Page 11 of Notorious

“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.”

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