Page 38 of All Bets Are Off

“Let’s go to a show.”

“A show? Like a movie?”

“No, like a show. This is Vegas. There are shows everywhere.”

“Like the Blue Man Group?”

“No.”

“Cirque du Soleil?”

“Absolutely not.”

Rex burst out laughing. “You’ll never get her to Cirque du Soleil. She’s convinced there’s a grand conspiracy regarding people who can contort their bodies that way.”

Intrigue lit Zach’s features. “What sort of conspiracy?”

“She thinks they’re aliens.”

“Oh, come on.” Zach snorted. “I admit it’s freaky to watch, but it’s also beautiful.”

“I don’t believe the human body was created to contort that way,” I replied evenly. “It’s unnatural.”

“Oh, yeah?” Zach’s grin only widened. “Perhaps you just haven’t been pretzeled the right way.” There was flirt in his eyes when he said it. He’d been flirting a lot more since seeing me naked. I’d opted to ignore the phenomenon, but apparently Zach had forgotten it wasn’t just him and me today.

“Oh, don’t say things like that to my sister,” Rex complained. “It’s gross. I’ll have to kill you if you’re not careful.”

“I’m saying them to my wife,” Zach countered.

“Fake wife.”

“It doesn’t matter in this context. She’s being weird.”

“I think you’re both being weird,” Rex muttered under his breath.

Zach’s gaze was still heavy on me. It was almost as if there was something else he wanted to say. He didn’t, though. He just stared.

“I was thinking more like Cher,” I said.

“Cher?” Zach made a face I might’ve found hilarious under different circumstances. Not right now, though. “What is it with you and really old people? First that show?—”

“Three’s Companyis a classic,” I hissed.

“Now Cher?” he continued. “She could be your grandmother.”

“She is an amazing performer, and I want to see her before I die.”

“I think you should rephrase that to you want to see her before she dies, but sure.” Zach nodded. “She’s not currently in residence anywhere.”

“Oh.” I was caught off guard. “I thought she was always in residence here.”

“It only seems that way.”

Well, that was a bummer. “Who is currently in residence?”

“Um … Garth Brooks.” He scratched his chin. “Shania Twain.”

“The 90s called and they want their country artists that are really pop artists back,” I drawled.

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