The Next Thing on My List (26 page)

He moved my towels around and then dug his fingers into the flesh of my thighs. It was all I could do to suppress a moan. I wondered how many women threw money at him and asked for the ‘ full service’  massage.

I wondered if he said yes.

And how much money would it take?

Not that I was interested, mind you.

Simply curious.

Runner told me to turn over onto my back, and then he covered my eyes with a cool cloth. My mind wandered, first to thoughts of work& and the list& and then to thoughts of Troy Jones swimming, the muscles on his back rippling as he dug through the water. The way he’ d smoothed the water from his hair when he’ d stepped out, completely wet, his swim trunks clinging to him.

I must have sighed at the memory, because Runner murmured, ‘ This feels good?’  His hands gripped my hips, pushing firmly up and down, which brought me back to the moment.

‘ Mmm-hmm.’

‘ Good.’

He continued, making a noise from deep in his chest from all that pushing and thrusting and grabbing. I was trying to do that thing men do to stave off arousal, think of something neutral like baseball-only I was imagining buying that new set of plates I wanted at Pottery Barn-when I sensed Runner shift so that he stood behind my head. ‘ We’ re almost finished,’  he said.

I felt his hand rest to put pressure on my right temple. Then his other hand pushed on my left temple. Then his other hand pushed firmly into the crown of my head.

His other hand?

I distinctly recalled him having only two hands when we started, so what was that pressing into my head?

Oh no-it was his penis. He was jamming his erection into me. I felt it rubbing against my hair, making firm, hard circles. I must have been sending out signals. He probably thought I was enjoying it!

I had no idea what to do. It was one thing if I’ d asked-Hey, would you mind sliding your throbbing manhood against me?-but I’ d done no such thing! Boy, if he thought he was getting the full 15 percent tip after this&

I needed to say something. Make it clear that he was out of line. Because although I was still covered by the towel, I felt naked. Exposed. How could he?

He made a noise& mmmm& yet I lay there with the cloth over my eyes, doing nothing. At the very least, I needed to slap him. Or report him!

Mustering my courage, I pulled off the cloth and opened my eyes. When I did, I realized that he wasn’ t digging his penis into me. He wasn’ t even standing behind me. He was to my side. One of his huge hands stretched across my face so he touched both temples at once.

Which left his other hand free to touch the top of my head.

‘ How was it?’  he asked warmly.

‘ Great,’  I said, trying not to blush.

Was it my fault the man had freakishly large hands? Anyone could have made the same mistake.

As I threw on my robe to join the other women before going upstairs to get ready for dinner, it occurred to me that that pent-up sexual energy had to go somewhere. And I knew exactly where.

It almost seemed unfair not to call Troy Jones and give the poor boy a running start.

Chapter 21

T his is your motorcycle?’

‘ Something wrong?’  Troy asked, handing me a helmet.

‘ Where do I sit?’

‘ Ah, I see you’ ve been spoiled.’  Then he patted the back half of what didn’ t seem to be a particularly large seat. ‘ Right here. Plenty of room.’

When Troy had offered to give me a ride on his motorcycle, I’ d told him I had riding experience. It was only a few miles to the hotel where Wayne Newton was performing. Although we could have taken a cab with Kitty and Gran, they wanted to go early for the buffet, which I chose to skip in favor of a nap and a vending machine dinner. Besides, Troy had said he was itching for a ride. As I had an itch of my own to scratch, it seemed reasonable to take him up on his offer.

That was, until now. This bike was nothing like Phyllis’ s Harley. Where was my motor home on two wheels? Where was my bucket seat? There wasn’ t even a sissy bar. One bump in the road and I’ d go flying off the back.

Troy helped me buckle my helmet, and then he climbed on the bike. I straddled behind him, leaving a reasonable distance between us. When I tried to feel the seat behind me, there wasn’ t one. My butt was hanging off the end.

Why did I have to wear these stupid shiny pants? Sure, they were cute, sort of a bronze color& and I’ d paired them with a black stretchy tank top and high heels. I was very Las Vegas-a little trashy, a little shimmery.

But I should have worn clothes with traction. Rubber. Surely I had something rubber in my closet I could have brought. I’ d bet anything that Brie did.

Troy started the engine, which sent up a panic flare to my brain. This was crazy-I was taking a cab.

I was about to jump off-tell Troy that his bike wasn’ t big enough for the both of us-when he reached back. With one arm, he gave me a firm tug so I was snug against him. Then he pulled on my arms to place them around his waist.

