A Match Made in Vegas Read Online Crystal Kaswell

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That's mean for Zack. He's difficult, yes, but never mean.

Whatever happened between Rome and Laurel, Zack is firmly on Laurel's side. He's always on her side. There's something sweet about his loyalty.

He's obnoxious as fuck. But he loves his family.

I admire that.

Rome turns to Zack. He tries his own Zack-like shrug. As if he doesn't care about anything either.

He doesn't sell it though.

He keeps glancing in Laurel's direction, like he wants to say something to her. But I can't tell if it's something cutting or something sweet.

In a surprising move, Zack picks truth. She asks how many women he's been with. He makes a show of counting on both hands and ends up with a rough estimate in the thirties.

Is that too high or too low?

It's so hard to tell with him. He's always so full of shit.

Then, of course, he comes back to Jackson. "Truth or dare."

And in a way more shocking move, Jackson says, "Dare."

Right on cue, the limo stops.

We're here.

"I dare you to get a lap dance," Zack says.

"Aren't we at the hotel?" Jackson asks.

"We have the limo for another three hours," Zack says. "And we're in Las Vegas. Go crazy."

The driver opens the door.

Rome slides out.

Then Laurel.

And Zack. "I'm counting on you, Daphne. Make sure he does it." He winks at me. Again. "And feel free to get creative."

And there it is, implied in his voice.

Give him the lap dance yourself, maybe, huh?

Chapter Fifteen

Jackson

My brother closes the limo door with a smirk, leaving Daphne and me alone in the strange space.

Outside, he says something to the driver. A moment later, the limo moves. Back to the Strip. To the strip club on the Strip.

Zack's idea of clever.

"I guess I can borrow his dare. You can knock out both in one shot." Daphne settles into her seat across from me. She smooths her denim shorts and uncrosses and recrosses her legs. "This is the one idea of Las Vegas fun we haven't touched."

"We haven't gone on a roller coaster," I say.

"That's not Las Vegas specific." She brushes a dark strand behind her ear. "But I won't hold you to it." She smiles in a teasing way,

But I still hear you're no fun echoing through the space.

Every girlfriend I've ever had said the same thing. I'm a great guy. On paper, a perfect partner. In reality, I'm just not ready to give fifty percent of my heart, time, thoughts, effort, life.

But damn, you're great in bed.

Sometimes, they try to stay because of that. Sometimes, they do what Maddie did, and they try to maintain only that part of our relationship.

We could just have fun.

But that doesn't work either. I'm missing something.

With Daphne—

I don't want to miss anything. I want to experience everything.

I shouldn't, I know. I should go home. Back to LA. Far, far away from the furry handcuffs in the hotel room and the desire in her eyes and the smell of her shampoo.

But I don't.

I can't.

I need to be near her. I need it in a way I haven't needed anything in a long, long time.

At least we're in public here.

Sort of.

"Let's do it," I say. And fast. The limo is too private. My view is too good.

Those long legs spread over the leather—

I want wrapped around me.

"You sure?" she asks.

I nod yes.

She watches me carefully, deciding if she believes my change to party-guy. I'm not sure if she does or she doesn't, but she nods in agreement, and she sits up straight. "Can we stop at the hotel though?" she asks. "I want to change first."

Fuck me. No. I can work with this. "I'll wait in the car."

She frowns, but it's a quick thing. Short-lived. "Sure. No problem." She gives instructions to the driver.

He turns around and heads to the hotel. When we arrive, she nearly runs out the door.

I try not to watch her hips sway as she moves, but I fail.

And when she returns, fifteen minutes later, in a tight, short, low-cut, low-back white dress, I try not to imagine the silky fabric on the floor.

I fail at that too.

For the fifteen-minute drive, I fail to make intelligent conversation, to laugh, to joke, to do anything but play out scenes of Daphne in my lap.

The gentleman's club is back in downtown Las Vegas, near Freemont Street. We only pay twenty dollars to enter the dark room (a bargain, apparently).

The place is straight out of a cop show from the nineties. Dark lights, blue leather, mirrored walls.

Men in dark clothes gather around the stages in the middle of the room. Each house two poles and two dancers, in various states of undress.

The school girl in a pink plaid skirt and pigtails thrusts her pelvis against the pole in time with a hair metal song. She looks exactly like my image of a stripper or a porn star. Bleach blonde hair, tan skin, huge fake breasts, slim waist.


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