Page 6 of The Murder Between Us
Dizzy, Noah slid out of the SUV, holding on to Cole’s hand for a moment before squeezing and letting go. Cole, ever the gentleman, smiled and fell in step a half second ahead, enough so that he could grab the door for Noah as they made their way into the Aria.
What was he doing here? He looked around at the soaring ceilings and the multistory fountains, wreathed in paper lanterns, that filled the football-field-length lobby. High heelsclick-clacked, echoing on the marble. The noise in the Aria was more subdued, more dignified, than at the bar and casino in Noah’s hotel. Of course, his hotel was nothing but a three-star, where anyone who came to Vegas could stay. At the Aria, you probably needed a credit check just to book a room.
“Can I buy you a nightcap?” Cole beckoned him toward the late-night bar, a cloistered, private enclave that opened onto a patio surrounded by a lagoon bedecked in flickering lanterns. Candles floated on the water’s surface, bobbing in the neon lights of the Strip reflected off the Aria’s mirrored exterior.
They were alone on the patio. In the silence and the darkness, Cole took Noah’s hand again and led him to a table at the water’s edge. A server appeared, and Cole ordered a split of champagne. Noah didn’t know his champagnes, but what Cole ordered sounded exceptionally French, and it wasn’t any label he recognized from the grocery store aisles. He must have fallen into a fairy tale sometime this evening. How else could he explain this night? Cole, and everything that had happened?
Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he’d wake up drooling on himself as CNN droned in the background.
He squeezed Cole’s hand until it hurt. Cole squeezed back.
“You’re from the Midwest, right?” Cole asked after a moment.
Noah started. “I am. How did you know?”
“I have a weakness for men from the Midwest.” Cole winked. “There’s something indefinable about midwesterners. Something very Norman Rockwell. The stereotype, of course, is the hard worker, the show-me, take-no-bullshit uprightness, but it’s more than that. I think midwesterners are…” Cole bit his lip. “Genuine. In a way that can be hard to find nowadays.”
“Where are you from?” He half expected Cole to say the Aria, that he lived here in the penthouse. Or he was the owner. Stranger things had happened. Never to Noah, but there was a first time for everything.
“I live on the East Coast now, but I was born in Orange County.”
Was he an investment banker? Did he work on Wall Street? Or maybe he had a private practice somewhere wealthy, a psychologist’s office where he listened to the stay-at-home mothers of Manhattan or Westchester County weave their troubles. Listened to stockbrokers scream into his couch pillows and cautioned them not to jump. He probably made and lost in an afternoon what Noah earned in an entire year.Vegas. Where you can meet anyone.“And now you’re in the Aria?” Noah imagined a room here for a week was all of his monthly salary.
Cole smiled. “I appreciate the best and finest things in life.” His gaze lasered into Noah as he sipped his champagne. Cole’s thumb brushed over the back of his hand.
“Do you like older guys?” He squinted, scrunching up his face before glancing at Cole.
“I like you.”
Noah swallowed.
“Did you have a good time? And did tonight answer any of your questions?” Cole’s thumb kept running over his knuckles. The waterfall at the dark end of the lagoon trickled, its burbles and babbles the backdrop in this corner of Vegas seemingly carved out just for them. Who knew—maybe Cole had paid to keep the bar open for them alone?
“I had a great time.” Noah smiled, and he turned his hand over, grabbing Cole’s. It was simple, but it was also heart-stopping and grounding, all at once. He was holding a man’s hand. And not just any man. Cole was… He hadn’t found the words yet. The way Cole looked at Noah—lookedintohim—and drew him out slowly, until here he was, holding Cole’s hand moments away from the neon glow of the Strip.
Cole was someone Noah wanted to spend more time with. Someone he wanted to get to know. Cole was, when he allowed himself to think that far, the kind of man he hoped to one day meet. When he imagined falling for a man, he imagined a smart, sensitive, sophisticated man, someone who could talk football and enjoy a quiet evening of music at the same time. Someone gentle enough not to rush him but who still pushed all of Noah’s buttons. He’d thought he was imagining a fairy tale. A fantasy. But, hell, it was his daydream, so he made his fantasy man exactly the way he wanted. Someone who looked at him with kind, gentle eyes, who smiled and laughed and held his hand, and who wanted more of who Noah was.
Why did it feel like he’d gone and met the man of his dreams, on a Wednesday night right here in Las Vegas?
“What about you? Taking out a guy who doesn’t know what he’s doing can’t be that fun. Hardly an exciting night.” Noah shrugged, tried to laugh. Cole might be his Prince Charming, or Noah might be projecting a million fantasies onto a mystery man he didn’t know anything about, but Noah had to be a charity case to Cole. How much fun was it to play with Noah’s shoulder and collarbone for hours?
“I had a fantastic time,” Cole said. “And you’re wrong. Taking you out tonight was better than every other night I’ve spent in Vegas.”
Noah snorted.
“I’m serious. Thank you for letting me buy you a drink, and for allowing me to take you on your first real date.” He held his champagne out for a toast. “Those aren’t small things. I’m honored.”
“I think I should be thanking you.” He sipped his champagne, letting the bubbles float through him, fill his veins. “This was the best date I’ve been on in years. Maybe ever.”
“Only maybe?” Cole arched an eyebrow.
“I took out Casey Peters in eleventh grade. She was a varsity cheerleader, and we made out in the back seat of my dad’s Volvo for about two hours.” Noah chuckled as Cole tipped his head back and laughed. “I don’t think anything has ever beaten that.” The rush of hormones, his father’s car, the first time another person had touched him, and a thousand fears and hopes and questions surging in his blood. He’d been a rocket with no destination, looping in the sky of his life.
“What position did you play in high school? On the football team.”
Noah flushed. “Quarterback. How did you know?”
“Midwestern men. God bless ’em. Nearly everyone plays football, and you have the look of someone who was a leader on the field. Plus, I can imagine you in football pants.” Cole winked again, his smile turning wolfish before he finished his champagne. He set the glass down on the table and squeezed Noah’s hand. “I have one more question for you.”
