Eucharista would tell me.
Harry was beaming. “Glad he’s gone. I can’t believe you’re friends with him.”
“Why?” I bristled.
“Well, it’s just that he’s so, well, so
“He’s not that old,” I said, although I wondered why I was getting so defensive about Jeff Coleman. Usually it was me who was saying disparaging things about him.
“Never mind,” Harry said, seeing his mistake. “You said you wanted a drink?”
The sight of the barge rocking back and forth and the loud music was suddenly not very appealing. “How about somewhere quieter?” I asked.
“I know a place,” he said, taking my arm.
The “place” was the bar in a restaurant on the first level of the Forum shops. It was a sleek, modern space with crystal light fixtures giving off a golden glow. Because of the hour, there were only a couple of diners; the rest of the patrons were sitting at the bar drinking fancy, multicolored cocktails that looked like something out of a science fiction flick. Fancy, multicolored cocktails were never cheap, and I thought about Harry’s unemployed state and figured I would be footing the bill tonight. Since it had been my idea to get a drink, I wasn’t going to quibble about it.
I slid onto a barstool, Harry next to me, and the bartender came over.
I don’t usually drink hard liquor or even beer. I’m a wine girl, and I knew in a place like this I might actually get a good glass that didn’t get watered down, but those fancy drinks were beckoning.
“Cosmopolitan,” I said.
Harry smirked.
“What?”
“That’s so 1990s.” He looked at the bartender. “Two absinthes.”
Okay, now I wasn’t born yesterday. I knew what absinthe was, the whole crazy Oscar Wilde thing, and I knew that the last thing I needed was a possible hallucination, but the bartender had already gone to the other side of the bar to get us our drinks.
“I won’t drink it,” I said like a petulant child.
“You’ll love it,” Harry promised, his arm snaking its way around the back of my chair.
A cocktail tumbler with ice and an odd green liquid was set down in front of me. I took a sip. It tasted faintly of licorice. It was smooth, and not at all the evil drink I’d expected.
“How is it?” I felt his hand on my shoulder as he leaned toward me.
I nodded, feeling all tingly awfully fast. This wasn’t supposed to be the way it happened. What did I mean by
“Where does that dragon end up? Do you think I can find out tonight?” he whispered, his breath tickling my neck as his fingers ran up and down my arm.
I want to say that I didn’t like it. That I didn’t want to be there with Harry Desmond, a tattooist who botched a tattoo so Jeff Coleman had to fire him. Someone I would kick out of my own shop.
When had I finished my drink? The bartender was putting another one down in front of me, and I tried to indicate I didn’t want it but he either didn’t see me or didn’t care.
Harry was nuzzling my neck now, little flicks of his tongue sending electric shocks through me.
And then something flashed bright in front of my eyes. Was this one of those hallucinations I’d heard tell of? I blinked a couple of times to clear my vision and saw the silhouette of a person holding up a phone. On the other side of the bar. And the flash went off again.
My whole body felt like jelly, despite the fact that my brain had kicked slightly into gear. I say slightly because there was a definite mind/body thing happening here that wasn’t something I was used to. But a little neuron of sensibility flickered, and I pulled away from Harry.
“Someone’s taking our picture,” I said, although my voice didn’t sound like it came from me at all, rather from somewhere across the room.
“It’s just somebody’s birthday over there,” Harry whispered, his fingers gently turning my face toward him and then kissing me.
I forgot about the flash and everything else as I lost myself in his kiss.
It was as though everything was illuminated, brighter, clearer than usual. All my senses were at their peak; I’d never felt like this before.
Harry pulled away and stared at me, his eyes mesmerizing. I don’t know how long we sat like that, mooning at each other, not speaking, but the slap of the check on the bar next to us and the menacing look of the bartender indicated that perhaps it had been just a tad too long.
Harry picked up the check and reached into his back pocket, producing a wallet. I expected that he would now explain how he didn’t have any cash on him, would I pick it up this time, but when he opened the wallet, it was full of bills. He grabbed a couple, two fifties, and put them on the bar before sliding off his barstool.
Two fifties? I didn’t even have two fifties on me.
“Come on, Brett,” Harry said as he helped me off the chair, his arm slung over my shoulder, his fingers still dancing on my skin.
“Where are we going?” I asked as we ventured out into the mall, which was closed up except for a couple of other restaurants and bars.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked, nuzzling my neck for a second.
Okay, I admit it. I wanted to go home with him. Probably not a good idea, although I really didn’t think taking him to my house was a good idea, either. I pictured Tim waiting up for me, waiting to ream into me about my pathetic sleuthing attempt this evening. No, Harry did not need to be a part of that scene.
“Let’s just get your car and see where we go,” Harry said when I didn’t answer him as we pushed open the doors and stepped outside.
The chilly air slapped against my face, and I knew that I was in no condition to drive. I said as much.
“I’ll drive, then,” Harry said easily, as though it were the only solution.
I peered into his face. He didn’t seem to be feeling the way I was, although I had seen him drink his tumbler of absinthe along with me. Maybe he was used to it. Maybe he had it all the time, so it didn’t affect him like it did me.
I still wasn’t sure I wanted him to drive my car.
“Maybe we should take a cab,” I suggested. “Where do you live?” There, I’d said it. I’d told him directly that I was willing to go with him tonight.
Harry winked at me. He knew.
We were halfway over the bridge that led to the Bellagio. The yellow lights on the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe blinked against the black sky across the way at Paris. The pink neon signs at the Flamingo flashed.
Suddenly, I thought about Bixby.
And I stopped.
“No, I can’t,” I said softly.
“Can’t what?”
I merely shook my head and leaned my elbows on the railing, looking down at the Strip below, watching dark shadows of people passing by, the sounds of their laughter wafting up and into my ears.
“What did you think you were going to do?” Harry asked, leaning next to me, his arm rubbing up against the Japanese koi on mine.
Maybe he hadn’t really suggested anything and I’d been mistaken. Maybe I read him wrong. And I felt like a fool.
But when I turned toward him again, his lips found mine and it was happening all over again.
The flash startled me, and I pulled back, white dots in front of my eyes. “What was that?”
