by R. K. Lilley
I caught some glimpses of the spectacle that was Tristan and all of the girls from his show towards the front of the line.
The assistant/showgirls were all wearing white belly shirts and white hot pants, as they posed with him for photographers. Briefly, I got close enough to see him putting his arms around some of them for the pictures, and by them, I mean that one of them was Mona.
I got far away after that, wondering why he needed to have ten showgirl/assistants in his act, and why they all had to sport double Ds. It was depressing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I was at the very back when the race started. It only made sense.
I started moving briskly as soon as the starting shot was fired. I didn’t look up or to the side, just down at me feet as I trudged along
I’d been doing this for about five minutes when I saw his shoes come into view, walking beside mine. “You don’t have to slow down for me,” I told him without looking up.
He grabbed my hand. “Stop it,” he said quietly.
I kept going, kept watching the ground, and moving.
“Is your knee hurting?” he asked.
“It’s fine,” I said. It was sore. It was always sore, but I was very used to that. “I’m not what I used to be, huh?” That had slipped out, and I wasn’t happy about it.
I tried not to look at my bum knee or my barren belly.
“Stop it,” he said again, halting me in the middle of everything. “You’re everything you were. You’re still you. The rest are details.”
I wanted to take strong exception to that statement, but I couldn’t think of a single thing to say that wouldn’t come out sounding like self-pity, so I kept my peace, and started walking again.
“Is there a reason that every single one of your assistants is sporting a huge rack?” I asked him. I was more than slightly perturbed by this.
I glanced at him, and was gratified at how uncomfortable he suddenly looked.
“This is Vegas.”
“That’s the reason? This is Vegas is the reason? Did you pick these girls out yourself?”
“I did. I had to make sure myself that every single one of them was competent. They don’t just roll props out. Some of them are really talented.”
“And they all just so happened to have double Ds?”
“This is Vegas,” he repeated.
“That’s disgusting. My opinion of you in general just took a nosedive.” I’d meant it sassy, but it came out a touch angry, and I realized that’s because it was. I was bothered by this preference of his.
He stopped me again, giving me a stern look. “Listen to what I’m saying. They have huge racks, because girls that audition to be magician’s assistants in a Vegas show already bought themselves huge racks before they ever showed up to try for the job. Do you get it? Hell, most of them now have butt implants too. I chose the most competent girls that auditioned. Bust size never even entered into it.”
I was somewhat appeased, and curious about something he’d said. “Butt implants? You’re making that up. No one would actually do that.”
“I don’t get it either, but they do.”
“How is that even possible? How could someone get an implant in a spot that they sit on? Doesn’t that seem like a bad idea? What if you sat down too hard and popped the implants? What if you fall and land on your ass?”
He laughed. “I have no clue; I just know it’s a thing.”
We walked on for a bit, when he said suddenly, “Close your eyes. This is the fun part.”
I squealed as he grabbed me by the waist, setting me up on his shoulders like it took no effort at all.
I clutched at his head and closed my eyes, but I’d already seen what was coming.
“Keep your mouth closed,” he said, a smile in his voice. “And your eyes.”
That was easier said than done. When someone threw colored powder at you, it was hard not to gasp.
When I opened my eyes again, all I saw was pink.
I was pink.
I looked down to find Tristan’s head and the rest of him, pink.
“How many paint throwing stations are on this thing?” I asked him, laughing.
“At least five on the way, and I think it’s a free for all at the end.”
“You know I saw this coming, right? If you thought you were pranking me, you failed. It’s called a Color 5k for Charity. Wasn’t hard to figure out.”
He squeezed my leg, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “It wasn’t a prank, it was a pleasant surprise. You’re having fun though, right?”
I glanced down at us, at me, getting a ride on the broad set of shoulders that I dreamed about, my hands free to roam all over that beloved head, and covered in pink powder.
Yes, I was having fun. It was a perfect day, and even me, the Queen of Denial, could not deny that Tristan had waltzed back into my life, and brought my joy back with him.
I shifted on his shoulders, stroking his hair. “Yes, Tristan, I’m having fun.”
He turned his head, kissing my bad knee, one hand moving up to start rubbing at it. And just as though our thoughts were as interwoven as our souls, he said quietly, “You make me happy. You know that, right?”
I teared up and cursed about it, because tears would leave obvious tracks down my powder-covered face.
“Don’t,” I said weakly.
“Don’t what? Be happy? I can’t help it when you’re in my life.
I took a few deep, steadying breaths, hand to my racing heart. He was relentless.
When I’d been silent for a long time, he took pity on me and changed the subject.
We were pelted with yellow at the next paint station. I rubbed it into his hair, saying, “Dammit, I really wanted some pictures of you covered in just the pink. For blackmail purposes.”
“Boo, you can take pictures of me buried in your pink anytime you like.”
I pulled his hair for that one.
“I need to give you fair warning. I ran into Natalie earlier, before the race, so she’s here somewhere.”
