Screwed In Sin City

“Just not tonight,” I bite out. “Not now that you've got what you wanted.”

For the first time, Derek looks hurt. “It's not like that, and you know it.”

“Then tell me how it is, Derek.” I raise my head, glaring at him. “Tell me who that was on the phone, and why you're leaving.”

“I...I can't.” He dips his face toward mine, and must have been intending to kiss the pain from my features, but I take a step back. He lets me, and his hands

drop to his sides.

“You could if you wanted to,” I state. “You could tell me if you actually meant what you just said. You could tell me, you just don't want to.”

“Josie, I'll be completely honest with you and answer any questions you have,” he offers, running his hands roughly through his hair. “I just can't do it tonight.” He looks ready to say more, to defend his stance and make me see reason. But then, Derek's shoulders lower slightly, sagging with the weight of whatever he's keeping from me. “When are you leaving Las Vegas, Josie?”

It's on the tip of my tongue to just tell him to go to hell, that the last thing he needs to worry about is seeing me again. But, even with the embarrassment and hurt that's flowing through my veins like ice water, I can't deny the fact that part of me wants to believe him. Part of me wants Derek to be more than the man I met at an all-male strip show, and more than the man I slept with on a whim during an impromptu trip to Vegas with my girlfriends.

And that part of me is stupid, and gullible as hell.

Thankfully, the part of me that thinks he's just a man on the lookout for a quick piece of ass on the Strip is bigger and stronger than the forgiving part of me. Either way, I answer truthfully. “I leave on Monday afternoon.”

“Good,” Derek breathes out along with an exasperated breath. “That means we have time. There's another Thunder And Lightning show at the Excalibur on Sunday night. I want you there.”

“Derek, I'm not going to another—”

“Josie.” He cuts me off, his voice tight. “I don't care if I have to arrange for tickets for every one of your friends to be at that show on Sunday night. I want you there, and I want you, and only you, backstage before I go on stage.”

“I can't do that.” I'm being unreasonable now just for the sake of standing my ground.

“You can't?” Derek asks with an arched brow. “Or you don't want to?”

I hate the fact that he's just tossed my own words back at me. I despise even more that he's left me speechless.

“You won't even tell me why you dance.” It's trivial, but for some reason getting an answer to that question right now is more important than it's ever been.

“I have my reasons. I told you that.”

Without another word, Derek pulls on his jeans and does up his belt. Then, he moves across the room to the table beside the bed, picking up the pen and notepad beside the telephone. He scribbles on it, drops the pen down harder than he needs to, and turns back to me. “Put that number in your phone, Josie. Because, while I know what this looks like right now, there's one thing I can guarantee you.”

“Yeah? And what's that?” All I can do is stand there, rooted in place beside the couch he's just finished fucking me on, unable to completely comprehend the fact that he's doing the sexual equivalent of a dine-and-dash.

Derek pats his pockets to confirm he has all his belongings and heads toward the door. “You are going to hear from me again, Josie. And when you do, you'll be wanting to see me again as well. Just as much as I want to see you.”

And with that, Derek gives me one last longing look and disappears out of my hotel room.

8

Derek

I feel like a complete asshole. Hell, I am. There’s no other way to define the low level of respect I showed Josie by walking out of that room immediately after she'd just given herself to me so intimately.

She deserves better than that. Anyone does.

I don't feel I can justify what I did, but at the same time, I couldn't bring myself to be completely honest with her then. Now, the day after seeing her dejected expression and hurt eyes, I'm questioning why I couldn't just tell her the goddamn truth. Not telling her undoubtedly hurt her more than being truthful ever would.

It's funny, because I can't come up with one damn explanation save for the fact that I feel the need to protect, and possibly overprotect, the one thing that means more to me than anything else in this entire world. The only thing funnier than that is, not only did I feel the need to keep Josie from that part of me, but now, standing here outside my own condo with no one around to confide in or share anything with, all I wish I could do is share everything with her.

It's a little late for that, I think to myself.

And I know I've got no one to blame for the sense of loneliness I'm feeling but myself. As I pour myself a second cup of coffee, spiking it with a healthy dollop of Bailey's and taking it out onto the concrete balcony that's just off the one side of my master bedroom, for the hundredth time I wonder what the odds are that she would be staying at the same hotel I was the night after that show.