countertop during what seemed an interminable wait.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it didn’t go through.”
Mortified, Nikki rummaged in her handbag and came up with a ten-dollar bill that she’d had earmarked for eggs, bread and milk. “Here, how about if you take this and then run the card again, for the balance?”
At this point, Adam took over. He folded both card and bill back into Nikki’s hand and said, “I’ve got this. Thanks, but I’ve got it.” He handed a credit card to the lady.
Nikki wished that a convenient sinkhole would open up in the floor and swallow her whole. A tic started at her left eye, though she tried to rub it away. Loser, loser, loser, it seemed to say.
She struggled with her desire to go home and crawl under the covers, to block out this whole evening and the ridiculous idea that she, the fat kid they’d called Chubba Bubba in grade school and mocked even more in high school, could possibly dance in front of men for money.
Was she crazy? Had Yvonne dropped something in her drink to make her agree to do it?
But unfortunately, she’d made this nice boy with the bloody nose a promise, and her mom had brought her up that only scabs didn’t keep their promises.
Was it worse to be a scab than a loser? Nikki didn’t want to think about that too much.
“Okay,” she said to Adam once they were outside the door. “I promised you a private dance if you’d get me out of there. It’s the least I can do—ow!” Another South Florida mosquito evidently flew up her skirt and bit her on the butt, and she slapped at it, hard.
There was an audible gulp from her male companion. “That’s…not necessary,” he said, as if it cost him great effort. “Don’t worry about it.”
For a moment she was relieved and elated. Then her conscience got her again and Nikki raised her chin. “I hit you in the nose and then I made you a promise, and I’m going to keep it. Besides, I want to see you settled properly with your feet elevated and your head tipped back. So I’ll drive you to your hotel and make sure you’re comfortable…and…and then …we’ll just get it over with.”
Adam looked at her oddly. “You don’t sound as if you want to do this, Nikki.”
“What? Oh, no—I do,” she lied.
He frowned.
“I, um—” She waved a hand. “I need the practice. Really. You’ll be doing me a favor to watch.” Okay, that was probably laying it on too thick, but Adam didn’t call her on it.
“Come on. Let’s stop talking and go.” She teetered out to the parking lot and over to her car. She pulled on the driver’s-side handle, but it was locked. Nikki fumbled her keys out of her bag and poked the relevant one toward the lock, but her hands shook and it was dark.
A couple of steps brought Adam up behind her, so close that she could smell his laundry detergent—the same brand she used—and a masculine-smelling shampoo. There was another scent that clung to Adam: faint traces of beer from the bar, but also something that reminded her of a library. Books? Paper? Ink?
“Excuse me.” His arm reached around her, his hand covered hers, and with long, lean, competent fingers he inserted her key into the lock of the door, then turned it. “There,” he said.
Nikki stood still for a moment, drawn to the warmth of him, the brush of his soft cotton shirt against her bare skin. She wanted to stay encircled by his arm, even lay her head against his chest. But Adam opened the car door for her, so she blinked and got in.
Adam shut the door and walked around the Beetle, getting into the passenger side. She started the engine, and seconds later the air conditioner shot a blast of lukewarm air straight between her thighs, making her jump and squirm.
He turned his steady, chocolate-brown gaze on her once again, still holding the ice pack to his nose. “You sure you want to do this dance?”
As she looked at him, at his slightly mussed dark hair, the crinkles of good humor around his eyes, the tough jaw and the tiny indentation in his chin, Nikki found to her surprise that she did want to dance for him. She wished it were under different circumstances—after a date maybe, when they’d eaten at a nice restaurant and maybe gone to see some live music.
That wasn’t the case, but she responded to his innate kindness and decency as well as his good looks. Here was a guy that she wanted to want her…and she had to meet him under these circumstances? She sighed inwardly, but turned her brightest smile on him.
“I absolutely do want to keep up my side of the bargain. I promised you a dance, and I’ll give you one.”
“It’s not smart to come back to my hotel room,” Adam told her. “How do you know I’m not a serial killer? A twisted rapist?”
Nikki frowned. “You don’t seem like the type.”
“What type would that be? They’re all pretty normal-looking white guys. Most of them are married with children.”
“Are you married with children?”
“Not even close, but you’re missing the point.”
“Are you a rapist or murderer?”
“No,” he said, sounding a bit exasperated. “But you shouldn’t take my word for it.”
“Would you like me to check on you from my iPhone? Find out if you have an arrest record before I get out of the car?”
Adam leaned his head against the seat, adjusted the ice pack and closed his eyes. “You can’t possibly be this naive.”
“There’s no need for name-calling,” Nikki said. “I have a solution. We’ll stop by the front desk at the hotel and let them know that if I’m found scattered in pieces anywhere, I spent my last hours with you. How’s that?”
“Fine, laugh at me. I’m simply trying to tell you that it’s a scary world out there and you shouldn’t go back to strange men’s hotel rooms.”
“Just how strange are you?”
“I give up!”
Nikki grinned, then put the Beetle into Reverse and backed out of the parking spot. “Look, I appreciate the good advice. I really do. But I have pretty good instincts about people and my creep radar didn’t go off around you.”
“She has a creep radar,” Adam said to nobody in particular. “Whatever that is.”
Nikki laughed. “If you were a sicko, you wouldn’t have tried to talk me out of going to your hotel room with you. You’d have been trying to convince me that you were the most harmless, trustworthy person on the planet. You might even have leaned on a crutch and begged for my help, Ted Bundy–style.”
“Whatever,” said Adam. They rode in silence for a little while.
“So you weren’t having a good time at the club?” Nikki asked. “Why not?”
“Just not my
