Two hours later, I was standing in front of the mirror in my en-suite bathroom. Everett had picked out a dress for me. It was a column of gold, starting above my breasts and ending halfway to my knee. It was modest in cut, but the color screamed flash. I wore my hair over my left shoulder, feeling the inexplicable need to conceal my scar as much as possible. I went heavy with makeup on eyes and slipped into the gold heels Everett had picked out for me as well.
“It’ll be harder for you to run away in these,” he’d said as he handed me the box. I’d shoved him away and then spent the next several minutes running my fingers over the heels, being reminded of a time when I’d have killed for heels like these.
I emerged from the bathroom and found Everett sitting in one of the sitting chairs, wearing a crisp white button up shirt, tucked into gray slacks. He had one leg bent over the other and was writing in his notebook as I approached. His eyes lifted up and lit up.
“Hi,” he said, keeping his eyes on me as he set his journal down and stood up. “You look…nice.”
I laughed at his use of the word. “Okay, you’ve given me a compliment. You can revert to being the a*shole you truly are for the rest of the night.”
“Phew, thanks,” he said, blowing out a breath of exaggerated relief. “Ready?” He put a hand out, taking mine and leading me out of the hotel room. On the elevator ride, he squeezed my hand, sending shivers up my spine. “Hungry?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. Why did he affect me so much? Only our hands were touching and yet it was as intimate as when he’d been inside of me, just hours before. The thought burned bright, low in my belly.
“How are you at poker?” he asked.
“Shit at it.”
“Good. Let’s lose some of your money.”
Hours later and with a wallet short $200, Everett took me to dinner. “I’ll pay,” he offered. “Since I helped you fail spectacularly in there.”
My eyes were pointed. “How gracious of you.” I opened the menu and scanned the items, noticing each of the prices. I tried to keep my eyes from popping out of my head when I saw the prices listed under each entrée.
After the waiter took our orders, I sipped the water he’d poured. “What does your tattoo mean?” I asked. Everett had asked the waiter to remove the wine glasses. I’d wondered if it was a way to avoid temptation or if he simply thought they were in the way.
“You’re just as straight forward as I am, Parker,” he said, swallowing a gulp of water. “Which tattoo?”
“This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us,” I said. I couldn’t forget the words.
“What do you think it means?”
I shook my head. “It sounds slightly morbid,” I admitted.
“It could be interpreted that way,” he agreed, playing with the rim of his ice water. “That’s partially why I chose it. Because it was open to interpretation. Right now, I’m taking it in a very literal sense.” He drank some of his water before setting his glass down and clasping his hands on the table. “Why do you think I’m taking this trip?”
“Bucket list?” I asked.
He pursed his lips. “Sure, in some ways. But I’ve yet to find my one sweet moment. I couldn’t find it in California. Too much heat, sand. Too many people.”
“So you thought you’d find it somewhere along the way?”
He nodded. “Yes. I want a moment to live for.”
“But you’re dying.” He cocked his head to the side at my response.
“I thought that topic was off-limits,” he said.
“We haven’t signed the rules yet. But what do you mean, live for?”
“I want one sweet moment, one moment in my memory to hold on to when my soul leaves this earth.” It was the answer he’d wanted to say before, I could tell. But it was also an answer that made me feel a little sick to my stomach.
I looked down at the white tablecloth and smoothed it with my fingers. “I hope you find it.” The words barreled from my mouth and I couldn’t stop them. I recovered quickly. “I like your other tattoos.”
“I’ve got a lot of them,” he said.
“And scars. You have lots of scars too.”
“I do.” He drank his water and then set it down, his fingers making shapes in the condensation that had formed on the glass. “You do too.”
“I don’t have lots,” I disagreed.
“You do,” he insisted. “I’m not talking about the scars that separate your skin, Parker. I’m not blind; I can see those. I’m talking about the scars much deeper than that. The scars that exist within you. The ones you actually try to hide.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I didn’t think I did.” He drank water. “Turns out I do. Why are you so scarred, Parker?”
“I’ve told you-Morris Jen-”
“I’m not talking about the surface scars, and you know I’m not,” he interrupted. He was right. I’d tried to avoid this question. “Anyone can see those. I’m more interested in the scars unearth the skin. Tell me, Parker. Tell me your story.”
“I don’t have a story,” I protested.
“Tell me who you were 20 years ago.”
“Uh, a baby.” I said it like it was the most obvious answer in the world.
“Who did you love?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Do you remember loving anyone?”
I thought for a minute. “No.” It sounded more tragic than it actually was.
“You were a foster kid from the moment you were born,” he added. He’d done his research.
“Yes. Until I was eighteen.”
“And then you were attacked and became who you are now.”
“Are these questions?” I asked.
