Lust (Vegas Nights 2)

I rolled my shoulders. I felt dirty—dirtier than normal. There was no other reason than the one that had caused my absence from my house that evening. The man who’d defied what I’d wanted and done whatever he wanted, regardless of how it would make me feel.

I should have been used to it.

Really, it should have been something so normal to me after all these years.

Yet, it wasn’t. It never would be. I was, after all, the embodiment of the seedy underbelly of the city that could be so beautiful.

I was the lie in the fancy dress, the deceit on the arm of the rich businessman, and the humiliating truth of what really went on between the sheets.

Tonight, not even scalding hot water of my shower could wash away the regret.

The humiliation.

The dull ache inside.

It never would.

***

I hit ‘send’ on the email seconds before I heard the elephant-like stomps as Lola made her way down the stairs. My seven-year-old daughter was many things—bright, inquisitive, imaginative, but quiet was not one of them.

“Mommmmmmy!” she shrieked, skidding to a standstill in the doorway next to me.

“Right here,” I said, clicking off the browser screen.

“Oh.” She turned to look at me. “Is it breakfast time yet?”

I glanced at the clock. “Almost. Ten minutes, okay?”

She sighed dramatically and threw herself onto the sofa. Her braid was half undone, and her flop through the air allowed the loose strands of hair to circle her head like a halo. “This is so unfair!”

“Welcome to real life.” I snorted and walked into the kitchen.

“Oh, Mommy! You don’t know. I’m starving! My tummy is eating itself. Nom nom nom nom.” She made chomping noises and clapped her hands together to coincide with each one. “I won’t survive.”

“That’s slightly dramatic, given that all you want is a bowl of cereal.”

“And an apple, some grapes, and a juice.”

“A bowl of cereal is all you’re gonna get if you carry on speaking to me like that.” I swear, seven-year-old attitude was going to kill me one day. I didn’t much care about how bad teenagers were. They were old enough to know better.

Lola, however, seemed to have one setting: Full attitude. There was no ‘off’ button. Sadly.

One day, maybe evolution would get around to installing that off button on children. Preferably with ‘sleep’ and ‘mute’ ones to cover all the bases.

I’d just pulled a bowl from the cupboard when I felt a small hand tugging on the bottom of my ratty, old NKOTB shirt that I’d worn to bed last night.

“Yes?” I said, looking down at my daughter’s angelic face.

“Mommy, please may I have an apple, some grapes, and a juice with my cereal?” She blinked her dark blond eyelashes, staring at me with those big, brown eyes that got me every time.

“Of course. Go sit at the table, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you!” She ran away, and the scrape of a chair against the hard flooring in the next room made it clear that she’d actually done as she was told.

Wow.

There was a first.

I fixed her breakfast and took it in for her. She’d switched the TV on and was jabbing at the DVD player controller to start the disc. A tiny growl escaped her mouth, and when her lips curled back, I could see her teeth clenched in frustration.

“Here.” I set the breakfast down and took the controller. “You just gotta wait, Lo. See? It’s not ready yet.”

“I know that, but it just takes so long.” She groaned, picking up her spoon. “Mommy, why is it so slow?”

Probably made by a man, I wanted to say.

“That’s just how it is,” was my actual response. “Don’t forget you’re sleeping over at Felicity’s house tonight. She’s coming with her mom to pick you up at two.”

“How many hours is that?”

I glanced at the clock. “Five.”

“So, when the big hand is on the twelve and the little one is on the two?”

“Exactly right, chickpea.” I chucked her under the chin. “Are you excited?”

“Mhmm,” she said around a mouthful of cereal. Milk dribbled down her chin, and she reached up to wipe it away. “Yuck.”

“You’re a messy eater.” I threw her a cloth, turned on her DVD, and headed back into the kitchen.

“I’m seven, Mom! I have to be messy. It’s in the rulebook.”

“I don’t think there are rulebooks for children except the ones their parents make,” I called over my shoulder.

Her sigh was so loud I could hear it perfectly. “Obviously, you don’t know about this one. It’s a secret.”

“Oh, fair enough.” Shaking my head, I hit the button on the small coffee machine in the corner.

It looked like I was gonna need it.

***

I adjusted the top of my stocking, the elastic snapping against my skin as I released it.

Sitting on the edge of my bed in front of my mirror, I looked like the complete opposite of the thing I was. All right—so my dress was bunched around my hips, but still.