Then he looked back at her. “I’m hungry.”
“Me too,” she agreed, let go of his hand and moved instantly.
Rolling off the lounger, she bent low and grabbed some clothes she’d shoved under it. Then she pulled on a tight, tee fabric halter top the color of her swimsuit and then a pair of black short-shorts. Then she sat, bent forward and started strapping on a pair of black sandals with tall, wedged heels.
Something barbed pressed into the skin at the back of his neck and he tore his eyes from his new wife to look three loungers away. There he saw a man who definitely spent a lot of time working on his tan. Oiled up. Tight, black swim trunks. Gold at his neck. His shades aimed at Alexa Walker’s cle**age exposed to his view as she was bent toward the guy.
“Yo!” he barked, felt Lexie’s surprised movement rather than saw it but also saw tight trunk man’s shades jerk up to his face. Walker shook his head slowly. The guy quickly looked away.
The barbed feeling faded.
Lexie stood and came into his line of sight.
“What was that?” she asked quietly.
“I’m standin’ here,” he answered.
Her head cocked to the side. She was confused or maybe she didn’t notice the guy. He was guessing the second as he’d noted she didn’t notice men’s attention, something which she got a lot of.
But he did.
He moved around the lounge, got close to her and tipped his chin down to lock shades.
“He was starin’ at your tits.”
Her head slowly turned to the lounger holding tight trunk man.
Then it turned to him, tipped back and they again locked shades.
Then she muttered, “Euw.”
Total goof. Total cute.
Fuck him.
“Yeah, that for you, for me, my woman is puttin’ on her shoes, I’m standin’ right there, you do not f**kin’ stare at her tits.”
“Oh,” she whispered.
“Right. Oh.” He jerked his head at the lounge. “You gonna get your stuff?”
She shook her head. “No, I’ll leave it to keep my place. I’ll keep an eye on it from our table.”
That was acceptable so he moved.
She moved with him and did what she did the day before, grabbing his hand and lacing her fingers with his. She held on tight. Bag of Bones was watching and she was earning her fifty K.
They were seated at a table where he could keep an eye on her shit; she sat in the seat next to him at the square table instead of opposite. A scan of the pool and restaurant showed that Bag of Bones was gone, probably because the morning Vegas sun was torture on his pasty white skin.
They ordered and he was doing another scan to see if Bones was back when he felt her fingers on his hand and his head tipped down to see her hand was at his which was resting on the table and she was thumbing his wide, white gold wedding band.
“He’s gone,” Walker informed her.
Her hand moved away quickly and her head shot back to look at him, both movements indicating that for some reason he’d startled her.
“What?” she asked quietly.
“Bones. He’s gone.”