“It was a pleasure to meet you,” she says.
“The pleasure was all mine,” I tell her. “Enjoy the wedding.”
“Enjoy yours too,” she says, and with a wave, she disappears out of the door.
Her peppermint scent lingers behind, and as I leave the airplane, feelings of regret that we would not see each other again come over me.
I’m in Vegas; I forget about Marian as soon as I step off the plane. The weather is warm, with a slight breeze that stops it from being too hot.
Vegas baby. I stroll toward the terminal and then to the baggage claim. Minutes later, I’m in a cab on the way to the hotel where all the guests are staying.
The Dash hotel is all glitter and glam, and I can’t wait to sample everything it has to offer. I quicken my step across the thickly carpeted lobby as I spy a familiar figure leaning on the check-in desk.
“Hi again,” I say, weirdly pleased to run into Marian again.
She beams when she turns to me. “It is nice to see you again. Are you staying here too?”
“Yep,” I say.
“OK then, I’ll see you around,” she says, and with the wave, she heads toward the elevators.
The hotel is huge and sprawling, with several wings, and I don’t think I’ll be lucky enough to run into Marian again. I check-in and follow a porter to my room on the sixth floor.
After shelving my suitcase into the closet and taking a quick shower, I go downstairs for a drink at the bar. I’m in Vegas, after all, and it’s a Friday evening.
I opt for The Lounge bar, which is on the northern wing of the hotel. I head straight to the counter and chose a stool at the far end.
“Welcome to The Lounge bar,” a friendly bartender said. “What can I get you this evening, sir?”
“I’ll have a cold beer, please,” I say.
“A cold one coming up,” he says.
He places a coaster on the bar in front of me and seconds later places my beer and a glass on it. I don’t need the glass and drink straight from the bottle. I swing the barstool around to have a view of the whole bar, and that’s when I see Marian walking in.
She’s changed from the black trousers she was wearing on the flight into a pinkish miniskirt and a sleeveless top. She’s also let her thick golden-brown mane loose, and it falls to her shoulders.
My eyes are drawn to her long shapely legs, but I quickly avert my gaze when I realize that she’s headed my way.
She comes to the bar and stares at me before bursting into laughter. “I can’t even accuse you of following me because I found you here,” she says. She has a beautiful laugh. One I would not mind hearing over and over again.
“I don’t mind being stalked,” I say.
She closes the distance between us and sits on the barstool next to mine. “Is this taken?”
“It is now,” I say.
The bartender introduces himself as Mike and proceeds to ask Marian what she wants to drink.
“I don’t know,” Marian says. “This is my first time in Vegas. Make me a cocktail that screams Vegas.”
Mike grins. “A Vegas special coming up, Ma’am.” He turns away to make Marian’s drink.
“Is it your first time in Vegas too?” Marian says to me as she wriggles on the barstool to get comfortable.
I wish I were that stool, and she’s wriggling her curvy ass over me. Heat whips through me. “No, I’m afraid it’s not.”
She contemplates me. “Why do you say it like it’s a bad thing?”
“Every time I’ve come to Vegas, it’s for someone else’s bachelor party or wedding,” I explain.
She gives me a puzzled look.
“Always the groomsman, never the groom,” I say.
She laughs. “I didn’t know that applied to men as well.”
Mike places a drink layered with bright colors on the counter in front of Marian.
“That looks yummy,” she says.
Mike grins from ear-to-ear as if he has just presented her with a gold nugget. I don’t blame him. Marian oozes friendliness and energy.
She pulls her drink closer and brings it to her mouth. The bartender and I watch, entranced, as she closes her eyes and takes a long sip. We wait with bated breath for her judgment.
When she opens her eyes, they’re gleaming, and a smile plays at the corner of her mouth. She looks at the bartender. “Mike, there is no doubt this is the best cocktail I’ve ever had.”
Mike looks like he’s ready to fly from the compliment.
“So, tell me, Declan. What is it that you do in Santa Monica?” she asks.
“I sell pizza,” I say.
“I can’t tell when you’re serious or when you’re teasing,” Marian says.
“I’m dead serious,” I tell her.
“OK,” she says. “I believe you.”
“And what do you do yourself?” I say. Her emerald green eyes are like an open window. Wide and inviting.