But before I went back to my room, I wandered by the poker area. I needed to connect with someone. Anyone. I was starting to realize how hard this weekend was going to be, and I didn’t want to face it by myself. And there was Martucci, still sitting at the five-card-stud table. I’d never been so happy to see him.
“Martucci!”
He grunted a greeting toward me, not taking his eyes off his cards.
I stood behind him. “Have you been here all night? How’s the game going? Are you winning? Is that a good hand you have there?”
One of the other players tittered.
Martucci took a twenty-five-dollar chip from a pile in front of him and handed it to me.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Go play something.”
“Wha—?”
He frowned at me. “Parker, I’ve got a game going here.”
“Fine.”
I stomped away, and upon not seeing Brie ( please, let there not be a sock on the door when I get upstairs), I gave up. It was time to close my eyes and put an end to this day. Cut my losses.
On my way to find the elevators, I passed the roulette table where I’d lost my money earlier. There was a new dealer, and the bachelorette party was long gone. The only person at the table was the drunk guy, whose wall of chips had dwindled to an anthill.
What the heck. The dealer spun the wheel, and before the ball settled, I set down Martucci’s chip. Number 11. Marissa’s birthday. As the ball clattered to find a spot and the dealer waved his hand to indicate no more bets, I remembered, Shit! Her birthday was the twelfth! I’ve bet the wrong number!
“Lucky number eleven!” the dealer announced.
I’d won.
Nobody was there to cheer. The drunk guy didn’t even notice. I’d never won that kind of money before, yet strangely, I felt nothing. I’d gotten more excited the time I won a carpool mug in the company raffle.
The dealer slid me 875 dollars in chips without comment.
I’d been to Vegas often enough to know it wouldn’t be hard to spend my winnings. I stepped outside the casino, where crowds still bustled even at this late hour. The warm night air cuddled me like a blanket. I’d barely cleared the casino entrance when I saw a nun in full habit holding a collection can that read, “Fund for Abused Children.”
“You a real nun?” I asked her. There were plenty of scams around here, but then again, there were plenty of genuine charitable organizations glad to take advantage of people who’d lost all sense of the value of a dollar.
“Yes. I’m with the St. Thomas parish here in town.”
A cop stood a few feet away, which seemed a good sign. Besides, the sooner I unloaded this cash to charity, the sooner I could cross the task off my list and be done with this day. That seemed as good a reason as any to trust her.
I held up my chips. “You take these?”
“Absolutely.”
I slid the chips one by one into the collection can.
“God blesses you, my child.”
“Great. I’ll take any help I can get.”
Chapter 20
With sleeping in and then taking our sweet time having breakfast the next morning, it was one o’clock before we hit the pool.
“Goodness, it’s a zoo!” Kitty exclaimed, assessing the scene. To my relief, she was back to her old self—or at least the self who was trying to buck up as best she could.
Calypso music floated through air so thickly hot that you could almost see the waves of sound. We wove through a sea of bodies to a group of lounge chairs next to the pool. Brie had reserved them before she’d stumbled in our room at eight a.m., waking me long enough to tell me that I’d missed quite the party at the Hard Rock.
After a general jockeying for chairs, I wound up between Martucci and Kitty. Troy was on the other side of his mom, with Brie at the very end of our row. Gran had opted to take a nap in the hotel room rather than lie outside getting sunspots and risking heart failure in the heat—a choice we heartily supported.
Brie immediately collapsed facedown. “Wake me in an hour. I’ll need to turn over.”
I stripped to my swimsuit and was bending over to rifle through my bag for my book when Martucci gave me a hard slap on the butt.
“Hey!” I protested.
“This, people, is the result of expert coaching!” he boasted loudly. “This body is entirely my creation.”
Before I could clock Martucci one, Kitty remarked, “God may have had a little to do with it.”
“Well then, praise the Lord,” Troy said.
His mother swatted the back of his head. “Show some respect, young man.”
“I thought I was!” He laughed.
With that, I started to wonder if I’d somehow conjured my own form of hell: a place where a smart, cute, funny guy kept flirting with me but nothing could come of it, especially with his mother literally between us.
Plus, as part of this hell, Martucci was asking me to rub sunscreen on his back.
“Normally I say sunscreen is for pansies,” Martucci explained, holding out the bottle, “but I don’t trust this desert sun. It does wicked things to the skin.”
He turned so his back was to me. Across the width of his shoulders was a tattoo of an eagle, which seemed to flap its wings as he flexed to lie down. Didn’t it figure? Mere feet away was a back I’d enjoy giving a good rubdown, and here I was, smearing lotion on Martucci, trying not to wince when I had to lift the rattail out of the way.
“There, done,” I proclaimed moments later, even though he was still white with the lotion I’d barely grazed over him. I grabbed my book—a trashy paperback I’d bought at the hotel gift shop—and settled into my chair.
“Aren’t you going to put on sunscreen?” Troy asked.
“Yeah,” Martucci piped up, “I was looking forward to watching you rub it all over yourself.”
