge to run after her, get on his knees, and beg her to just give him
something
.

He didn’t think that would work with her, though. Kirsten seemed to do things on her own terms, and he was
damned
if that wasn’t hot.

Jack turned and looked at Houston, and for a long moment, they just held their gaze together, across one empty bar stool.

Then Jack finally said something.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

T
hey’re never going
to show up,
Kirsten thought. She didn’t dare glance back at the bar where they’d been standing as she walked away, for fear that they’d already be chatting up someone else who was younger, hotter, and a little more receptive to their advances.

Still, it was flattering. Kirsten was almost positive they were a shifter couple, though she was less sure about what
kind
of shifter. After all, what other men hit on women in pairs?

At last, the elevator doors slid open. An older couple and a family with a baby carriage got out, and she stepped in, glancing at herself in the mirror-lined interior.

You totally look good
, she thought. Her best friend, Lily, had teased her that looking like a spangled Jackie O wasn’t the way to get down in Vegas, but Kirsten disagreed. The dress hugged her in all the right places, had enough room for her hips and boobs,
and
she could actually breathe in it.

Besides,
she thought.
Isn’t the best way to get someone interested to leave something to the imagination?

It wasn’t like she even
wanted
to hook up in Vegas. All she wanted was a good time with her girlfriends, dancing and getting drunk. True, the trip had gotten way out of hand from its original intention, but she was still having a pretty good time.

The divorce they were celebrating was hers, a fact that she’d failed to mention to Houston and Jack. Even though they were incredibly good looking and there was
something
about them that she very much wanted to see again, Kirsten wasn’t about to spill her entire personal life to two strangers she’d just met.

She’d almost not made it on the trip. She had finally signed the papers literally on her way out of Reno, heading south to Las Vegas. The trip had very nearly been an
almost
divorce trip, but it was done. It was over.

Bruce was out of her life, and
that
was cause for celebration.

The elevator doors opened again, and Kirsten walked out. To her left, floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the strip, and she spent a moment admiring the view: the neon slowly turning up, the sun going down and painting the desert sky pink and purple.

Fine,
she thought, half-smiling at the sight.
I’m having a good time.

The trip had spun completely out of control, though. When she’d first mentioned taking a trip after her divorce was final, she’d had something completely different in mind. Maybe she, Lily, and the girls could rent a house near some hot springs and just spend a weekend
relaxing
, sipping girly drinks by a pool. The way that Kirsten had first envisioned a girl’s weekend, it hadn’t been a divorce
celebration
, just an escape from the monstrous, life-consuming stress of the whole thing.

Her ex had taken the house where she’d lived, most of her money, years of her life, and worst of all, the
dog
. Even now, any time that Kirsten thought of the golden retriever, she teared up a little, but Bruce’s name had been the one on the adoption paperwork, not hers, and Bruce was determined to make Kirsten’s life hell.

Still, celebrating her divorce wasn’t really Kirsten’s style. She was glad it was over, but she still felt like she’d failed at her marriage. For a whole year after she’d found what she thought of as
The Texts
, from Bruce’s younger coworker, she’d tried to make the marriage work. She felt like an idiot about it now, but she was pretty sure she’d done the right thing.

But feeling relieved that the long, drawn-out, incredibly stressful two-year process was finally over? She thought
that
was totally valid.

“Where
were
you?” Lily squealed as soon as she opened the door. Two other girls — Mary and Peyton — were in various states of sparkly undress around the room, and Lily was still curling her hair.

“Sorry, I just wanted to go check out the casino,” Kirsten said.

In the room, Peyton had on a tight gold dress, along with fishnets and garters.

“Too much?” she asked.

Kirsten shrugged.

“It’s
Vegas
,” said Mary, her wedding ring sparkling on her finger. “Do whatever you want!”

Kirsten half-smiled. Mary had been trying to live vicariously through her and Peyton — the single ones — all weekend.

“Hey, hand me my margarita,” Lily said, still standing in the bathroom, pointing at the dresser. An event planner by profession, she’d brought not only a margarita maker on the trip, but a full set of margarita glasses, along with a small array of cocktail salts to rim the glasses with, as well as a kitschy, retro tray for serving cocktails. Kirsten had no idea how they weren’t broken, but then again, miracles like that were what made her love Lily.

After all, she’d just gotten divorced, and her best friend had taken her to Vegas and brought along an entire bar setup. Of course she loved Lily, even if the other women sometimes got a little
too
excited.

“And grab one yourself, Miss Durant!” Lily shouted.

* * *

A
s the five
of them walked through casino floors, Kirsten could practically hear heads swiveling and feel the eyes roaming over the five of them. She held her head a little higher and let her hips sway a little more, not minding the attention.

Let people look
, she thought.
People still find you attractive, remember? Even if your actual husband didn’t, and wanted racy pictures from a bored twenty-three-year-old more than he wanted you?

The shifter pair had obviously found her attractive, for example. Now that she’d had a double tequila
and
a margarita, she was starting to regret not getting their numbers or giving them hers. Yeah, she was leaving tomorrow, but she was single
now
.

You can late-night booty call a guy if you want
, Kirsten thought, smiling to herself just a little.
You can late-night booty call TWO guys, and no one can say a thing about it.

