Jill Smolinski - The Next Thing on My List

It almost seemed unfair not to call Troy Jones and give the poor boy a running start.

Chapter 21

T his is your motorcycle?’

‘ Something wrong?’ Troy asked, handing me a helmet.

‘ Where do I sit?’

‘ Ah, I see you’ ve been spoiled.’ Then he patted the back half of what didn’ t seem to be a particularly large seat. ‘ Right here. Plenty of room.’

When Troy had offered to give me a ride on his motorcycle, I’ d told him I had riding experience. It was only a few miles to the hotel where Wayne Newton was performing. Although we could have taken a cab with Kitty and Gran, they wanted to go early for the buffet, which I chose to skip in favor of a nap and a vending machine dinner. Besides, Troy had said he was itching for a ride. As I had an itch of my own to scratch, it seemed reasonable to take him up on his offer.

That was, until now. This bike was nothing like Phyllis’ s Harley. Where was my motor home on two wheels? Where was my bucket seat? There wasn’ t even a sissy bar. One bump in the road and I’ d go flying off the back.

Troy helped me buckle my helmet, and then he climbed on the bike. I straddled behind him, leaving a reasonable distance between us. When I tried to feel the seat behind me, there wasn’ t one. My butt was hanging off the end.

Why did I have to wear these stupid shiny pants? Sure, they were cute, sort of a bronze color& and I’ d paired them with a black stretchy tank top and high heels. I was very Las Vegas-a little trashy, a little shimmery.

But I should have worn clothes with traction. Rubber. Surely I had something rubber in my closet I could have brought. I’ d bet anything that Brie did.

Troy started the engine, which sent up a panic flare to my brain. This was crazy-I was taking a cab.

I was about to jump off-tell Troy that his bike wasn’ t big enough for the both of us-when he reached back. With one arm, he gave me a firm tug so I was snug against him. Then he pulled on my arms to place them around his waist.

‘ Don’ t want to lose anybody,’ he said.

Oh.

Well, this was cozy.

We pulled out of the parking garage and onto a side road, and I thought about Phyllis’ s comment about me being a good ride. Troy leaned forward, and I leaned with him. It felt perfectly natural. There was anticipation. There was trust. There were my boobs and crotch smashed up against him and his firm muscles beneath my grasp. I couldn’ t help myself-I let my hands wander to his chest. Nothing too randy. Just enough so it could be mistaken for me getting myself adjusted.

Traffic on Las Vegas Boulevard was stop and go, but we wove through the sea of cars at traffic lights-one of the advantages of being on a motorcycle. A good thing since we’ d let ourselves get a late start.

The sun was low in the sky, and the air seemed to glow as much as the lights of the casinos we passed. My hormones buzzed. It was having Troy so close& and being kind of scared on the bike& and breathing in his scent of soap and heat& and the dense evening air& and the rumble of the bike beneath me&

Just then, a light stopped us. Troy held the weight of the bike with one leg, shifted around to face me, and started to speak: ‘ So how is the-’

But conversation wasn’ t what I had in mind. I’ d had enough of being coy. It was time to make my move.

I flipped up the bug guard on my helmet and then lifted his. Then, my hand on the back of his neck, I pulled him close in a lip-lock-or at least I tried to. Before my mouth got anywhere near his, our helmets collided.

I scowled, trying to see if I tipped my head a bit&

‘ It can’ t be done,’ he said, and he reached to unbuckle his helmet. ‘ But I have to say, I like the way you think.’

Traffic started moving around us. The SUV behind us gave a quick tap on its horn.

‘ Light’ s green,’ I said, my disappointment obvious.

‘ Mmm-hmm.’ His gaze never left me as he continued to lift off his helmet.

‘ People are honking.’

‘ Let ‘ em.’

He reached toward me, obviously intent on unbuckling my helmet.

‘ No!’ I protested, laughing. ‘ Are you crazy? The light’ s green! We’ re in the middle of the street-blocking traffic!’