‘ Don’ t want to lose anybody,’  he said.

Oh.

Well, this was cozy.

We pulled out of the parking garage and onto a side road, and I thought about Phyllis’ s comment about me being a good ride. Troy leaned forward, and I leaned with him. It felt perfectly natural. There was anticipation. There was trust. There were my boobs and crotch smashed up against him and his firm muscles beneath my grasp. I couldn’ t help myself-I let my hands wander to his chest. Nothing too randy. Just enough so it could be mistaken for me getting myself adjusted.

Traffic on Las Vegas Boulevard was stop and go, but we wove through the sea of cars at traffic lights-one of the advantages of being on a motorcycle. A good thing since we’ d let ourselves get a late start.

The sun was low in the sky, and the air seemed to glow as much as the lights of the casinos we passed. My hormones buzzed. It was having Troy so close& and being kind of scared on the bike& and breathing in his scent of soap and heat& and the dense evening air& and the rumble of the bike beneath me&

Just then, a light stopped us. Troy held the weight of the bike with one leg, shifted around to face me, and started to speak: ‘ So how is the-’

But conversation wasn’ t what I had in mind. I’ d had enough of being coy. It was time to make my move.

I flipped up the bug guard on my helmet and then lifted his. Then, my hand on the back of his neck, I pulled him close in a lip-lock-or at least I tried to. Before my mouth got anywhere near his, our helmets collided.

I scowled, trying to see if I tipped my head a bit&

‘ It can’ t be done,’  he said, and he reached to unbuckle his helmet. ‘ But I have to say, I like the way you think.’

Traffic started moving around us. The SUV behind us gave a quick tap on its horn.

‘ Light’ s green,’  I said, my disappointment obvious.

‘ Mmm-hmm.’  His gaze never left me as he continued to lift off his helmet.

‘ People are honking.’

‘ Let ‘ em.’

He reached toward me, obviously intent on unbuckling my helmet.

‘ No!’  I protested, laughing. ‘ Are you crazy? The light’ s green! We’ re in the middle of the street-blocking traffic!’

Troy gave a good-natured sigh, but still he didn’ t turn around. His hand slid over my back, resting on the skin between my shirt and pants. Unable to reach my face through my helmet, he settled for gently kissing my bare shoulder. Let the kiss slide up to my neck. I felt his breath hot against me as he murmured, ‘ June& you have no idea& ‘

Oh, I had an idea all right.

If my habit was to burrow like a groundhog, at this point I’ d popped up from the hole I’ d dug. In fact, I was practically running around wild, tearing up the fields and humping people’ s legs.

But there was also the SUV inching closer behind me. And the fact that the concert was going to start soon.

‘ Seriously, we need to go.’

‘ Fine. But I feel I should warn you, I’ m a man who finishes what he starts. So that means that those gorgeous lips’ -he traced my mouth lightly with a fingertip-’ are mine.’

IT WAS FIFTEEN MINUTES to showtime when we pulled into a parking area in front of the hotel reserved for motorcycles. Troy locked the helmets to the bike, and we hurried into the casino. Although Kitty and Gran would have already picked up their tickets at the box office, I didn’ t want them to miss any of the show waiting for us.

‘ I can’ t believe I’ m rushing to see Wayne Newton,’  Troy groaned.

Kitty waved to us from near the entrance to the showroom. ‘ There you kids are! We were starting to worry. Ma’ s already inside.’  She handed us each a ticket and bustled us through a curtained doorway. As we walked, she chattered on about the buffet and the people they’ d met in line and the ‘ Waynabelia’ -that was, the Wayne Newton memorabilia-that they’ d bought at the souvenir stand.

Our table was dead center and jutted up against a divider. It wasn’ t close to the stage, but I was pleased to see that it had an unimpeded view. Kitty and Gran sat on one side of the table, and Troy and I slid in across from them. The table was covered in drinks. ‘ Thirsty, Gran?’  Troy joked.

‘ Ha, ha. We took the liberty of ordering for you,’  she said. ‘ You get two free drinks with your ticket. I got the feeling if we didn’ t order them now, we may never see a waitress again. So drink up.’

Kitty lifted a fruity drink-sans parasol, I couldn’ t help but notice-and said, ‘ A toast.’  We each grabbed a drink. I had two huge tumblers of white wine in front of me, one of which I raised as she said, ‘ To making dreams come true.’

‘ Here, here,’  Gran added, and we clinked.

