I drove us to Sprinkle Cupcakes and parked along a back street. Harrah’s Casino rose up on our right and the Strip was a straight walk west from the little cupcake shop. It was closed at this hour, and Kacey’s face fell until I showed her the ATM.
“This is a cupcake ATM?” she said, staring at the bright pink square built into the wall of the closed shop. “Oh my God, that’s the best thing ever.”
“I thought you might like it.” I slipped my actual ATM card into the payment slot and the menu screen lit up. “Go ahead.”
She punched her order into the screen. A machine inside the ATM hummed and a little door slid up to reveal her cupcake: a red velvet with cream cheese frosting.
“That is so cool.”
I ordered a plain vanilla cupcake. I turned from the ATM, juggling my wallet and dessert, just as Kacey broke off a frosted piece of red velvet and offered it to me.
“Want to try?”
“Hold on…” I tried to stuff my wallet in the back pocket of my jeans but the damn thing wouldn’t go. Kacey stood on her tiptoes and held the little piece of cake to my mouth. I had no choice but to eat it off her fingers.
Her head cocked, her eyes bright and electric underneath the amber streetlights. “Good, right?”
I nodded, though I wasn’t tasting any cake.
“You have a little frosting…” She reached again, and her fingertips brushed the corner of my mouth. A whisper touch that crackled like a little current of electricity, straight down to my groin, where is sat heavy and warm.
I offered her mine. “Taste?”
That’s all I could manage. Taste. I scoffed inwardly. Me Tarzan, you Jane.
Kacey took a small bite of my cupcake, and I watched as she licked her lips, staring at her mouth.
“How is it?” I said, a split second before my stare would need an explanation.
“Good.” Kacey stepped back and flashed me a smile. “You have excellent taste, Fletcher.”
We headed west, toward the Strip, ambling along a walkway between shops and restaurants, lined with potted plants and trees. It was after eleven on a Sunday, but Vegas was wide awake. Couples, groups of laughing friends and tourists speaking other languages walked past us or parted around us. We strolled and ate our desserts, heading across the boulevard toward Caesar’s Palace. Then I turned us south.
I wanted to show her the Bellagio Hotel.
“Let’s stop here,” I suggested. We leaned our arms on the white cement wall that buffered the pond in front of the Bellagio. Across the water, the hotel was lit up in gold and pink, curving toward the smaller structures of the casino below it like an open book.
“It’s beautiful,” Kacey said. She turned around to face the Strip. The small-scale Eiffel Tower glowed in front of the Paris Hotel and Casino across the street. “Italy on one side, France on the other,” she said.
“You’ve really never been inside a casino?”
She shook her head. “Our tour schedule is so crazy, we haven’t had any free time until after the show last night. That’s why we’re here until Tuesday—so Jimmy can hit the strip clubs and do some gambling. The last time I was here, I was too young to be allowed anywhere fun.”
“Did you come here with your parents?”
“No,” Kacey said, turning her gaze to the still, dark water in front of us. “I don’t see them much anymore.”
“Too busy with the band? Will your tour take you through San Diego?”
I took a bite out of the cake, and when I looked up, Kacey’s entire demeanor had changed. She hugged herself though the night was warm with a soft breeze, and the light in her eyes had dimmed as she cast her gaze over the dark water.
“No, it’s not on my schedule,” she said. “I haven’t seen my parents in four years. My dad kicked me out of the house when I was seventeen.”
I nearly dropped my dessert and the bite in my mouth was like a jagged rock. I swallowed with difficulty. “He kicked you out of your house? At seventeen?”
My tone was far too loud and hard. I was demanding an answer from her bastard of a father, not her. But Kacey didn’t flinch or retreat. I think she understood my outrage, maybe even felt a little boosted for it.
“I snuck my twenty-two-year-old boyfriend home through my bedroom window one night. My parents caught us…in a compromising position, and that was it. My dad had never approved of anything I did; he hated my playing electric guitar, but that was the last straw. He let me pack a bag and locked the door behind me. I hadn’t even finished high school.”