Troy gave a good-natured sigh, but still he didn’ t turn around. His hand slid over my back, resting on the skin between my shirt and pants. Unable to reach my face through my helmet, he settled for gently kissing my bare shoulder. Let the kiss slide up to my neck. I felt his breath hot against me as he murmured, ‘ June& you have no idea& ‘

Oh, I had an idea all right.

If my habit was to burrow like a groundhog, at this point I’ d popped up from the hole I’ d dug. In fact, I was practically running around wild, tearing up the fields and humping people’ s legs.

But there was also the SUV inching closer behind me. And the fact that the concert was going to start soon.

‘ Seriously, we need to go.’

‘ Fine. But I feel I should warn you, I’ m a man who finishes what he starts. So that means that those gorgeous lips’ -he traced my mouth lightly with a fingertip-’ are mine.’

IT WAS FIFTEEN MINUTES to showtime when we pulled into a parking area in front of the hotel reserved for motorcycles. Troy locked the helmets to the bike, and we hurried into the casino. Although Kitty and Gran would have already picked up their tickets at the box office, I didn’ t want them to miss any of the show waiting for us.

‘ I can’ t believe I’ m rushing to see Wayne Newton,’ Troy groaned.

Kitty waved to us from near the entrance to the showroom. ‘ There you kids are! We were starting to worry. Ma’ s already inside.’ She handed us each a ticket and bustled us through a curtained doorway. As we walked, she chattered on about the buffet and the people they’ d met in line and the ‘ Waynabelia’ -that was, the Wayne Newton memorabilia-that they’ d bought at the souvenir stand.

Our table was dead center and jutted up against a divider. It wasn’ t close to the stage, but I was pleased to see that it had an unimpeded view. Kitty and Gran sat on one side of the table, and Troy and I slid in across from them. The table was covered in drinks. ‘ Thirsty, Gran?’ Troy joked.

‘ Ha, ha. We took the liberty of ordering for you,’ she said. ‘ You get two free drinks with your ticket. I got the feeling if we didn’ t order them now, we may never see a waitress again. So drink up.’

Kitty lifted a fruity drink-sans parasol, I couldn’ t help but notice-and said, ‘ A toast.’ We each grabbed a drink. I had two huge tumblers of white wine in front of me, one of which I raised as she said, ‘ To making dreams come true.’

‘ Here, here,’ Gran added, and we clinked.

Gran and Kitty thumbed through the Las Vegas souvenir books they’ d bought while I surveyed the room. Troy and I appeared to be the youngest people there. Nothing but gray and balding heads dotted the showroom-a Berber carpet of aged fans. A man in the front shook his cane along to the piped-in music.

Leaning back toward Troy, I said, ‘ I hear Wayne does a great cover of ‘ Get Jiggy with It.’ ‘

‘ Hey, speaking of that song,’ he said casually, ‘ the station’ s throwing a big concert. August seventh. Will Smith’ s going to perform. Want to come?’

‘ I’ d love it.’

‘ It’ s a date, then.’

A date!

Although August 7 was ringing a bell.

I didn’ t have time to ponder it. An announcer onstage said a hello and urged us to give a big welcome to Mr. Las Vegas himself. A cry went up in the room when the lights lit up on the stage. The crowd wriggled to attention.

It was thrilling to see Wayne Newton take command of the stage. He looked exactly as I’ d remembered him from the Hollywood Wax Museum, right down to the black hair and painted-on brows. I found myself riveted by his vocal struggling to be heard over his twelve-piece backup band. They sat in neat rows behind him-the men innocuous, the ladies overly made-up and big-breasted yet strangely wholesome. As Wayne sang and told stories about the old days of Vegas, Troy whispered things to me such as ‘ Can you believe this guy?’ ‘ This is the hokiest thing I’ ve ever been to,’ and ‘ Oh, you smell so good& .’