Gran and Kitty thumbed through the Las Vegas souvenir books they’ d bought while I surveyed the room. Troy and I appeared to be the youngest people there. Nothing but gray and balding heads dotted the showroom-a Berber carpet of aged fans. A man in the front shook his cane along to the piped-in music.

Leaning back toward Troy, I said, ‘ I hear Wayne does a great cover of ‘ Get Jiggy with It.’ ‘

‘ Hey, speaking of that song,’  he said casually, ‘ the station’ s throwing a big concert. August seventh. Will Smith’ s going to perform. Want to come?’

‘ I’ d love it.’

‘ It’ s a date, then.’

A date!

Although August 7 was ringing a bell.

I didn’ t have time to ponder it. An announcer onstage said a hello and urged us to give a big welcome to Mr. Las Vegas himself. A cry went up in the room when the lights lit up on the stage. The crowd wriggled to attention.

It was thrilling to see Wayne Newton take command of the stage. He looked exactly as I’ d remembered him from the Hollywood Wax Museum, right down to the black hair and painted-on brows. I found myself riveted by his vocal struggling to be heard over his twelve-piece backup band. They sat in neat rows behind him-the men innocuous, the ladies overly made-up and big-breasted yet strangely wholesome. As Wayne sang and told stories about the old days of Vegas, Troy whispered things to me such as ‘ Can you believe this guy?’  ‘ This is the hokiest thing I’ ve ever been to,’  and ‘ Oh, you smell so good& .’

After singing many of his big ‘ hits,’  Wayne started in on a medley of patriotic songs. Gran leaned forward excitedly. ‘ This is going to be great. A lady we met in line told us that his version of ‘ America the Beautiful’  is a real slam-banger.’

A waitress worked her way through the tables, handing out mini-flags so we could join in the fun. Kitty and Gran each took one, waving them along to the music. I couldn’ t help but smile, particularly as I watched Kitty. Even though this had to be painful for her, she was determined to have fun in honor of her daughter.

And with that thought, another one hit me like an anvil crashing onto my head. The force it of knocked me back in my seat. Because at that moment I remembered what my plans were for August 7.

It was Deedee’ s due date. The day I was going to become a mother.

And I’ d completely forgotten.

‘ I& Oh my gosh, I& ‘

Troy asked, ‘ You okay?’

I grabbed the tumbler of wine, and chugged it back. How could I have forgotten?

The crowd was clapping now, and-confused and not wanting to draw attention to myself while I sorted my thoughts-I clapped along. I said quietly to Troy, ‘ August seventh& I just remembered. I can’ t make it. It’ s Deedee’ s due date.’

‘ Little Deedee?’

‘ Yeah.’

‘ She’ s pregnant? Jesus. I didn’ t even realize.’  After a moment he said, ‘ So you need to be there for her?’

‘ I’ m her labor coach.’  I stopped my clapping long enough to start in on the second glass of wine-I still wasn’ t feeling the first one. Then, resuming my clapping, I said, ‘ And then& after& I’ m going to adopt the baby.’

‘ You’ re going to& huh?’

‘ Adopt the baby. Deedee’ s too young to be a mom, and I’ ve always wanted a baby, so& ‘  My voice trailed off once I caught Troy’ s face. He looked as if I’ d told him a joke but he was having a problem understanding the punch line. ‘ Anyway,’  I said, ‘ that’ s the plan.’

He breathed out a laugh, although there wasn’ t much humor to it. ‘ Shit& a kid. You’ re going to have a kid in a matter of weeks. A newborn. That’ s& ‘  He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘ Wow.’

All of a sudden, I noticed he was far away from me, practically sitting at the next table.

‘ It’ s a girl,’  I said, not knowing what else to say.

He nodded, his brows furrowed. ‘ You know what’ s funny? All those times we talked on the phone setting things up. And hanging out all last night and today. You’ d think in all that time& you might have mentioned it.’

‘ I’ m mentioning it now.’

‘ That’ s nice of you.’  There was a bite to his voice I’ d never heard before.

‘ What the-Why are you angry?’

‘ Hey, I’ m not angry. It’ s great. A baby.’

The rhythmic clapping of the crowd turned into applause as Wayne wrapped up his medley and then told the crowd he was going to sing a song that was a favorite of his, by a man who loved Las Vegas as much as he did. Then he launched into Elvis’ s ‘ Can’ t Help Falling in Love.’

‘ I can’ t believe you have the nerve to be pissed off,’  I hissed. ‘ So I’ m adopting a baby. As I recall, the standard response is congratulations.’