The Virgin Gift(24)

“Need a place to stay here? Mine is being painted, but they should be done by then.”

“I don’t want to cramp your style. I’m sure I can find some dingy cut-rate motel off the Strip.”

I rolled my eyes. “The offer stands.”

“Merci.” His expression shifted to serious. “Listen, if you’re not involved with Nina, what do you think about me—”

“No.” One word. Sharp as a knife.

He cracked up, pointing at me, laughing his head off. “You are so busted. The way you flew off the handle was brilliant. Does she know you’re secretly in love with her?”

I bounded down the steps, scoffing at his assessment. He was wrong. Dead wrong. That feeling in my chest last night wasn’t love. It was . . . what was it? I snapped my fingers, finding the answer. Affection. Yeah, that sounded about right. Naturally I’d feel affection for a good friend. Not love. Besides, my heart was in time-out after Rose, and the clock hadn’t wound down yet. “First of all, I’m not in love with her. I’m not in anything with her. But I still don’t want you hitting on her,” I said.

“And why’s that?”

I wasn’t going to tell him the nitty-gritty, but I could still be honest. “Because you’re a layover. And she’s not that kind of girl. She’s not into hookups,” I said, confident that what Nina and I were doing was not a hookup.

We were having a moment to work through her wishes.

A bucket list was born out of need, not out of an itch to scratch.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Then, once you do find the balls to make your move, you’d better make sure you’re not a hookup.”

“Again, I’m not making any moves. She’s a friend. Just a friend.”

He moved closer to the screen. “Sure, for now. But even through the haze of FaceTime, I can tell by the way you look at her. Don’t forget—I record emotions for a living, and yours are written all over your face. You might want to deal with that sooner rather than later.”

“Thanks for the unsolicited advice,” I said robotically. “Please remember to check it at the door next time.”

He smiled, a gregarious grin I knew well. “C’mon. It’s what I do, man. I tell you the truth because that’s my job. That’s what we do for each other. You’ve always called me out on my bullshit when it comes to women and work and life. Hell, how many times have you told me I need to move on?”

I sighed heavily, letting go of my annoyance. How could I harbor any frustration when the man mentioned, even without saying her name, the woman he’d lost? The reason he’d hit on the gals from Montreal last year was he knew he wasn’t going home with them. He hadn’t gone home with anyone since his longtime girlfriend had died three years ago in a fatal car wreck. He’d simply covered up his pain with harmless flirting that went nowhere. But lately, he’d seemed better, happier, more together.

I leveled him with a stare. “I say it because I want you to be happy again, you miserable bastard. I want you to find a sliver of what you once had.”

“That’ll never happen.”

“Do you really believe that?” I asked, hoping he’d say no.

He just shrugged, and I hated that a part of him did believe it. I’d do nearly anything to help him find that place again where he could be happy.

“Look, Brand. I get it. What happened was devastating, no denying that,” I said, because the man splintered in a million pieces when he lost Jenna. But he’d steadily been picking himself up, finding ways to enjoy life. Taking off to live in Paris was part of that, escaping from the memories of his life here in Vegas with his longtime girl. I missed him, but I’d hoped the new location was exactly what he’d needed to move through his grief. Only, I didn’t know if he’d truly made a life there. “And when you’re ready, you’ll be ready,” I added. “But I hope for your sake it’s soon, because it would be awesome to see you with a legit smile again.”

He flashed another half grin. “I’m happy enough. And I’ll be happy for you when you face your feelings for your Robin. Or your Catwoman. Whatever she is to you. See you this weekend,” he said with a smile and ended the call.

As I stared at the blank screen, I shook my head, talking back to the emptiness. “There’s nothing to face,” I said, and I believed it. I had to believe it. Feelings weren’t part of the equation. They couldn’t be. Nina didn’t want them. I was allergic to them. Besides, I didn’t want to play Batman and Robin with her.

When I hopped into my Tesla, my phone dinged with a text message. I slid it open to find the painter updating me.



David the Painter: We will be there shortly! We should be finished by tomorrow at the latest.



I sent a quick thanks and pulled out of the garage, running through options this weekend for our regular crew of friends, plus Brandon. The club we all liked at The Luxe, a nearby pool hall, or maybe dinner at a swank eatery in The Cosmopolitan.

Would Nina and I go out as clandestine lovers or friends once more? Would we be done with her list by then?

My muscles tightened at the thought, but I shook it off as I headed into the office.

Her list was full of items, and we’d tackle them all.

Including number eleven.