Page 102 of Camera Shy

I thought I’d made it through my awkward, uncomfortable, camera-shy phase unscathed until at age thirty I was catapulted right back into the shaky, fragile waters of insecurity and singlehood.

And here’s what Finn can’t get through his sexy, beautiful, thick skull: what if he sees me in a picture and notices too? The bus picture was almost twenty years ago, but that pudgy pre-teen is still ingrained in my brain. What if Finn notices how mismatched we are? Everyone else seems to. Once he sees it…

He’ll never be able to unsee it.

The spell will be broken and I’ll lose him before the summer is over.

Finn stands in front of me, the waistband of his briefs hugging his hips tightly. He holds out a fluffy white hotel towel and I reluctantly drag myself out of the tub. It’s so cozy I could sleep in here. But Finn pats my body dry and drapes an oversized satin robe over me that feels cool and silky against my skin.

The only flaw to Finn’s grand romantic gesture with this room is that I have no change of clothes. There are complimentary toiletries—makeup wipes and a disposable toothbrush, but I’m forced to put back on my thong and uncomfortable strapless bra from earlier this evening. Finn probably wasn’t worried about it, assuming we’d be naked all night. When I’m situated, I join him on the private balcony, the gust of warm Vegas air filling my lungs.

“Do you like champagne?” he asks, right before a loud pop makes my heart jump. “Whoops.” We watch the heavy cork fly over the balcony rail and fall endless stories down. Both of us look concerned until a solid minute passes by and there’s no slew of cuss words from the pedestrians below.

“Not really,” I finally answer. “I drink it for toasts, mostly. I prefer beer or fun cocktails. Anything with flavor.”

“I get that.” But he pours two glasses anyway.

I settle into a cushioned patio chair next to him before he hands me the skinny glass flute. For a moment, we’re silent as I watch the Las Vegas Strip beneath us send me straight into sensory overload. The faint smell of smoke and a variety of different restaurants is still potent, even up this high. The bustle of foot traffic and punctuated shrieks and giggles are loud from below. The neon lights cast a hue on the dark sky above us, making me think there’s a different measurement of time out here. There’s day and night, dawn and dusk…and then there’s Vegas. The sinful, sleepless city full of dreams I’ve never dreamed before.

“I’ve been here about three times before this summer but have never really seen Las Vegas. Not like this.”

“Really? Why not?” Finn asks, touching his glass to his lips.

“I was always just passing by. Once for work, another time for a conference, another time after that to rescue Palmer.”

Finn rolls his eyes. “Oh, Palmer.”

I get the impression Finn doesn’t like my best friend much. I’ve told him a few stories here and there and I’m not sure if I gave him the best impression. I don’t mean to make Palmer sound selfish, flighty, or catty in conversation, but somehow, it’s how she comes across.

“Why did Palmer need rescuing?”

“There’s a fancy strip club off the Strip that way, I think.” I point to my left. “It’s called Ruby’s. Palmer went with some random guy and the bachelor party he was attending. Well, he ditched her and took home the stripper who was giving them lap dances all night. He stuck her with a bar tab for the entire party that was well over a thousand dollars and she couldn’t pay it. She got mouthy and was swinging punches, so they locked her in a stripper cage—like a little jail. When Palmer called me, I talked to someone from security and begged him not to call the police. I hightailed it out to Las Vegas to collect Palmer and pay the stupid tab. They probably could’ve arrested her that night, so I owe Ruby’s one.”

Finn presses his lips together in a flat line like he’s debating his response.

Okay, once again… Palmer is not coming off great.

“Ruby’s is that way,” he says, pointing to the right. “And it’s not a strip club, it’s a gentleman’s club.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Dress code and budget,” he answers dryly.

I smirk at him. “Oh, and you’re very familiar with Ruby’s, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll own it one day.”

“What?” That was certainly not the answer I was expecting.

“Just on paper,” Finn says defensively. “I won’t be managing it. It’s part of my inheritance. Ruby’s makes a lot of revenue for the Harvey family.”

I vaguely remember walking into Ruby’s and thinking it looked more like a luxury Four Seasons than a strip club. It makes sense.

“Hm, Finn Harvey, a gentleman’s club owner. Who knew?”

He turns his head, watching my eyes intently. “I could sell it one day. Gramps would be pissed, but once it’s mine, it’s my decision.”

I show him a pinched look. “Why would you sell it if it’s making you good money?”

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