4. Johnny

When the cute man sits down next to me, he looks familiar, but I can't immediately tell from where. So I take a second peep at him.

He's got boy-next-door good looks, and even in my inebriated haze, I can tell he's something special. There's this aura about him—like he's going places and determined to get there no matter what. Though something's happened to make his shoulders hunch. And I still don't know who he is.

"You say your name's Kurt?"

He nods. "Yeah. Kurt Delmont."

Ah. The light goes on, and I connect at least some of the dots, because Delmont's a big political name in California, where I live, and Kurt's handsome face used to be on promotional billboards and posters all over for LGBTQIA+ awareness and advocacy. Always thought he was cute.

Just my luck to have a politician join me. I don't have much use for politicians. They seem like vipers to me, waiting to strike after their next election.

Not that literal vipers get elected, but you get my drift. I don't trust 'em. Not since what they did to my mama, making the rules the insurance companies used to deny her transplant.

That's gonna get fixed, though. I'm gonna fix it.

But I'm feeling off-kilter, since this is my last night on earth, and he's amusing me. There's nothing saying I can't have some fun before I check out, and Kurt's exactly my type. Boy next door, yes, but with soulful brown eyes that have seen more than they let on. I like how he's not small or delicate. He's not as tall as me, but he's, I don't know, lean but solid. Average size, but his looks are way above average. Dark hair that's stylishly trimmed but intentionally messy on top. Spectacular, actually. Looks a bit like that one guy on the historical romance show on Netflix, only without the breeches.

I'm lightheaded, though I'm not sure if it's from the whiskey or Kurt. My eyes dart over to him again, and the shiver that goes through my body is more pleasure than I've felt in months.

Him. It's him.

I want to erase the distance between us, which is ridiculous, since I just met him.

When we're both done with our fresh round of drinks, we look at each other. "Another?" he asks. "Or do you want to go for a walk?"

"Walk sounds mighty fine," I drawl, and signal the bartender. Kurt pulls out his wallet, too, but I tell him, "I got it." I have a little bit left, so I might as well spend it on him.

I want to spend it on him. I'm flooded with warmth as I check him out, with his snappy tuxedo and pretty-boy face.

He looks at me for a moment, then swallows and nods. "Thank you," he says quietly.

We walk out of the bar shoulder to shoulder, out onto the Las Vegas Strip.

It's a cold October night, and the desert doesn't hold the heat this time of year. That doesn't stop people from wearing very little. We don't get far before we see showgirls in G-strings and pasties, their huge feather headdresses and lack of clothing attracting all kinds of attention.

"You ever seen a show like that?" I ask, indicating them with a nod.

Kurt shakes his head. "Not too interested in …" He trails off, waving his hand vaguely. I get distracted by that hand. What would it feel like on me?

"Women?" I ask.

"Yeah. I've got plenty of female friends, and I love them. But I don't wanna stick my dick in one. Just men. And with them, I prefer to be on the bottom."

I laugh for real, because Kurt has good manners and looks polished. Hearing him say something so crass hits my funny bone.

Also, okay. Saliva floods my mouth as I picture him spread out naked before me. My toppy self's even more interested in him.

"What about a male strip show?" I ask. "Ever been curious about one of those?"

He shrugs. "I dunno. Those kind of things feel fake to me. Like people are just doing it for the money. If someone ever performed like that for me, I'd want it to be because they like me. Not because of my wallet. But maybe I'm too much of a stick-in-the-mud."

I wanna move closer to him. "Sticks in the mud are okay in my book."

"And I realize I'm being hypocritical, because I say that and yet you should see the amount of porn subscriptions I have," he says. Then his eyes widen.

"No judgment from me on that," I say, holding my hands up. "For obvious reasons."

Kurt smiles, and it relaxes something inside me. The violins get a little quieter.

Since he sat down next to me at the bar, I haven't been berating myself. Instead, I've been interested in figuring him out. So I'm grateful for the distraction.

Even if I don't deserve it.

Anywhere but in Vegas, two men in tuxedos—me especially tall and in my cowboy hat—out together would be quite the sight. Here, we blend in with the bachelorette parties and college benders going on all over the place.

