A Match Made in Vegas Read Online Crystal Kaswell

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That same interest fills her eyes. "In the form of a dare…"

"I dare you to take a body shot."

"By myself?" She raises a brow. "No. You wouldn't take a body shot. You wouldn't drink any shot. You probably only drink classic cocktails made with craft bitters."

Again, her observation is accurate. Again, I want to prove her wrong. I want to prove I am a good time. "You played blackjack with me. I'll take a shot with you."

"Okay." She smiles, turns, steps inside the bar.

Even though it's early, the place is picking up. Conversation bleeds into country music. Twenty-something guys laugh over beer bottles. Couples sip from over-sided novelty cups. A group of women in matching white swig shots in unison.

A similar-sized group of guys stare at them, trying to decide if anyone in the bachelorette party is single or, better yet, looking to cash in a hall pass.

Is that the real reason people take these celebrations to Las Vegas? For one last fling?

It's not a choice I'd make. It's not one I understand. Why marry someone if you're that excited to fuck someone else?

But, so far, none of my beliefs about marriage have panned out.

That path I'm on—

It doesn't lead where I think it does.

Maybe these people have a better understanding of the institution.

Daphne follows my eyes. She watches the eager guys for a moment. Then she turns her attention to me. "You could have been a scientist."

My eyes meet hers. All of a sudden, I don't care about the rest of the bar. I don't care about the practical or emotional aspects of long-term relationships. I only care about holding her attention. "I could?"

She nods. "You're like me. You sit back and observe people instead of joining the action."

Is that what I do? "Is that something you want to change?"

She considers the question for a moment, then she shakes her head. No. She doesn't want to be different. "Sometimes, I think I'd be happier if I participated more. No, I would. But we can only do so much to fight our nature."

"You're doomed to stay a wallflower?"

"Excuse me." Daphne smooths her denim shorts and adjusts her crop top. "I'm not a wallflower."

As if to prove my point, three of the beer drinking guys look her up and down.

"I'm a scientist." She stands and cops a triumphant gesture. Back straight. Head high. Hands placed on her hips just so. "This is the perfect place to observe human behavior. Look at that. Well, keep looking at it." She motions to the bachelorette party. "Why do we perform this ritual anyway?"

"Pre-wedding parties?"

She nods exactly. "One last night with our friends. That's how we see marriage. As the end of our single life. The end of our independence. If we really see marriage this way, why do we do it?"

That's a great fucking question. "Stability." I say it without thinking.

She accepts it without question. She holds my gaze, waiting for me to expand.

"Legally, we become a unit when we're married. We combine our finances. We give each other power of attorney. If we get married, and I get in an accident that puts me in a coma, you're the one who decides when to pull the plug."

"I'll yank that thing from the wall." She offers her hand. "Most doctors would."

I take her hand and let her help me up. I rise to my feet. I move closer to her.

Too close. But she doesn't back away. She stays where she is.

Her eyes stay glued to mine. "Do you define everything in terms of the law?"

"Yes," I say. "But it's more than that, too. As a unit, we're stronger. We have more resources, more time, more ability. Think of cooking. Cooking for one takes just as long as cooking for two. The cleanup is just as much work. It's more efficient to divide the labor."

"You cook, I clean," she offers. "Not that I'd clean to your standards."

No, probably not. No one does. But I can relax them. In theory.

Again, she smiles in this way that says called it. There's an acceptance in it. She sees me and she likes me. "There's a loss of freedom with any commitment. That's what commitment is."

"You say yes, I'll do this one thing instead of other things. That's true." She moves a little closer. "You're wise. And this is a good conversation for after a few of those craft cocktails. Say, a martini with a twist." She guesses my drink. "For now, we have some body shots to take." She takes my hand and leads me to the bar.

A woman in her twenties, in a bikini top, cut-offs, and a cowboy hat, greets us. "Howdy."

"Howdy." Daphne smiles. "We would like the most fun body shot available."

"That's a matter of opinion, hon," the bartender coos with a put-on Southern drawl. She's in routine mode. The flirting she uses with everyone.


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