Everett shrugged and sipped his water. The suit he was wearing was a beautiful blue-gray, fitted well. He wore a white collared shirt and no tie, with the top of the shirt unbuttoned just a bit. I watched his hands hold his glass, watched the way his knuckles bent, the way his finger tapped on the glass. I could watch his hands forever. I swallowed more water, emptying my glass.
“Dance with me.”
My head lifted up suddenly. “What?” my voice was small, weak.
He stood up and reached a hand down to me. “Dance,” he said. “With me.”
I shook my head furiously. “No. I can’t dance.” The music that was playing was slow and barely heard over the din of conversation. There was no one on the dance floor.
“Parker.” His voice was patient, as if he knew I would bend to his will. “Did you forget the rules already?”
I shook my head. “There was nothing about dancing.”
“I asked you to try new things. That was a rule. I’m not drinking. I want you to try.”
I shook my head. “Dancing isn’t new. It’s just foreign.” It was another language, another body language my body was uncomfortable with.
“Everyone’s staring at us, Parker,” he whispered, leaning down to my ear. “You dance with me now or I drop to one knee and make you really uncomfortable.”
With that I stood up abruptly, not bothering to take his hand, and walked out to the dance floor. “You are such an a*shole,” I said between my teeth as he placed a hand on my hip and held onto my hand with his other. I placed a hand on his shoulder and looked up at him from beneath my lashes. I was uncomfortable. Not just by the fact that I was dancing, but that we were the only ones out here on the wood floor, the click of my heels calling attention to our presence. We swayed together, back and forth for several minutes before I started losing my cool.
“Everett,” I started, nerves penetrating my voice.
“Shhh,” he murmured.
“Everett,” I said again, looking into his eyes. “Everyone is watching me.”
The hand on my waist slid to my back, pulling me closer. Only inches separated us. “I’m watching you, Parker.”
I tried to look around, but he was all I saw.
“Just me and you, Parker. You see me, I see you. Who cares about anyone else?”
It was hard to care about anything other than his body against mine, his lips inches from mine. He pulled the hand holding mine closer to our bodies, making the dance more intimate. He brought his cheek to lay against mine, to lay next to the scar, and I breathed relief. His lips were at my ear.
“Your hair smells good.”
I couldn’t help it, I rubbed my face against his a little, relishing in the bite of his facial hair. “Soap.”
I felt his answering smile against my cheek. We swayed through one, two, three songs. I wasn’t sure. My eyes had closed somewhere halfway into the first song and I forgot about being insecure. I forgot about everything, but the way Everett’s legs moved against mine, the way his finger rubbed against my lower back. I was feeling the most delicious ache. Enjoying the way we existed on this tiny dance floor, but knowing I wanted to continue exploring our sexual attraction to one another.
I heard Everett whisper something against my ear, but didn’t quite catch the words. “Hmm?” I asked, lost in the feel of his arms around me.
“Food’s ready.”
“Oh.” I pulled back, breaking the spell I’d been under. Everett looked at me with an eyebrow raised but I ducked around him and walked back to the table. I slid into my chair and immediately started eating, not bothering to look up at Everett.
After a few minutes he asked, “Are you even chewing?”
I stopped mid-chew and looked up at him. I slowly chewed the rest of the bite and swallowed. “Yes. But I’m hungry.” I was defensive. Embarrassed.
“Nothing wrong with that, but you’re shoveling food in so fast that I think you’re trying to avoid conversation.”
It was true. The more food I shoved in my mouth, the less chance I had to engage in any conversation with Everett. He made me feel so many things, uncomfortable things. But at the same time, I was oddly drawn to feeling how he made me feel. It was confusing and scary and also exhilarating.
So I didn’t acknowledge what he said. Instead, I took another bite and slowly chewed, sipping my water and keeping my eyes trained to my plate.
“Red or blue?” he asked. I looked at him, confusion in my eyes. “If you had to choose a color, red or blue?”
“Choose a color for what?”
“Don’t make this complicated. Just say the first thing you think.”
“Red.”
Everett nodded, as if he expected that answer. “Cats or dogs.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Cats.”
Everett sighed and sat back in his chair. “Well now I know for sure I won’t fall in love with you.”
“Dogs are needy. Cats aren’t.”
“Dogs are good companions. Cats are self-centered,” he argued.
“I would have thought you’d have identified better with cats then,” I said before sipping my water.
He narrowed his eyes but seemed to enjoy the verbal game we were playing. “Okay, moving on. Cold or hot.”
“Hot.”
Everett shook his head. “That can’t be true. You’re ten below. Cold as ice.”
I eyed him with annoyance. It was on the tip of my tongue to call him my favorite word for him, but he beat me to it.
“Let me guess, you want to call me an a*shole, don’t you?” He cut into his steak and studied the slice before looking at me again. “I’m surprised you don’t just call me that all the time. Forget calling me Everett.”
“Maybe we should add it to the rules,” I replied thoughtfully, as if mulling it over.
“Technically, I did write it down, but you crossed it out.”