Supercars stuck in traffic rev their engines as we keep walking, listening to a busker play the saxophone and watching people hand out cards to the closest brothel.

One offers me a card, but I thank him politely and decline. "Not so interested in women, I hope y'all don't mind." I take Kurt's hand and squeeze it for emphasis.

A zap of electricity passes through us at the connection point. Damn.

Kurt looks down at our joined hands and doesn't pull away. The promoter doesn't miss a beat, saying, "We've got men, too."

"Thanks anyway," I say, and tip my hat, keeping hold of Kurt.

We don't get far before we have to stop and talk with a woman walking a German shepherd puppy with a leather collar. Or, well, maybe I'm the one who has to stop for every good dog—which is all of them. After getting the owner's permission, I crouch down and scratch the puppy behind the ears. "You're such a good … girl?"—I look up at the lady, and she nods—"… good girl, aren't you?" The puppy licks my hand, and a true chuckle escapes me.

"I swear that dog is smiling at you," Kurt says, a hand over his mouth as he tries to hide a grin.

"Dogs are good for what ails ya," I say and thank the lady for letting me say hi. Then I take Kurt's hand again—and feel another frisson of energy pass between us.

Kurt and I walk inside the next casino we reach and are assaulted by all the noise from slot machines and craps tables packed with people trying to win. With alcohol still coursing through my veins, the scene is blurry but manageable.

"Fascinating. All these folks trying to get one up on the house, even though the odds are stacked against them," I murmur into Kurt's ear, and he shivers as my lips brush his skin.

That's even more fascinating.

"Vegas is powered by unfounded optimism," Kurt says, looking around. Scantily dressed people wearing lots of sparkles sit next to people wearing sweats and T-shirts who might've been in their seats for a week.

"That's a good observation," I say. "But is there such a thing as founded optimism? Or—sorry, I'm drunk. I mean, justifiable optimism. Is it ever justified to be optimistic?"

"I think if we aren't optimistic, we'll die," Kurt says. "At some level, when things aren't going right, we have to believe that they can get better."

Well, shit. That's where he loses me. Because I don't think things can get better with me around. Or rather, they can only get better if my mama gets my life insurance, which by definition means I've gotta go.

Good riddance to me, anyway.

But my venomous thoughts won't stop me from having a final night of fun with him. He's too cute for words, even if we don't agree on the optimism question.

I don't have to agree with him to spend a few hours with him. To hold his hand.

Maybe I want a little comfort before I end things. Maybe I need him, specifically.

"Wanna keep hanging out?" I blurt. "But maybe get out of here and go downtown? I like downtown better than the Strip. Downtown feels funkier. Less … fancy. More real. I dunno."

"Sure," Kurt says with a smile. "I didn't have any plans. I'm not here with friends or anything. I was just going to go back to my hotel room and lick my wounds."

I consider asking if I can join him in his hotel room to help with the licking—but while I was at that bar longer than he was, it's clear he's feeling the booze, too. Sleeping with someone who's intoxicated is my hard limit. After all the shit I've been through, I'd be the biggest hypocrite if I weren't absolutely scrupulous about consent.

I'm not opposed to kissing or being affectionate while intoxicated. I'm not a saint. But beyond that? Getting naked? Hell no. That's where I draw the line.

Hanging with Kurt fully clothed sounds like the best idea ever, though. "Then let's go," I say easily.

My blood heats in my veins at the prospect of getting more time with him. He's as pretty as they come, and while I've spent lots of time with hot guys on set—and I'm not a fan of politicians, as I said—there's something about Kurt that draws me to him. Maybe it's the furtive way I spy him looking at me. As if he doesn't want me to catch him at it. It's cuter than a newborn colt.

And the way he listens to me—he gives me all his attention. I don't think it's the martinis, either. He just seems to be a good listener. Like if you tell him something, he'll remember it for the rest of his days.

I admire his optimism, too. I've lost that like a white rabbit in a snowstorm, but he's making me remember that some people still have ideals. So even if I don't have hope, I can leave this world to folks who'll take better care of it than I have.

