Beckett nodded. “We’re in uncharted territory, I guess.”
We stayed quiet, searching each other’s faces for what to say next.
“I really, really like you, Melody,” he whispered.
“Then tell me you’re real. Tell me this is real, and it’s not just all in my head.”
He leaned in and placed his lips on mine. “It’s real,” he promised. “This is not just some vacation fling.”
“Okay,” I said, closing my eyes. “I believe you.”
***
The Sopranos Piano Bar featured a singer named Germaine Z., who had knee-length braids and a voice that could move entire mountains. She was a combination of funk and soul and sang along to the stylings of a pianist simply called Geo, whose fingers flew up and down the baby grandas people swayed along. Together, they were inspired. During interludes, we learned that Geo had played on Broadway for popular shows of the past, likeCats,Miss Saigon, andLes Miserables, and that Germaine Z. had been a backup singer for Tina Turner and, more recently, Bruno Mars. She annihilated a rendition of “Hello” by Adele and recomposed the song “Stay with Me” by Sam Smith so that it was about three octaves lower. I could feel her music in my bones, and ever my mother’s daughter, I got swept away in it.
The libations didn’t hurt, either. Beckett ordered a Bada Bing martini and I had a cocktail called “The Vacation,” which was so delicious that, coupled with the music and the soft evening breeze of the island, it made me feel like I was living in someone else’s fairy-tale dreamworld. Beckett never stopped touching me—always a hand on my lower back or his arm loosely wrapped around my waist or, if we were dancing, his fingers curled around mine.
By my third drink, I knew I’d have to call it. “This is my limit now,” I said to Beckett, placing my mouth on his ear so he could hear me. Realizing where my lips were, I closed them around his lobe and sucked it through my teeth into my mouth, making him emit a tiny yelp of pleasure in his throat. “No more after this one. I already feel like I’m floating.”
He spun me to face him. “Deal,” he said. “Yeah, these are definitely stronger than the ones we get at the hotel.”
“This place is good, though,” I said, grinning an intoxicated, blurry, soft grin at him. “This is all just good.” I closed my eyes and waved my hands through the air to the piano music. While he paid our tab, I was riding my fingertips along the air with the rise and fall of the notes, smiling into the void at the world, letting the piano move me without a care.
“Why are you so beautiful?” he asked. “You look like an angel.”
“Nope,” I said. “Not me. I’m no angel.” I spun around in a full circle, dropping my chin to my chest and rolling my neck as the pianolet loose on the bridge of “Out of Time” by the Weeknd. “This place is such a vibe.”
Beckett didn’t say anything. He just finished his drink, gently two-stepping while he watched me dance with appreciative eyes. His gaze covered me like a cloak, and I could feel my cheeks burning by the end of the song. “Want to get out of here?” he asked, after I held up my empty glass.
“Sure. Where should we go?” I wondered aloud. I was breathless; the blood in my veins reverberated through my limbs.
“I don’t know,” he replied. The words rumbled straight from his chest, hoarse and low. Desire flooded his stare, but I could tell he was trying desperately to maintain his composure.
I, however, was not.
“Come with me,” I murmured. I took his hand and led him out to the street, pulling him softly in the general direction of the Hilton. “OhmygodBeckett,” I garbled. “It’s your lucky day. Lookit.” I pointed, laughing to myself. Then I dragged him into the hotel’s casino.
The space was gorgeous, a domed planetarium, its ceiling covered in twinkling star lights. The familiar soundtrack of singing slot machines and card dealers filled the air.
“Really?” he snickered. “More gambling?”
I turned to face him. With the most serious look I could muster, I shook my head no. “Follow me.”
He watched me curiously, having no idea at all that I was reckless enough to do what came next. “Think you could hit the jackpot here?” I wagged my eyebrows at him. He didn’t say anything, just pursed his lips with an expression of bewilderment and disbelief on his face. “We’re going in there.” I nodded at the accessible bathroom alongside the bank of video roulette machines. “Be super cool because there’s definitely security guards around.”
He gulped.That sexy fucking neck.
“Sit at this machine right here for a minute. Watch the door. I’ll lock it, and the little flagger on the knob will turn red and say ‘occupied.’ I’ll wait about two minutes, and then I’ll unlock it. You’ll see it turn green. As soon as it does, let yourself in.”
“Are you sure?”
I didn’t know if Beckett was as tipsy as I was, but my head was spinning for sure. Between the alcohol, the lights, the dome, and the way my thighs trembled even at the thought of what we were about to do, I couldn’t respond in words, only with a squeeze of my hand on his. I turned and pushed the heavy door, flipped the lock, and just like that, my plan of action had begun.
The lighting, albeit fluorescent, was dim, thankfully—bright enough that I could look in the mirror and wonder at my own reflection. Who was this girl? I could barely recognize her. She looked tan. Giddy.
Relaxed.
It had been so long since I’d felt any of those things. It was like muscle memory—I was remembering what it felt like tolive.
