Ink Flamingos

Chapter 13

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?”

Harry shrugged, straightening up. “Tourists, I guess. Taking pictures.” He indicated the Eiffel Tower.

I knew that. I also knew I needed to get home. “I’m going to take a cab,” I announced, starting down the stairs, the outlines of the palm trees so sharp I could almost feel them cut me.

I was moving fast; Harry had to jog to keep up with me. I stopped at the corner and held out my arm like I used to do in New York City when I wanted to hail a cab. But they kept passing me, ignoring me.

“You’d do better going up to the Bellagio and having the doorman get you a cab,” Harry said.

Okay, so he really was thinking more clearly than me. I didn’t respond, just started back toward the Italian palace that doubled as a resort casino. The fountains weren’t dancing now, but the lights were shimmering across the water. The wide driveway led to an elaborate entryway. All the doormen seemed to be helping actual guests.

The lights from inside winked at me, much as Harry had just moments ago, and I went through the revolving door and stepped into the lobby. Hanging from the ceiling were glass flowers of all shapes and colors, forming a mosaic that bounced against my brain like a pinball, they were so sharp and clear.

“Is it always like this?” I asked Harry as he stared, too.

“I think it was commissioned.”

“What?”

“The glass flowers,” he said.

“No, that’s not what I meant. It’s the way I feel. You know, the absinthe.”

Harry grinned. “You’re high. Everything is clearer than normal-it’s like colors are jumping out at you. Yeah, it’s always like this.”

At least it wasn’t just me.

I whirled around. “I have to get a cab,” I said and went back out through the revolving doors.

A doorman bowed slightly, as though I were some sort of royalty, although most likely he thought I was a hotel guest, who would have as much money as said royalty if the lobby were any indication.

“Can I get a cab?” I asked him.

“Certainly, miss.”

At least he didn’t say “ma’am.”

A yellow cab pulled up, and the doorman opened the door for me. I slid in across the seat, and just as the door was starting to close, it opened again and Harry plopped down next to me.

“Figured we could share,” he said, shrugging.

“I’m in Henderson,” I said.

“Henderson?” the driver asked.

Harry nodded. “You first, then I’ll take it from there.”

He had that wad of bills, so I supposed he could afford it. “Sure,” I said, giving the driver my address.

The cab started with a jolt, throwing me against Harry. He used it to his advantage and held on to me, his lips finding mine again. I settled in against him and closed my eyes.

He was still kissing me. It wasn’t a dream. I pulled away and saw the cab was outside my house. I straightened out my shirt and reached in my bag. Harry waved me off. “Go. I’ll take care of it, okay?” And he kissed me again, lightly this time, before opening the door for me and letting me get out.

The cab pulled away before I got to the front door. All the lights were on. I glanced at my watch. It was almost two. Taking a deep breath, I slid my key in the lock and opened the door.

Tim stepped out in front of me. “You’re home.”

I tried to act nonchalant. Anything except drunk. I went into the kitchen and dropped my bag on the kitchen table. “I can stay out if I want,” I said belligerently.

I heard him sigh behind me. He wasn’t angry. It was something else, but I couldn’t tell what.

“Why were you out drinking absinthe with that guy? And kissing him? His hands all over you?”

It was concern.

But how did he know?

“Were you following me?” I asked, anger rising.

Tim shook his head and pointed to the laptop, which was open on the table. “Take a look.”

I peered at the screen. It was that blog. Skin Deep. Ainsley Wainwright’s blog.

And there were pictures of me. Me and Harry. At the bar. Drinking absinthe and kissing like we would never kiss ever again. Kissing again on the bridge. Getting into the cab.

It took a few moments to sink in. Maybe because I was still high. But when it finally dawned on me, I faced my brother, my heart in my throat.

“She was following us.”