Sandee raised one perfectly tweezed eyebrow. “You always were an outdoor girl.”
“And bowling.”
Sandee grimaced. “Don’t tell me you rent those hideous shoes that everybody and their grandfather’s worn.”
“Okay, I won’t tell you.” Corinne smiled, knowing this conversation was totally grossing out Sandee, who probably wore gold high heels to church—if she went. “You look great—what do you do to work out?”
After swiping a flame-red hair out of her eye, Sandee winked saucily. “I like indoor sports.”
Corinne wanted to say something glib, make it seem that she, Conspicuous Corinne, liked indoor sports, too. But she’d never had the chance to discover if she was good at that particular sport. Based on Tony’s double-dipping, she was obviously a disappointment. How stupid she must have looked to him, sheathed in freezer wrap, when he opened that door…come to think of it, he never even checked out her sexy, see-through ensemble. His gaze never left hers…wow, Corinne McCourt goes all out to made her man howl and he doesn’t even whimper…
“Hey, Earth to cuz,” said Sandee, concern darkening her eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking, honey, let it go. He’s not worth it.”
Corinne nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“Good,” Sandee said softly. “’Cause I have an idea and I think it’s gonna work out swell.” Sandee tapped the tip of her cigarette on a ceramic ashtray with the words “Circus Circus” in bright crimson script around its white perimeter. “Here’s the deal. You need a place to stay and I need a favor.”
Corinne’s antennae went up. She sensed “Sandee Trouble” just like when they were teenagers. Back then, Corinne did favors like sit in for Sandee in classes while she played hooky, play waitress at Sandee’s job while she partied, and once—one gloriously magical summer evening—she filled in for Sandee on a date that Sandee had accidentally double-booked. Fortunately, the guy had only met Sandee once, so he didn’t know the look-alike cousin wasn’t really the girl he’d asked out. An anxious Corinne had worn one of Sandee’s skimpy shifts and slathered on her makeup and perfume—something intoxicatingly spicy called “Forbidden.”
Corinne remembered shaking as she squirted the stuff on…and shaking even more, later, when she experienced her first kiss. A mouth-tingling, mind-melding, twenty-minute lip-lock whose memory, to this day, turned her insides liquid.
“So what d’ya think?” Sandee said.
“Is it forbidden?” Corinne asked breathily. She grinned as though she were teasing, but with a jolt, she knew that’s exactly why she’d come to Vegas. To be dramatic, uninhibited, forbidden. To spend two weeks being the furthest thing from the old, goody-goody, Inconspicuous Corinne.
“Forbidden? More like fun and easy money, honey!” Sandee grabbed Corinne’s hand and led her to the couch. “Take a load off—I’ll bring out some snacks and we’ll discuss the specifics.”
Corinne sank into the overstuffed pink-and-tangerine-striped couch and watched Sandee sashay out of the room, her shorts barely covering her behind. And at the end of those long, tanned legs, her bright pink manicured toes were wedged into a pair of fuchsia, sequined high-heel sandals.
Corinne smiled. Maybe her cousin’s clothes were abbreviated, but her style was unabridged. Always had been. As Sandee had always boldly proclaimed, life was too short to hide your best assets.
So what were her best assets? Considering she’d worn see-through plastic and Tony’s gaze hadn’t slipped once, she was left a bit clueless. She raised one leg, and checked out her calf. The muscle was nicely molded from her daily runs. She ran her fingers up her thighs, firm, to her tummy, flat. She tilted her head and sighed. The tummy she’d once wished would soon be round. “Well, you’re not gonna be round for a while,” she whispered.
When her stomach growled, Corinne realized she hadn’t eaten since that pit stop in some small town near the Utah border where she’d grabbed a bag of chips and a soda. Reminded her of the nights she sat up waiting for Tony, munching on a pretzel or a carrot, not wanting to spoil her dinner because she figured they’d still eat the stew—or lasagna or casserole—that’d been sitting lukewarm on the stove the last two-plus hours. After a few more pretzels, Corinne would give up and go to bed. In the morning, Tony would apologize, claiming he’d had a late business meeting with a client.
“A frizzy blond-haired client,” Corinne murmured. How could I have been so naive?
Click click click.
The staccato of Sandee’s heels brought Corinne’s thoughts back to the present. She looked up as her cousin crossed the faux wood floor of the small dining room, carrying a white wicker tray piled high with food and several pop-sized bottles. Corinne could finally walk straight in her stilettos, but it would take some practice for her to simultaneously carry trays of food like Sandee. That girl was multitalented.
“Egg rolls,” explained Sandee, pointing at some crispy fried cylinders with her rose-tipped index finger. Her finger waved over the rest of the items, like Vanna White gesturing over letters. “A chili relleno, chicken nuggets, some carrot sticks and two Mai Tais.” She set the tray on the glass coffee table next to a stack of women’s magazines.
Sandee then plopped herself onto the couch and uncorked one of the bottles with “Maui Zowie Mai Tai” embossed in purple letters on a shiny label. She toasted Corinne with a short “Here’s looking at you, kiddo,” took a sip, then began talking rapidly. “So, here’s the deal, I got this job at a local casino…”
Corinne uncorked her own Mai Tai and tasted it, liking how it fizzled sweetly on her tongue. She settled back into the cushy couch, eager to hear one of Sandee’s life stories.
“And then this dude Hank enters my life,” Sandee 30 Joyride continued, picking up an egg roll. She paused, her blue-lined eyes misting over as she looked at the roll. “Reminds me of a baby bird he picked off the asphalt once. Little thing must have fallen out of its nest. Hank—we was driving past—lurches to a stop, hops out, and picks up that little bird. Big ol’ semi barely missed Hank as he carried that little feathered creature across the road to safety.” Sandee sniffed and set the egg roll back onto the plate. “For a guy with a record, he has such a soft heart,” she whispered, her voice choking.
Sandee, crying? Could this Hank guy be the one who twisted her heart? Corinne handed her one of the cocktail napkins, then sat quietly while Sandee dabbed carefully at her eyes, expertly wiping away her tears without mussing her makeup. Corinne was way impressed. When she cried, she needed a mirror and multiple tissues to do damage control.
When Sandee gained control of herself, Corinne quietly said, “We don’t have to talk about this.”
“You kiddin’? Honey, this is part of the deal. You need to know what’s happened.” Rolling back her shoulders, Sandee cleared her throat and continued, “Hank was a lightweight contender years ago. He works as a bouncer now, but he’s mostly on standby, so his paychecks get sketchy.”
Sandee wiped her fingers on a cocktail napkin with “The Mirage” printed diagonally across it. “On our second date, Hank starts tellin’ me I’m ‘the one’ and his heart is mine forever. I’m used to stuff like that on maybe the fourth or fifth date, but on the second?” Shooting Corinne a can-you-believe it look, Sandee took another sip of her
