“No.”
“All right.” He stretches his hands above his head and blows out a heavy breath. “You want adventure? I’ll give you adventure.”
Finally . . .
“When the moon hits your eye like a big—”
“Sir.” I hold up my hand. “Can you not sing, please?”
“Why? It’za part of the package.”
“Your attempt at an Italian accent is semi-offensive.”
The gondola captain—is that what you call the person pushing the boat? I don’t know—stares at me for a few seconds and then whispers to Pike, “Good luck, man.”
“I heard that,” I snap at him.
“I said it loud enough.”
I whip toward Pike, who’s leaning back in his seat, hands folded on his stomach, looking at the night sky.
“I’m turning into an angry drunk,” I say.
“Why?” He spreads his arms out. “You’re not enjoying this?”
“Once again, this is not thrilling. This is something an old couple does when they come to Las Vegas because the casinos are too smoky and the concerts are too loud for them.”
“Not true. Look.” He points to a boat passing by. “That’s not an old couple.”
“They’re not young,” I shoot back before pulling a mini bottle of Fireball out of my purse and downing it. “We are young, we should be doing young, fun things. You drive a motorcycle, for fuck’s sake. You are not the man I envisioned.”
“It’s all the booze. It’s mellowed me.” He reaches for a bottle but I smack it out of his hand, sending it to the front of the gondola.
“Then stop drinking.” I turn to the captain and say, “Sir, we need excitement in our night. Something thrilling. Something to talk about for years to come. Something that when we wake up tomorrow, we can say, ‘Wow, I can’t believe we did that.’”
“Are you looking for my advice?”
“That’s why I asked you.”
His eyes narrow.
My eyes narrow.
A crease in his brow appears.
My hands go to my side.
And then . . . a slow smile spreads across his lips.
“How drunk are you two?”
“Drunk,” Pike says, sticking a pretzel on his finger and then holding his hand out, examining the pretzel like a ring. “Really drunk.”
“I’ve had far too many Fireballs, so bad decisions are begging to be made.”
The captain’s smile grows. “Then I have the best idea for you.”
“Really?” I ask.
He nods. “Not many people have the nerve to do it—”
“I can do it,” I say, straightening myself. “I can do a lot of things.”
“I accomplish all the things,” Pike says, popping pretzels in his mouth after wearing them like jewelry.
“So don’t tell us we can’t do something.” I stick my chin in the air.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t do it. I said not many people have the nerve to do it.”
“Well, we do, right, Pike?” I whack his leg.
“What? Oh, yeah, we can do anything.”
“See?” I direct my attention back to the captain. “So, just tell us what it is, and we’ll do it.”
“I don’t know . . .” he wavers.
Looking him dead in the eyes, I say, “I swear on the tassels that are covering my nipples, whatever this activity is that you speak of, we’ll do it.”
“Without knowing, you’re committing?”
“Yes.”
He eyes me and then holds out his hand. “Shake on it.”
Without even a thought, I take his hand in mine and shake on it.
I’ll show this two-bit doofus what’s what.
You can’t go and tell me I can’t do something. Nope. Because I can do anything, especially when Fireball is in my system.
I want to do something thrilling tonight.
I want to feel alive.
I want to live my life without having someone hovering behind me, judging my every move like Keenan used to.
This is my chance.
This is my moment.
This is my divorce-cation.
If I’m ever going to do something fun and crazy, now is the time.
“Okay.” The captain pushes the boat toward the dock. “If you really want to do something crazy in Vegas, if you really want to show your nerves of steel . . .” He smirks, then leans in and whispers in our ears.
I feel an evil grin spread across my face. “Done.”