What number was I at?
“What happens now?” he asks. “You drag me around the casino and we play blackjack?”
I point toward the exit. “Vegas strip,” I tell him. “I’m sure there’s trouble to find out there.”
He chuckles. “We’re looking for trouble now?”
“Always.” I adjust my mask as we walk. “But only the good kind. The kind famous people get in when they sneak around.”
“I don’t sneak,” he says. “If you must know, pushy stranger, there are no secret male lovers in my past because I don’t allow myself to indulge in sex in the first place.” He steps through the doors to the street and, when we’re on the other side, freezes, realizing what he said. “I mean. I wouldn’t have… If…”
I stroke the side of his face, dragging my knuckles down the purple mask. “Don’t worry. I get it,” I assure him. “I’m not going to blow your cover, Spencer. Or anything else. Even if you beg.”
I’m joking, but my heart aches as I look into the blue-and-gray eyes, wide and deep behind his mask. The man is obviously lonely. I hope I can cheer him up a little.
Sexy mouth, too. Nice lips.
“Oh my god!” a woman declares loudly. “Masks!”
Spencer and I both turn in time to see a bachelorette party charging our way. The bride-to-be sports a gaudy hat like a wedding cake and a T-shirt declaringThird Time’s The Charm. Her assembled friends are all in various states of drunken bachelorette splendor, sporting custom t-shirts, sparkly accessories, and penis necklaces.
A barefoot redhead with high heels in her hand steps forward. “Masks!” she says, delighted. “We need someone in a costume for the scavenger hunt.” She pulls out a piece of paper from her purse. “Will you give the bride your underwear?”
Spencer’s eyes go wide behind the mask. He looks so affronted I can’t help but laugh.
“Who said I’m wearing underwear?” I ask.
“What about a chicken dance?” one of the women yells. “Will you do a chicken dance with Lexi?”
I look to Spencer. “Chicken dance?”
He stares at me. “Seriously? This is your idea of fun trouble?”
“Good point.” I snatch the paper from the surprised woman’s hand. “Let’s see. Seems unlikely you’d get a strip tease out of this one,” I say, gesturing to Spencer. “We could try to give you piggyback rides.”
Lexi holds up one hand. “I might puke on your back.”
Spencer shudders. Someone hands me a bottle of champagne, which I swig from before handing off to him. Spencer sighs but gulps, too.
“You could make out with your friend,” someone says, pointing at the paper in my hand.
I look to Spencer. “This guy? He’s going to need a little convincing. What’s in it for us?”
“Dildo bag,” Lexi says as she holds up a gift bag. “Butt plugs and handcuffs, too.” She lowers her voice to a stage whisper. “I don’t need it. My fiancé already hastwobutt plugs.”
“Good for him.” I turn to Spencer with a smile. “What do you say, friend? A little kiss to bless Lexi’s third wedding?” I stick my tongue through the mask hole. “We can even keep these on.”
“Seriously?”
“Only in Vegas.”
He’s staring me directly in the eyes. I’m sure he’ll say no, and I’m ready to come up with a graceful excuse to save him from the situation, although the way he’s squirming is strangely hot. I can feel that he actually wants this.
It’s right when I decide to be a good guy and call the whole thing off that he finally snaps. “What the hell,” he says. Spencer swigs from the champagne bottle, chugging it down, and then pulls me into a kiss.
His tongue arches into my mouth, licking my teeth. I kiss him back hard, pulling him tight. The masks bump between us, but our lips and tongues meet in a sloppy, wet dance.
Fuck, is it nice to kiss this man.
