“What’s left on your to-do list?” Sam asked, and took a long pul from the green bottle.
“A lot. I haven’t done half the things on it.”
“Yeah.” He smiled and lowered the beer. “Sorry about that.”
“You don’t look sorry.”
He shrugged. “You should thank me. Your list sucks.”
She gasped. “No, it doesn’t.”
“I’ve never seen a suckier list. It’s like you got out Frommer’s and circled things you wanted to see.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Fodor’s online.”
“Same thing. I wasn’t on your list. Sex in a limo wasn’t on your list. Hel , you’re in Vegas, and you don’t have one damn strip club on your list. Not even a male review. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a nun.”
Her nose wrinkled. “I real y have no desire to see men dancing around with their wieners out.”
He blinked. “I can’t believe you just said ‘wiener.’ ”
She ignored him and glanced about the Chinese restaurant to make sure no one was listening in on the conversation. “I don’t want some guy’s bal s flying around my head, and if one of them actual y put his… penis… on my shoulder, I’d freak out.”
He tilted his head back and laughed. Long and loud and attracting attention. She didn’t care. He had a great laugh, and she wished he’d laugh more.
“I cannot believe you’re the same girl who jumped on me in the limo last night.”
She couldn’t either.
“And you didn’t seem to mind my bal s flying around your head last night.”
She bit the corner of her lip to keep from smiling.
He lifted one hip and pul ed out two tickets from his back pocket. He handed them to her.
Her mouth dropped open. “Cher?” She looked up into his face. “How did you get tickets?”
“I got my ways.”
“Are you going to Cher with me?”
“That’s why there are two tickets.”
He hated Cher. “But you’re not gay or desperate to get laid.”
“That’s true.”
“You don’t like Cher.”
He grinned. “I like you.”
Oh no. She was in trouble. Big bad horrible trouble with blond hair and smiling blue eyes. Her throat got tight, and the air left her lungs. Her heart felt like it was expanding in her chest, and if it didn’t stop, it would burst. Right there in Beijing Noodle No. 9. Her eyes watered. This was horrible. From that very first night, she’d known he was the kind of trouble she should avoid. She just hadn’t realized he would overwhelm her and make her fal for him.
“Don’t cry. It’s just Cher, and they are nosebleed seats. No big deal.”
It was a big deal. Huge. She swal owed hard, past the big lump in her chest. She didn’t care about Cher. She’d only wanted to go because she was in Vegas, and it was a farewel tour. She wiped the tears beneath her eyes. “I don’t know what to say.” And she didn’t. Despite knowing better, she was developing dangerous feelings for him. It was stupid and rash and real. It felt real, but she didn’t know if he felt the same way. During the concert, she wrapped her arm around his and watched the bright stage show and Cher’s parade of costumes. She liked it more than she thought she would, but when Sam started to snore, she woke him, and they left early. They moved to the casino and played blackjack and craps and roulette. Mostly he played and she watched. They drank free booze until about 1:00 A.M. Autumn felt light and hazy, and as a joke, she bought Sam a Cher T-shirt. They’d both laughed like it was the height of hilarity when he put it on. And when Sam decided that they needed to find an Elvis impersonator, she thought it sounded like a great plan. “Elvis impersonator” was on her list, but unfortunately, the only one stil awake was at the Viva Las Vegas Wedding Chapel.
Even years later, she was never quite sure how they’d arrived at the chapel or whose idea it had been to go inside and watch Elvis marry people, but what was clear, what had always remained clear, was standing outside the chapel, looking up at the marquee and the bright flashing names of the most recently wed. In big orange letters: Just Married, Donna and Doug.