“We were just talking about . . . stuff,” I say at last. Brilliant.
Nate smiles. “Stuff’s very interesting.” He leans a little closer to whisper in my ear. My pulse elevates, but it’s pure business talk. “So. You didn’t figure out anything else? In terms of what felonies we committed last night, that is,” he says.
I try to grin, but it’s more of a tight wince. Why the hell am I so nervous around him?
“I’m pretty sure that if our crimes were anything mafia-related, we’d have been taken down by now and stuffed into the trunk of a car. And the yakuza don’t tend to frequent Vegas in the off season,” I say.
Nate shrugs. “I always admire a woman who’s up to date on the movements of Japanese organized crime.”
“Great. It’s one of my favorite subjects,” I say, getting a Mai Tai of my own. Why the hell not? Vegas, baby. “You never found my purse, did you?” I ask.
Nate sighs. “I searched every inch of that strip club. The guys let me in early. And by the way, you don’t want to crawl around on those floors,” he says, shuddering.
“You risked stripper gunk and dried jizz to find my purse?” I clasp my hands between my breasts. “You, sir, are my valiant hero.”
“Why did you have to bring up jizz when we’re about to eat?” he grumbles. But this time, he doesn’t sound so annoyed. In fact, he smiles.
“I’m all about shaving off calories when I can,” I say primly, dunking my chicken satay in the peanut dipping sauce. “Watching the Donald Trump campaign, for example. Great way for a three-day fast.”
“Oh God. I was so hungry,” he says, sounding pained and wincing over his food. “And now I don’t think I’ll eat again.”
“I’ll shut up,” I say.
“No, it’s all right. It’s nice hearing you talk,” he says, taking a mouthful of green curry. “You’re . . . funny.”
A compliment from Nate Wexler? I nearly faint.
“Sweeter words were never spoken,” I say lightly. But I can’t help studying the way his throat works as he swallows. He smells good, too, like chlorine and sun, and some rich, musky cologne. It kind of makes me hungry.
Chicken satay, work your dark magic to prevent my horniness from overpowering me.
We get through lunch, and I don’t want to murder Nate, and he doesn’t complain about what a pain in the ass I am. In fact, we share some laughs and stories from his college days. Far as I’m concerned, we’re a massive success. We pay the check, and then all head out to grab a cab.
Damn, I didn’t realize Mike and Stacy were getting married today. They’ve got a busy few hours ahead of them. Shanna and Tyler are still talking—he seems to be into her, though it could be because she’s a cute girl with a pulse—and Mike and Stacy have their arms around each other. Young love is a beautiful thing to witness.
“They look happy,” Nate says. Even he sounds gruffly pleased for them. “At least someone is.” His gaze darkens as he says it. He squares his jaw just a bit.
Pure rejected alpha pain, right here on display.
Should I bring up the I know your tragic back story angle? No, maybe not. Right now, we’ve just entered the realm of civility.
Stacy reaches into her enormous tote bag for something. She stops talking to Mike, fishes around, and then comes up with—
“Holy shit,” Stacy cries, pulling out my purse. It is definitely mine; hard to find a vinyl number in that particular shade of hot pink. Her eyes go wide. “I forgot I had this. I found it in the boys’ hotel suite this morning, and you weren’t there, and—shit. I was going to find you after breakfast, but everything started happening and . . . . I’m so sorry. You must’ve been frantic,” she says, turning back to me.
I practically tear it out of her hands. I check my important things, and they’re all there. Credit cards, driver’s license, everything.
“I didn’t know how I was going to get on the plane without my ID.” I groan, squeezing the damn purse to my chest. “I love you, Stacy. Long time. Very long time.”
“Careful now, it’s my wedding day.” Stacy laughs. I turn back to Nate, who’s eyeing my purse with curiosity.
“You think there’s anything in there? Related to what we did last night?” he asks.
Oh shit. Maybe.
“You coming?” Stacy calls, grinning widely at us as they all cram into a cab. I smile and shrug.
“We’ll, ah, catch up with you all back at the hotel.”
“Have fun,” Shanna calls, wiggling her eyebrows.
Yep. We’ll have a ton of fun tracking down whatever insane shit we did last night. A regular Nick and Nora Charles, that’s us. Except without the insane amount of drinking and the murder mystery. Well. Without one of those things. Hopefully.
While the taxi drives away, we dig through my purse. At first we find only the normal stuff, wallet, lip gloss. At least I don’t have to carry my iPhone in my pocket any longer. I dump it in with the other items.