I stiffened. “Twatalie Natalie? She’s still hanging around?”
I felt his shoulders shift under my thighs. He was getting uncomfortable, which made me stiffen even more.
“She works at the casino. Has for years. She bartends at Decadence on the weekends, and I think she’s a cocktail waitress in the casino a few days a week. She’s mellowed out some, but she can still be a handful, thus the warning.”
“So you and her are still close, huh?”
I felt him sigh under me. “No, we’re not. We’re friendly enough, when we run into each other, but that’s about it. She gave up on getting me back a long time ago.”
“I always wondered if you two would get back together if you and I broke up.”
“Well, there’s your answer. No chance in hell.”
“Not even one hookup?”
“Fuck no. Not a chance. You happy or sad that you were so wrong?”
I made a noise of noncommittal, but I was pretty damned ecstatic about it.
“She did come up in therapy a few times, mostly because my relationship with her pointed to the fact that back when we were teenagers, I wanted to save her more than I wanted to be happy. Savior complex, my therapist called it.”
My chest was tight. “Is that how you felt about you and me? Were you trying to save me?”
He turned his head and kissed my knee again. “God no. You’ve got that so twisted. You were the one saving me. Always.”
I closed my eyes and let that wash over me. The only thing that brought me out of it was some bright blue colored powder to the face.
“So Mona and Natalie are both going to be at the after party for this thing?” I finally asked him.
“Yes. If it makes you feel better, I think Natalie hates Mona even more than she hated you.”
That did not make me feel better. In terms of things in the world that didn’t make me feel better, that one got a top spot.
&
nbsp; I made him put me down and walked briskly for the next few paint stations.
He ignored my protests, throwing me back on his shoulders to cross the colorful finish line, dragging me to one of the pack of color throwers, holding still until every inch of us was drenched.
I was giggling and dusting off the top of his head when a smiling, colorful Mona approached us.
She greeted us both warmly. She didn’t act at all threatened by me, and I didn’t know what to make of that. I hadn’t gotten the impression, for even a second, that she was over Tristan.
But perhaps that was my baggage, since six long years later, I was still completely infatuated with the man.
“They’re setting up a photo op with the other girls,” she told Tristan. “They want to do it while all of the paint is still fresh.” She pointed towards a stage that was being set up. “They want us all there in five minutes.”
“Let me down,” I told him, tugging on his hair. He did so without a word.
“You can come too, of course, if you want,” Mona told me.
“No, thanks,” I said instantly.
Tristan was looking at me, and Mona was looking at him. I wanted to be literally anywhere else on the planet right then.
“Go on,” I told him. “I’ll be around.” I tapped the armband on my bicep that held my phone.
He moved close, as though Mona wasn’t even there, and cupped my face in his palms. “Come with me. I don’t want to get separated in this crowd. It could take me hours to find you again.”
I shook my head, but it didn’t dislodge his gentle hands. “I have my phone. Go on. I’ll be fine.”
He bent and started kissing me, powdered faces and all. He didn’t pull back until I was clutching the front of his shirt in both hands, and Mona had long since moved on without him.
I still refused to go with him, but when he left, I trailed slowly, intending to watch the shoot from a distance.
All around me people were dancing and in general just having a blast, everyone so covered in paint powder that it was peppering the air with every movement. A few people had even brought their children, and they seemed to be getting as big of a kick out of it all as the adults.
Only with Tristan would I find myself in a place like this and the second he was away from my side, I wanted to leave.
I stuck with it, though, watching the drawn-out photo op that involved him putting his arm around a lot of busty, paint colored women in half shirts.
I was about one second from saying to hell with it and catching a cab when a female voice spoke just to my right.
“I guess the bitch is back.”
It took me a minute, while I turned and studied the paint-colored, hostile woman that had taken up residence beside me.
Finally, I recognized the collagen injected, puffed up features under the powder. Even under a pound of color, I could tell she wasn’t aging well. She was going overboard with the surgery.
“Natalie,” I said, then turned away again.
I ignored her as much as I could. I figured that was the nicest thing I could do. And the mature thing to do.
Even she didn’t deserve the things I wanted to say to her. The last six years of our mess wasn’t her fault.
“I saw you and Tristan during the race. It’s so sweet that he was helping you out back there. He’s such a nice guy, helping the disabled.”
“Disabled?” I said softly, giving her my full attention now. Now she deserved it.
A part of me kind of lived for that moment when my claws could come out, and I didn’t have to feel bad about the consequences, because I felt I’d been properly provoked. This was definitely one of those moments.
“If you ask me, those giant silicone filled balloons on your chest that have you nearly tipping over every time you try to stand upright, and those clown lips of yours have to make it hard to eat without drooling. Now those are a disability.”
She made a disgusted noise, but had no comeback.
I smiled. She moved away and that was that. It was sad, but I actually preferred dealing with her to dealing with Mona.
