Then he leaned back.
“They picked this party for me. Specifically, this jerk named George picked the party for me,” Scott explained. “I need to get into this huge, epic, ten-thousand-dollar-a-ticket party.”
She let out a low whistle. “Yikes.”
“Tell me about it.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms.
“Any ideas?”
She sounded so confident. As if she had no doubt whatsoever that he’d pull it off. That makes one of us.
“I’m still kicking things around,” he said. “I figure I could try to be a busboy, or something. I don’t know, maybe blend in with catering. I’m pretty sure I won’t pass as a bouncer. And I really, really don’t want to get arrested for breaking and entering to something like this.”
“Wow,” she said, and rested her head against his chest. Her hair felt like cool silk on his skin, and she smelled like jasmine and vanilla. The smell calmed him. “And if that doesn’t work?”
“Then I guess I’m not going to get in the Club.” The sentence caused him a pang.
“Well, that’s crap,” she said, and he grimaced at her, annoyed. “You’re not going to just give up, are you? You’re not that kind of man.”
He thought about it.
I’ve been living in the shadows of these big-ego, big adventure jerk-offs for all my life. I’m tired of being the nice guy that people tell their cool stories to. I want to be the guy that has the stories to tell.
“I don’t want to give up,” he said. “I’m not going to give up.”
Her expression was filled with approval—and admiration.
That was what he wanted. He wanted to be the guy that put that look on her face.
“What’s the party, anyway?”
“Some damned thing…what was it?” He closed his eyes. “Oh, right. The Debauchanalia.”
“The Debauch…” She said, then started laughing. “Small world.”
“You know it?”
“Strangely enough, yes. And I think I know a way to get you in.”
He sat up abruptly, and she squealed in protest as he almost knocked her off the bed. “Seriously?”
“Yes.” Her eyes twinkled. “Although, I have to warn you—you might not like how.”
“Whatever, I’ll take it,” he said, excited.
“Perfect.” She kissed him, slowly, and moved over him, covering his body with hers.
As he started the delicious slide toward oblivion, he heard her ask the question, “How are you at dancing?”
AMANDA WAS STILL GRINNING as they headed to the party.
“I’m not comfortable with this,” Scott muttered.
“Do you know of another way to get into this party?” Amanda replied, trying hard not to laugh. “Listen, this is perfect.”
“Yeah, but what if I have to…you know,” he said. Then he shook his hips spastically.
She giggled. “What? Have a seizure?”
“Now I know I’m not comfortable with this,” he said, turning and starting to walk away. She grabbed his arm.
“Sorry, sorry. But don’t worry. This is just to get you in,” she reassured him.
“Because I can’t…no. I don’t dance.”
She could see that, obviously. But he went with her to the side door anyway.
A bruising bouncer that looked like an ex-marine was working, earpiece in, sunglasses on despite the fact that it was nine o’clock. “Who are you?” he snarled.
Amanda felt her heart beating double-time, and wished once again that she were better at lying. “We’re dancers,” she said. “We’re with the Bettie Pages.”
The bouncer glared at Scott. Or at least, he seemed to glare. It was hard to tell with the sunglasses. “He don’t look like a dancer.”
“We have an act together,” Amanda said, trying to bat her eyes without being too ridiculous. She was wearing a tank top and sweats, so it’d be easier to change into her costume. She shot him her most innocent-looking smile.
The bouncer still scowled at them. “I have to call it in.”
She felt her palms sweat, and leaned back against Scott. The guy was listening intently to his
“They picked this party for me. Specifically, this jerk named George picked the party for me,” Scott explained. “I need to get into this huge, epic, ten-thousand-dollar-a-ticket party.”
She let out a low whistle. “Yikes.”
“Tell me about it.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms.
“Any ideas?”
She sounded so confident. As if she had no doubt whatsoever that he’d pull it off. That makes one of us.
“I’m still kicking things around,” he said. “I figure I could try to be a busboy, or something. I don’t know, maybe blend in with catering. I’m pretty sure I won’t pass as a bouncer. And I really, really don’t want to get arrested for breaking and entering to something like this.”
“Wow,” she said, and rested her head against his chest. Her hair felt like cool silk on his skin, and she smelled like jasmine and vanilla. The smell calmed him. “And if that doesn’t work?”
“Then I guess I’m not going to get in the Club.” The sentence caused him a pang.
“Well, that’s crap,” she said, and he grimaced at her, annoyed. “You’re not going to just give up, are you? You’re not that kind of man.”
He thought about it.
I’ve been living in the shadows of these big-ego, big adventure jerk-offs for all my life. I’m tired of being the nice guy that people tell their cool stories to. I want to be the guy that has the stories to tell.
“I don’t want to give up,” he said. “I’m not going to give up.”
Her expression was filled with approval—and admiration.
That was what he wanted. He wanted to be the guy that put that look on her face.
“What’s the party, anyway?”
“Some damned thing…what was it?” He closed his eyes. “Oh, right. The Debauchanalia.”
“The Debauch…” She said, then started laughing. “Small world.”
“You know it?”
“Strangely enough, yes. And I think I know a way to get you in.”
He sat up abruptly, and she squealed in protest as he almost knocked her off the bed. “Seriously?”
“Yes.” Her eyes twinkled. “Although, I have to warn you—you might not like how.”
“Whatever, I’ll take it,” he said, excited.
“Perfect.” She kissed him, slowly, and moved over him, covering his body with hers.
As he started the delicious slide toward oblivion, he heard her ask the question, “How are you at dancing?”
AMANDA WAS STILL GRINNING as they headed to the party.
“I’m not comfortable with this,” Scott muttered.
“Do you know of another way to get into this party?” Amanda replied, trying hard not to laugh. “Listen, this is perfect.”
“Yeah, but what if I have to…you know,” he said. Then he shook his hips spastically.
She giggled. “What? Have a seizure?”
“Now I know I’m not comfortable with this,” he said, turning and starting to walk away. She grabbed his arm.
“Sorry, sorry. But don’t worry. This is just to get you in,” she reassured him.
“Because I can’t…no. I don’t dance.”
She could see that, obviously. But he went with her to the side door anyway.
A bruising bouncer that looked like an ex-marine was working, earpiece in, sunglasses on despite the fact that it was nine o’clock. “Who are you?” he snarled.
Amanda felt her heart beating double-time, and wished once again that she were better at lying. “We’re dancers,” she said. “We’re with the Bettie Pages.”
The bouncer glared at Scott. Or at least, he seemed to glare. It was hard to tell with the sunglasses. “He don’t look like a dancer.”
“We have an act together,” Amanda said, trying to bat her eyes without being too ridiculous. She was wearing a tank top and sweats, so it’d be easier to change into her costume. She shot him her most innocent-looking smile.
The bouncer still scowled at them. “I have to call it in.”
She felt her palms sweat, and leaned back against Scott. The guy was listening intently to his
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