Kurt interrupts my thoughts by pulling out his phone. "Let me order a Lyft," he says, and a few minutes later, we're climbing into the back of a Nissan Pathfinder driven by Nadine and hurtling toward downtown.

As we speed away from the Strip's superhigh buildings, throngs of people, and dizzying amounts of lights, Kurt sits near me and doesn't bother with a seatbelt, so I sling an arm around his shoulders. I like the way he feels next to me, and I like the way he smells—faintly of expensive cologne. I'm getting preoccupied by his scent and the way he's curled up against me, and I briefly fantasize about stripping off his clothes. With my teeth.

This isn't the way I planned tonight going, but I can delay my plans a tad. He's too fascinating to let go. As long as I take the pills before the video goes live tomorrow, I'm good.

Well, I'm never gonna be good. That horse is outta the stable. But it'll do the trick.

As I tug him to me, he moves his butt closer, then stiffens and looks at me quizzically, drawing back. "Is that …" he asks in a loud whisper, running a finger along the holstered gun under my armpit.

"Cowboy," I say, pointing a thumb at my chest. "Don't worry, darlin'. It'll stay put."

With a serious expression on his drunken face, Kurt nods. "It goes with your hat and boots."

"It does, precious." I squeeze him tight. Everything fades except him as he cuddles into me.

The driver stops at the edge of the Fremont Street pedestrian area. Kurt and I thank her, get out, and head over to watch a cover band that's playing Led Zeppelin. Not my style of music, but it's pleasant enough for a few minutes.

There are so many people hanging out, it's hard to move, but I again hold on to Kurt's hand. Girls in sparkly dresses and guys dressed up in suits (or in gold lamé shorts) make it so, again, we don't stick out too much in our tuxedos, even though this part of town is definitely less fancy. And while walking around in this getup makes me feel like we escaped from a wedding, it seems that's what a lot of people come to Vegas for, judging by the number of "I'm the Bride!" sashes we see on women walking by.

We make our way through the crowd to an open area, and then Kurt stands up on his tiptoes, his lips brushing against my ear.

I want to turn and kiss him, but I don't know if that's what he wants. Although I'm pretty sure he's attracted to me, based on his reaction when we first met. Still, I can wait and see if the time is right.

Apparently it isn't, because he says, "Stay right here," and lets go of my hand. It oddly aches at the loss.

A few moments later, Kurt returns with two plastic cups of something that looks alcoholic and fruity. Given my past, I should be suspicious of him handing me a drink, but it's too hard to go through life and not trust people at all. Kurt's not giving me any vibes that I shouldn't trust him. While, yes, he's a politician, he hasn't said anything that makes me think he's using me for anything.

But I gotta be smart. "I'm tryin' to remember the rules for drinking," I say as a means to stall and see whether he drinks his. "It's been a while since I've really had a night out. Liquor before beer, never fear? Is that it?"

"Yep. Beer before liquor, never sicker." He clinks my glass. "Since we're sticking to hard alcohol, we're good, right? This has, I think, vodka? Not sure."

"Did we get the same thing? Wanna try mine?" I hold it out to him.

He takes a sip of it and says, "They're the same."

I relax and down the drink, then tug on his hand when he's finished with his. "C'mon. Let me get you another one."

But as we head over to where he bought the drinks, I catch sight of a bar with men wearing G-strings dancing on the tabletops. Lady Gaga thumps loudly from the speakers, and rainbow flags fly on every possible surface. It's gaudy as hell, but if it isn't Vegas, I don't know what is.

"Wanna go in there?" I whisper in Kurt's ear, and he lets out a little breathy noise.

Lord, he's responsive. He'd be fun to play with.

Sober.

"Abso-fucking-lutely," he says. "Lead the way."

We walk up to the bar and show our IDs to the bouncer, who tells us there's a two-drink minimum. After paying and entering, we order our two drinks, and I go find the bathroom while Kurt locates a booth for us. When I come back, I cuddle in next to him, getting another hit of his delicious scent as waiters in half shirts and booty shorts swish by with trays laden with tons of drinks. It's loud and fun … and distracting.

This night's going very differently than I expected. Not sure what I think about that.

But for a moment, the violins are silent.