Ugh! “Martucci, you are such a pig. And I already put some on in the room. You’re supposed to apply sunscreen half an hour before sun exposure. Therefore, you are currently frying, whilst I, in my wisdom, am only allowing enough rays through to give me a golden hue.” Then I buried my nose in my book, signaling the end of conversation.
Martucci passed out almost as fast as Brie had. I attempted to read but was distracted by Troy shifting from his front side to his back, adjusting the lounge chair, sighing, coughing, and then flipping back over to his stomach. Finally he sat up and said, “How long are we going to lie here?”
“It’s been fifteen minutes,” I said.
“It’s so hot. I thought it’d been a couple hours.”
“It’s not the heat,” Kitty said to me, glancing up from her magazine. “He’s always this way. The boy can’t sit still.”
“Yes, I can,” he said, and then he stood. “Think I’ll swim a few laps.”
“See?” Kitty said smugly.
I peeked over the top of my book as he walked to the end of the pool and dove in neatly. Then he attempted to swim laps, which was probably like trying to jog through a minefield with so many kids playing and people floating around on air mattresses.
“It’s so good to see him swim,” Kitty said. “We wondered if he’d ever be able to. He told you about his motorcycle crash, didn’t he?”
I set down my book. “Called it a spill.”
“Heh. Spill. That scar’s just a small reminder of what he went through. He didn’t walk for a year, and then he had a terrible limp for several more. Did he mention that?”
I shook my head.
“He put me through the paces, I’ll tell you that. I wondered if either one of us was going to survive his teenage years.”
“Yeah, he said that he always thought—” And then I stopped.
My unsaid words hung in the air, and I hoped Kitty wouldn’t catch on, but she said, “That he’d go before Marissa.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring her up. Here you are trying to relax and have a good time.”
“Don’t w
orry. I’m glad to talk about Marissa. It’s funny how people are afraid to mention her name—as if by saying it, they’ll remind me that she’s gone. As if I don’t already know that every second of every day.”
“That’s got to be tough.”
“Some days are better than others.” She gave me a reassuring smile. “This day is a good one.”
I took a moment to let her words sink in. “Do you mind,” I ventured, choosing my words as carefully as I could, “if I asked what Marissa was like? All I know about her is what she wrote on the list. And a few things from yearbooks Troy let me borrow. I’d love to know more about her.”
“Oh, I’d love to tell you. She was such a cheerful girl, you know. Never let things get her down. Funny. Bright. And she always had a hobby going—I remember for a while there she was into sewing. She made all of the draperies in our house. Then it was model airplane building of all things. And that girl loved children. She always said she was going to adopt a houseful of kids when she grew up—you know, poor kids who had nowhere else to go. I guess she had a thing for the underdog. Perhaps it was those years of being overweight that made her more sensitive to others. Mostly, though, I’d have to say she was a sweetie. I suppose every mother says that about her daughter, but with Marissa it was true. She was always thinking about other people. Wanting to make a difference in their lives.”
Well, that last part sounded familiar.
“Were you aware that one of the things Marissa wrote on her list was to change someone’s life?”
Kitty seemed pleased. “Troy didn’t tell me that one, although it sounds like her. He mentioned that there was one about riding in a helicopter…and getting a massage…and, of course, losing the weight. A few others. I understand that there are twenty things…?”
I nodded. “I don’t have the list with me here, but it’s right up in the room. I could run up and get it if you want to see it.”
“That’s okay. Truthfully, before I see it, I’d rather the whole thing be finished.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” I said, holding up crossed fingers.
“What do you mean—is it difficult?”
“Nah. Although it’s not an easy list, that’s for sure. Some of the tasks are definitely challenging.”
“Like having to take her crazy family to Las Vegas?” Kitty said, her voice teasing.
“Not at all! This has been wonderful. And to be honest, I needed it.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Well, I guess I’d let myself get totally caught up in getting everything completed on time. So much of my focus has been on hurrying to check things off. I want so desperately to succeed. But being here with you gives me a new perspective. It reminds me of why I’m doing the list in the first place.”
She shifted to face me. “Why are you doing it?”
Ah, the million-dollar question.
I decided to be honest, since we were having this heart-to-heart. “I suppose it started out mostly as guilt. I felt so awful about everything.”
“The accident wasn’t your fault, June.”
I shrugged. How could I say it? It wasn’t about regretting how I’d veered out of the way and rolled the car. Or that I’d asked for that damn recipe, making her unbuckle her seat belt. Or, for that matter, how I’d offered Marissa a ride in the first place. Granted, I’d spent plenty of time lamenting those things, but the idea of fault wasn’t what propelled me forward. It was more the fact that two people were involved in an accident, and I couldn’t help but suspect that the wrong one walked away. “I want to make it better. That’s all. I know what I’m doing isn’t much, and it doesn’t change anything. But—”
“It’s a lot. I can’t tell you how grateful we are that you’re doing this. All of us. Troy can’t stop talking about how impressed he is you’ve taken this upon yourself.”
“Oh, good.”
“Not to put any pressure on you, but once we found out that Marissa was making such a big deal out of her twenty-fifth birthday, we decided to throw her a little party. We’re having it at that Oasis bar that she was so fond of. Nothing fancy. We’d love it if you could come. Invite anyone you’d like. And, of course, bring the list.”
