“An opportunity?” she asks. She narrows her eyes at me. “Is this for a girl?”
I laugh. “No, AJ, it’s not for a girl. I’m going to California.”
“And you waited to tell me this? When are you going? And why?” She grabs a one-inch section of my hair and tugs.
“Ow!” I whine. “I leave Thursday. I’m auditioning for a band.”
“And if they pick you?” she asks, tugging again.
“Then I’m moving to California.”
Maybe I’ll do that even if I don’t win.
“Oh, Gage,” she murmurs. “I want this for you, I do. But for me, I don’t want you to leave.”
I sigh. Leaving the band certainly isn’t the hardest thing about leaving Las Vegas. “You’re the only reason I don’t want to do this. But it’s a huge opportunity for me, and I can’t pass it up.”
“Sunday evening dinners won’t be the same without you,” she says softly.
I’m the oldest of my six cousins, and they’re like siblings to me. And Auntie Jean has invited me to dinner every Sunday since I moved out of her and Uncle Norm’s place. I haven’t missed a Sunday—even when she’s had to hold it earlier than usual because of my gigs. “I know. Sundays won’t be the same without you guys, either. You’re my family, and I love you.”
She reaches around me and bear hugs me from behind, and I already know how damn much I’m going to miss this woman.
And her cooking.
I pat her arm as it clings to me, and she lets go and swipes some tears.
“Okay, then. Clean cut it is. You ready?”
I press my lips together and nod resolutely, and then she makes the first cut.
By the time she’s done, the floor is covered in my long locks and I look like a totally different person.
“I always knew you were so handsome under that mop,” she says, and I grin. She presses a hand to her chest. “Oh, be still my heart. That smile is going to just kill those California girls.”
“I don’t want to kill ‘em, but I wouldn’t say no to having a few of them in my bed.”
She smacks my shoulder but laughs anyway. “Don’t talk like that in front of me.”
I laugh along with her, and she pulls the cape off my shoulders and dusts the hair from my neck. “I love you, Auntie Jean.”
“I love you too, Gage. Come to dinner tomorrow night before you go, okay?” She leans down and presses a kiss to my cheek.
I nod, and the hardest part is over.
Mostly.
I still haven’t told Kelly.
When I get home, she’s at rehearsal. I pack up what I’ll need for the next month or so and fit it all into one suitcase, and then, just in case I’m not coming back, I pack the rest of my shit.
I fit most of my meager belongings into a couple of suitcases and a few small boxes. I guess I’m just not sentimental enough to hold onto shit I don’t need, and that includes my old wigs. I shove the suitcases and boxes into the closet. I can unpack when I come back, or if something actually happens in the next few weeks, it’ll make for an easier exit.
I’m sitting at the kitchen table eating some grilled chicken and fresh vegetables when Kelly walks in.
Her jaw drops as she kicks the door shut.
“Your hair,” she murmurs. She follows that with, “Holy fuck, you’re hot.”
I laugh, and she shakes her head.
“The face, the little bit of stubble, the nice haircut, that firm chest and those wicked biceps, those abs of steel, and that happy trail that leads to the best dicking I’ve ever had...” She trails off, and the signal is clear that she wants to fuck.
But, oddly, I don’t. I want to talk.
I need to tell her I’m leaving.
“The best dicking?” I ask.
She sets her bag down then nods. “Oh, yeah. The best.”
I laugh.
“Why the haircut?” she asks.
“I, uh, have something I need to talk to you about.”
Her eyebrows draw together and she slides into the chair beside me. She grabs a piece of broccoli off my plate. I narrow my eyes at her, but she doesn’t give it back.
“Go for it.”
“I’m heading to California in a couple days and potentially staying there.”
She drops the broccoli and it lands on the floor. “You’re what?”
“I was invited to be on a reality show and filming starts this weekend.”
“But...but...” she sputters. She pouts a little. “But you can’t take away the dick.”
I laugh. “Sorry, babe. It’s kind of coming with me.”
She sighs. “I knew it was too good to last. When will you know if you’re staying there?”
I shrug. “A month or so. Maybe longer. There’s a lot that’s up in the air but this has the potential to change my career.” And, sorry, but I’m not passing it up because you like my dick.
I only say that last part in my head, obviously.
“So what does this mean for me? Should I rent out your room?”
“I packed and stuck all my shit in the closet until I know more, but I understand if you don’t want to be here alone. Rent it out if you want. I’ll still cut you a check for my share until I know for sure.”
She sighs. “This isn’t the news I was hoping to hear today.” She looks down at the broccoli on the floor, and I bend over and pick it up. I set it on the table.
I’m curious what news she was hoping to hear...but I’m not curious enough to ask. I don’t want to put myself in an awkward position if I don’t have to. “Sorry,” I say instead, even though I’m not really all that sorry.
I share my dinner with her, and we talk about her rehearsal, and she shares all the gossip about the other dancers with me, and when we’re done eating, I pour us each a shot of tequila. We stand in the kitchen and take it, and then another, and then she closes the small gap between us. She links her arms around my neck.
“You’re the best roommate I’ve ever had,” she says. “Certainly the hottest.”
I laugh, and then because I don’t know what else to say—she’s not the best roommate I’ve ever had, though as a real, true Vegas showgirl, she is among the sexiest—my mouth crashes down to hers.
She moans into me in the way she always does, and then she wraps her arms around me and her nails skim up and down my back while we kiss.
“God, you’re like a different person without all that hair,” she says.
“I feel like a different person, too,” I admit. And then, from out of nowhere, I say, “And maybe that’s why we shouldn’t do this tonight.”
She pouts.
Kelly is one hell of a good time. But that’s all we are to each other, and I can’t feel bad about leaving her behind when I leave town.
CHAPTER 8: GAGE
You know those guys at the airport who hold up signs with names on them?
We all look at every name wondering who these people are, or maybe hoping our name will be on one of them sometime.
Mine never was.
Not until today, anyway.
I walk up to the man carrying the tablet with Gage Hoffman splashed across it in dark lettering.