Good Time(62)

“Yeah, with your essential oils life coach.” Vince smirks as he runs his hand down my arm and pulls me close again.

“Canon told you that?” My cheeks flame in mortification. “Is nothing sacred with that guy?”

“Not much, no.”

He kisses me again, one hand on my hip, holding me to him, the other cupping my jaw so he can angle my lips exactly how he wants them.

“You’re impulsive,” he says when he breaks off the kiss. “Hasty. You make rash decisions based on whatever amuses you at the moment.”

“Those are all terrible, terrible traits,” I agree. Because he’s not wrong and I’m very self-aware. “But I’m also very self-aware. And I’m adaptable to change. I’m spontaneous and outgoing.”

“How am I supposed to know if I can keep your attention? If this is real for you or a passing fad? If you’ll change your mind in a month or a year?”

“I won’t.” I shake my head. “Not about you. I may be impulsive and a bit crazy and have questionable decision-making skills, but not about the really important things.”

“You offered to share me, Payton. Remember? You offered to be some kind of alternate girlfriend number three,” he reminds me.

“I changed my mind about that!”

He raises his brows as if this proves his point about my indecisiveness.

“I didn’t know then that I was going to fall in love with you. Like crazy in love with you. The kind of love that terrifies me because everything I’ve ever been taught about love is that it’s semi-permanent and in a constant state of flux. But I did and I do and I don’t regret it. I’m willing to risk my heart on loving you.”

“Good.” He smiles a slow, easy smile that makes his eyes light up.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I love you too. And I’ll spend the rest of my life chasing you, if that’s what I have to do. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep your interest because I’m not living without you if you decide that fate or kismet or a Magic 8-Ball has determined that you should be with someone else.”

“That’s not how fate works, Vince. Kismet is a swan not a porcupine. I wasn’t sure for a couple of days there, I worried that kismet might actually be a cunt, but it’s not.”

“I don’t have any idea what you just said.”

“Swans mate for life and porcupines just run around banging whoever they want to. But it’s not important.”

“Okay then,” Vince replies as he envelops my hand in his and heads in the direction of the valet.

“Are we done talking? Because I still have more questions.”

“We’ll talk in the car.”





Chapter Thirty-Two





“Where are we going?”

It’s not that I don’t want to be with Vince, because I do. But we’re currently driving out of town and it’s feeling very murder-y because the only thing out of town in Las Vegas is the desert. Deserts, coyotes and wolves. Actually, I’ve got no idea what lives in the deserts outside of Las Vegas.

“It’s a surprise.”

“Exactly what a murderer would say,” I mumble.

“God, Payton, your imagination.” Vince just smiles and shakes his head.

We seem to be headed towards Red Rock, a national park on the outskirts of the city. I haven’t been there yet because I’m not much of an outdoors girl. Especially outdoor areas with bears and stuff.

“Are there any bears in the desert? No, never mind. That doesn’t sound right.”

“No bears. Deer and bighorn sheep, mostly. Coyotes, of course.”

Great.

We’re quiet for a bit until I ask him what I really want to know.

“Tell me why you didn’t tell me about all the charity stuff. Tell me why you’d let me think that strippers were your hobby.”

“Maybe they are my hobby?”

“Vince.” I sigh.

“My mother was a stripper, Payton. She worked her ass off removing her clothing so that I could have everything I needed. Little League and swimming lessons and tutors. Her life revolved around making sure I had everything I needed to succeeded, and I had no idea how difficult her life was.”

“Of course you didn’t, Vince, you were a kid.”

“She died in a car accident while I was in my senior year of college. Fell asleep at the wheel and drove off the road. And you know why? Do you know why she died? Because she was exhausted from working three jobs. She was working three jobs because she’d gotten too old to dance for money and there was no exit plan for her, Payton. She was a forty-something woman without a job skill that would pay her a living wage. And I was a college kid who still didn’t have a fucking clue what it takes to make it in the world when no one is helping you.”

“So you made an exit plan,” I say softly, suddenly very touched at what drives him. At this tribute to his mother. “You bought a club and made an exit plan because it’s too late to help your mom, but you can help these women. The scholarships and childcare reimbursement and the good insurance plans.”

“Fuck, Canon is a wordy bitch, isn’t he?”

“Yup.”