I found a place to sit, on a picnic table that was set near what was turning out to be quite the dance floor.
Almost the second I sat down, I felt my phone vibrating on my arm.
It was Tristan. I didn’t think I had a chance in hell of hearing him over all the noise, so I dropped the call and texted him my location.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
He was there in less than a minute. Sitting down next to me, then pulling me unceremoniously onto his lap.
I turned until I was sideways, staring up at him. “You can go dance if you want to. I don’t mind.”
“Not without you,” he said, kissing my nose.
“I still have a few moves,” I told him, watching his face.
I loved to make him laugh.
I was flattered by the admiring look he gave me for that. “Yes, you do.”
I laughed. “I wasn’t talking about that. I’m talking about dance moves.”
He looked intrigued. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. There’s the lasso.” I showed him that classic, and he laughed. “And the ‘make it rain,’” I put my fingers to my palm and imitated flinging cash. “And the slap that.’” I put one palm down, and the other moved in a rapid spanking motion. “And of course the ‘going down.’” I pointed my palm down, cupped it to imitate it holding the back of a head, and pushed it down, to mimic him going down on me.
I’d just made that last one up.
He was laughing hard by the time I was done. My whole chest went warm when he laughed like that.
And then we were kissing, making out like teenagers in public again. I knew I should pull back, but I couldn’t seem to stop. I gripped his shirt while he gripped my hair, and let our mouths just go at it. It was a special kind of bliss to just let go like that, for a time.
He was laying me on the bench, his hands getting a touch indecent, when I found the will to pull back.
“We can’t. Not here. There are kids around, Tristan. Not to mention other people.”
He pulled back and sat up. “I’m going to go grab us something to eat.”
He disappeared into the crowd.
He was back maybe ten minutes later, his arms full of sodas and hotdogs.
I didn’t even complain, just ate the hotdog and drank the coke. I was so hungry that even that was worth the calories.
We shared a smile as we finished eating, my mind on that ridiculous make out session earlier.
He had a bit of ketchup on the corner of his mouth, and I took a napkin, dabbing at it, smiling into his dear face.
He tilted my face up with his chin. His expression was raw with things I couldn’t name or didn’t want to. “Oh, no, you’ve done it now,” he whispered softly.
“Done what?”
“You’re giving me that look. You know we can’t go back, if you’re looking at me like that again. You get that, right?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I told him, which was a lie. I could feel it spilling out of my eyes, covering him like some pain-relieving salve. This was something I gave, and he took, and we were both more lost for it, or at least, that’s how it had worked out the last time.
“Yes, you do. You can’t give me that look without feeling that look.” He took a deep breath, and then another.
“It’s probably all this powder. You’re seeing things.”
That didn’t even faze him. “I swear, it feels like there’s been a bullet lodged in my gut, buried there for ages, and it just got pried out. Thank you.”
I looked away. “Don’t thank me. Just do what you need to not to hurt me.”
His breathing grew ragged. “Do I get to ask the same of you?”
We shared a raw look, but I didn’t answer him.
“I didn’t realize how hard it would be, to be around Mona,” I said, changing the subject. “I think it’s best for me to avoid that in th
e future.”
He was the picture of yellow, purple, and pink faced remorse. In spite of myself, I found that so incredibly endearing. “I’m so sorry for that. It’s turned into a bad situation.”
I shook my head at him. “What were you thinking, sleeping with someone you worked with? When does that ever turn out well?”
He looked wildly uncomfortable.
I shook my head at him some more. “Oh you naive bastard. Still thought fuck buddies could work, huh?”
He flinched. “I did. I was an idiot. But let’s not do this to ourselves, okay?”
He had a good point, and I dropped it, since I was done making mine.
We went to his house, and I finally got that tour.
“It’s huge,” I told him before we’d even finished with the first floor. “What single man needs this much space?”
He gave me an enigmatic look for that bit of sass.
We fucked our colorful way all over his kinky bed. Afterward, we took a shower together that bled into a rainbow down the drain and he took me again against the shower wall.
It was as I was drying off that I noticed a half used bottle of women’s perfume on the counter, near his own assortment of colognes.
I grabbed it, holding it up. “Care to explain this?”
He smirked. “Sure. Don’t get mad, but I stole that from you back at James and Bianca’s wedding.”
I just blinked at him. “You went into my room at the ranch and took something? And what on earth could you possibly use my perfume for?”
“You probably don’t want to know.”
I blushed, head to toe, and I couldn’t look at him for a solid five minutes. It didn’t help that he was naked and I was close to it.
He took me into his closet to try to find me a T-shirt. I froze in the doorway, staring inside.
With just a towel clutched to my chest, I stared at his closet for the longest time. It was huge, and much stranger, it was full. Long lines of suits, a wall of ties, racks upon racks of dress shirts. There was only one small space allotted for T-shirts, and the wall of shelves that held his folded jeans wasn’t much bigger than the section allotted for ties.