Technically, Kirsten had never made a booty call in her life. She’d never even had sex with someone on the first date... or the second. The third, only once, and she’d ended up marrying that guy. She knew it was old fashioned, but she liked to be in a relationship before getting it on with someone — random hookups had never really appealed to her.

Well. They
hadn’t
.

She still hadn’t mentioned the incident to her friends, and she wasn’t sure how. They’d either squeal and shout “GET SOME, GIRL!” at her, or make faces and gasp that two
shifters
had hit on her, and didn’t she know that they were sex maniacs?

Frankly, the first was more likely, given the weekend they were having, but Kirsten was pretty sure she wouldn’t see them again, so what was the point?

An older guy in a suit blatantly checked her out and then winked.

Kirsten felt scuzzy, made a face, and looked away.

Maybe I’m not ready
, she thought.

Jack and Houston were fine, though
. Her stomach flipped over inside her body, but before she could think more, they were at the restaurant, a too-trendy Italian place. As they walked through, Kirsten couldn’t help but scan the crowd, wondering if she’d see the two of them.

She didn’t.

The girls ordered champagne at the table and then red wine with dinner, and by some small miracle, Kirsten didn’t get anything on her dress as she ate. Though the pasta was only okay, the garlic knots that they had on the table were
amazing
. She must have eaten five.

Maybe don’t eat your weight in garlic, tonight of all nights?
She thought to herself, then dismissed it.

It doesn’t matter,
she reminded herself.

“Okay,” said Lily, holding up her champagne glass. “Here’s to Kirsten, finally being free of that coworker-fucking douchebag!”

Everyone cheered, including Kirsten.

“Did he ever admit to it?” Mary asked.

Kirsten snorted.

“Of course not,” she said. “And he acted like I was an idiot for thinking that pictures of a naked woman on a bed could
possibly
indicate that he was cheating on me.”

“Well, fuck him,” said Peyton. “Except not.
Nobody
fuck him.”

They all laughed, drinking their wine.

“I’ve got another one,” said Peyton, holding up her champagne glass. “Here’s to Kirsten meeting some hot dudes tonight and getting some phone numbers!”

They all cheered again, though Kirsten smiled and rolled her eyes.

Watch me meet someone who lives in Boston
, she thought.
That would be just my luck
.

They all drank again, and by now Kirsten was definitely a couple of sheets to the wind, flying high.

“Hey,” said Mary, sitting next to her. “When’s that job interview with that advertising place in Cascadia?”

“Thursday,” said Kirsten, dabbing carefully at her lips. It had taken her ages to get her lipstick right. “So I’ve got time to detox before I have to go out there and be a professional.”

Mary nodded.

“Well,” the other woman said. “I really want you to get it, because I think you need it, but I also really don’t want you to leave.”

“I know,” Kirsten said. “But Granite Valley’s not that far. What, two hours?”

Mary just shook her head.

“I fucking hate Bruce,” she said.

Peyton took up the cheer.

“We fucking hate Bruce!” she called to the table.

This time, the next table over, filled with younger men who looked like they might be at a bachelor party, joined in, hoisting their glasses.

“We don’t know him, but we hate him!” one of them called over.

Kirsten nearly spit her champagne out from laughing so hard.

* * *

A
n hour later
, they’d taken a cab to yet another casino, where they walked past the massive gaming room to a door with a line out side of it.

The door looked like a bank vault, and it was guarded by a man who looked like he might be wearing a bellhop’s uniform. There was no sign over the door, even though there was a line outside.

Is this one of those places that pretends to be a secret to drum up more business, because that way everyone who goes feels like they’re in on something cool?
Kirsten wondered.

She looked at the line, which was easily a hundred people long, then took a deep breath and resigned herself to it.

You are going to have fun
, she thought.
You will dance with your girlfriends and you will have a nice time
.

Three of them started heading for the back of the line, only for Lily to turn around and admonish them.

“What are you guys doing?” she asked, almost sounding wounded. “You think I’d plan you a Vegas trip just so you could
wait in a line?
”

They stood stock-still for a moment. Then Kirsten started giggling, then Peyton, then Mary.

“Sorry, Lils,” Kirsten said. “You looked so mad for a second.”

By now Lily was giggling right along with them.

“Come on, you jerks,” she said, playfully. “Let’s do this thing.”

After chatting with the bouncer for a few moments — an interaction which, for Lily, involved shaking his hand and taking his business card — he spun the dial on the vault-like door and opened it, letting the girls into an entryway caged in by thin metal bars. Just out of reach were stacks and stacks of money, and Kirsten was too drunk to know if it was real or fake.

“They really went nuts with this theme,” she said.

“They’re thinking about opening one in Reno,” Lily said, walking to the far end of the hall and tapping on a panel. “It would be more Wild West themed, though.”

“Of course,” said Peyton, half rolling her eyes.

Then the whole wall swung open. Another bouncer stamped their wrists, and then they walked into the club.

It was dark, strobes and spotlights everywhere, and Kirsten had to blink and let her eyes adjust for a moment before she could see a thing. Over to the left was the bar area, mobbed by people, surrounded by massive, sumptuous leather booths full of rich-looking people with bottles on the table, their tables roped off. Up a roped-off staircase, there were more booths, and then on the right, a few steps down to a dance floor full of writhing people, a DJ on a platform above spinning records and hanging out with a few girls who seemed to be wearing only jeans and bikini tops.