I set my jaw in a firm line. “Why do you like riling me up so much?”
Everett finished the last bite of steak and chewed it for a minute, his fingers playing on the tablecloth. When he swallowed, he lifted his eyes to mine again. “Because.”
If my jaw could have fallen from my face, it would have right then. “Really?” I asked, incredulous. “All that suspense for that answer?”
“Do you want to add full disclosure to the rules, Parker?”
That shut me up. I shook my head and finished my meal, just as Everett handed his credit card to the waiter passing by.
Everett pulled out his phone and tapped something on the screen. I watched him for several minutes, even after the waiter returned with the check. And then I stood up and walked out.
“Rude a*shole,” I muttered under my breath as I stood on the sidewalk. Throngs of people passed me, some of them bumping into me in their inattentiveness. I crossed my arms over my chest as I looked around for a cab.
A moment later, I felt his chest against my back. Involuntarily, I sank back into his chest. I couldn’t help it, I was relieved he’d come out after me. But a moment later, I remembered why I’d walked away. I turned around and stared daggers at him. “You,” I said, lifting a finger to push into his chest, “are so…rude. I don’t care if I’ve said it one hundred times. If anything, that should show you just how rude you are.”
“I’m not sorry.”
I gritted my teeth. “It’s disrespectful to ignore my company while you concentrate on your phone.”
“It’s disrespectful to stuff your face nearly to the point of choking just to avoid speaking with me,” he countered. “And yet,” he brushed a hand over my shoulder, down my arm. “You still did.”
I watched his arm progress down to my wrist. I became oblivious to the sights and smells around us. It was just Everett. He had a way of making the rest of the world fall off, as if he was the only thing I saw clearly.
“Where’s your phone?” he asked.
“I left it back at the hotel.”
He frowned. “Why?”
I shifted in my heels, growing uncomfortable standing in them on the concrete. “Only a couple people contact me regularly. And two of them only contact me for a favor. The other happens to be an a*shole and is currently crowding my space-which, if you remember, is against the rules.”
Everett moved closer. Our legs, our hips, our chests-all touching. “I’m not giving you space when we’re in a public. If you want space once we get back to the hotel, fine. But if I gave you space here, that would be violating my rule.”
“Which one?”
“The seatbelt rule is more or less a blanket rule. In any situation that I feel could potentially be dangerous, we will both exercise safety.” He looked up the sidewalk, noting the inebriated patrons making fools of themselves. “This is not a situation in which I’ll give you space.”
I could live with that. I’d been so focused on Everett, I hadn’t paid attention to my surroundings. That was unusual for me. Come to think of it, I had even left my knife behind at the hotel room. I shuddered involuntarily.
I ran my hands over my utter arms. “You’re a bad influence,” I muttered.
“I hope so.” His grin was wide, as if he was very pleased with himself. “Hotel or club?”
“Hotel.” I said it quickly. I didn’t need to give any thought to it. And then I had a gut punch of guilt. “But if you want to go out, I can go back by myself.”
“Yeah right,” Everett said, grabbing my upper arm gently, steering me down the sidewalk.
“Did you come all the way to Vegas to not experience the nightlife?”
“All the way to Vegas?” he asked, dubiously. “Vegas was more or less a pit stop. And besides, I came here for the steak.”
“Did you find your one sweet moment with the steak?”
Everett looked at me impatiently. “What do you think?”
I shut my mouth as we walked back to the hotel.
When we walked back into the suite, I immediately walked into my bedroom and closed the door, locking it for good measure. I needed my space. I didn’t want to fall into Everett’s bed and let it become a habit. Habits were hard to break. And I didn’t want to rely on anyone for a fix.
I slid out of the dress and heels, tugging on Everett’s shirt from before. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the flash of my phone’s notification.
I picked it up and turned it on, noticing six text messages in a row, all from the same sender.
Everett: You’re right, I do enjoy riling you up. But if I tell you why, you’ll run. And I’m enjoying my dinner too much to abandon it.
My breath caught. He’d been sending these at the table when he picked up his phone and ignored me.
Everett: So I’ll tell you via text instead.
Everett: I like seeing color flush your cheeks. When you’re angry, your cheeks burn bright.
Everett: I like seeing you feel something, even if it’s animosity.
Everett: It humanizes you. You’re so cold, I didn’t think you had any warmth in you.
Everett: But with your pink cheeks, I’d say you’re closer to five below zero now.
The last text did just what he’d set out to do-it made me angry. Angry enough that I stood up and walked towards the door, intending to give him a piece of my mind. But then I realized that would be just what he wanted. So I stopped, my footsteps stalling on the carpet in front of my door. I looked back at the bed, where I’d tossed the phone in anger. And I strode back to it with purpose in my stride.
Me: I’m changing your name in my phone to read “A*shole.”
A minute later my phone chirped.
A*shole: At least you’re keeping me in your phone.
And I was pissed off all over again.