“I’d be honored. And it should be finished by then. Will be finished. That’s the deadline.”
“So I’m told.” She paused. “You know, I didn’t even know she’d made a list. Usually she was so open about that sort of thing.”
Not liking the hurt look that crossed Kitty’s face, I said hurriedly, “Maybe she was embarrassed by the things on it. There was one about going braless. No offense, but it’s not exactly the type of thing you want your family to know about. And another one about wearing sexy shoes.”
“That explains it!” Kitty exclaimed. “For the life of us, we couldn’t figure out why she’d been wearing those silver shoes. They were so not her style. Then again,” she added, sighing, “who’s to say? She’d lost all that weight. There were probably a lot of things she was ready to try.”
My stomach twisted, but there was nothing accusatory in Kitty’s voice as she continued, “Okay, June, I know I said I didn’t want to see the list, but tell me: Was there anything on it about finding love?”
I mentally reviewed the list. “Not really. Although one of the items was to go on a blind date.”
“Really. Did you do that one?”
“Yeah. The guy turned out to be gay.”
“How funny! Oh, it makes me wonder how it would have been if Marissa had had a chance to do the list herself. Would she have met someone special on that date? The love of her life, even?”
“Oh, Kitty…”
She waved away my concern. “It’s a nice thought. It doesn’t make me happy exactly, but I feel as if she’s here with us.”
“If it’s any consolation, I can assure you Marissa would have had better luck than me on the blind date.”
At that, Kitty tipped her head toward Martucci, who was snoring so loudly that it sounded as if trucks were downshifting on the nearby highway. “So what’s the deal with you two? You have a little thing going on?”
“Martucci and me? Definitely not. We’re friends.”
“I think he’s handsome,” Kitty said. “You don’t find him handsome?”
“We’re work buddies. That’s it.”
My gaze moved to Troy. He sat on the edge of the pool, tossing a ball to a group of little kids. I tried not to drool. He looked darned yummy, and it had been so long since I’d had so much as a bite.
“That’s a shame,” Kitty said, picking up her magazine. “Call it a mother’s intuition, but I swear there’s romance in the air.”
AFTER CHECKING INTO the spa and changing into the white terry robes they’d provided, Brie, Kitty, Gran, and I sat in the lounge area waiting to be called for our treatments. The room was decorated in soothing greens, and there was the scent of eucalyptus wafting through the air. It was hard to believe this was in the same building as the casino and its bright lights and chaos.
I was bathed in peace…until a man stepped into the room. I said a silent prayer that he wasn’t assigned to me. I’d never had a masseur before, and this one looked as if he could snap me like a twig. He had a redwood build—broad-shouldered, with his body forming a slick V at his waist. His waist-length black hair was pulled into a ponytail, and his features, while striking, seemed chiseled from granite. If I saw this guy in a dark alley, I’d faint.
Please don’t call my name….
“June Parker?” His voice was an engine rumbling.
Figured. “That’s me,” I said, standing and pulling my robe tight around me.
The ladies were atwitter, mumbling their approval.
“She hit the jackpot on this one—what a gorgeous face. Like a Greek god!”
“Look at those hands.”
“Like catcher’s mitts.”
“I’ve never seen such big hands!”
“And you know what they say…”
“That’s feet they say that about.”
“Who cares? Anyway, with such an impressive front, I can only imagine what—”
Brie gave me a shove. “Get going. We want to see him walk away.”
I waved good-bye to them. They cooed like proud mothers sending their baby girl off to lie naked on a table while a total stranger rubbed his hands over her.
He introduced himself as Runner and escorted me into a dimly lit room barely big enough for the massage table. The drill was the same as usual: He left while I stripped and lay facedown on the table underneath a blanket. When he returned after I’d called out that I was ready, he was all business.
I wished I could have said the same for myself. Something about being naked and so near such a bastion of masculinity had me…well…thinking.
“Do you prefer hard or soft?” he asked innocently enough.
“Hard,” I gulped, not so innocently.
“Okay. Let me know if it’s too much.”
He began massaging my back and shoulders in deep, firm strokes. I could hear him breathing as he worked. He was careful to keep me covered. I felt his hip graze against me, but it was all very clean and on the up-and-up and wholesome and, cripes, I was so horny. There was no getting around it. The candles…the soft music…a man’s strong hands gripping me and rubbing me…his raspy grunts as he threw his weight into it. How could I not have filthy thoughts? Even though I would have been horrified if his hands actually wandered, that didn’t mean I couldn’t entertain the fantasy that they might.
He moved my towels around and then dug his fingers into the flesh of my thighs. It was all I could do to suppress a moan. I wondered how many women threw money at him and asked for the “full service” massage.
I wondered if he said yes.
And how much money would it take?
Not that I was interested, mind you.
Simply curious.
Runner told me to turn over onto my back, and then he covered my eyes with a cool cloth. My mind wandered, first to thoughts of work…and the list…and then to thoughts of Troy Jones swimming, the muscles on his back rippling as he dug through the water. The way he’d smoothed the water from his hair when he’d stepped out, completely wet, his swim trunks clinging to him.
The Next Thing on My List Page 21
