Page 3 of Dealing Dirty
“Follow me,” I say over my shoulder. The sensation of tiny needles stabs at the bottoms of my feet. I refuse to acknowledge the chewed gum and other unmentionables I’m stepping on.
Derrick breezes by just as I reach the crossing point, stopping dead in his tracks in front of me. Screeching to a halt, my mouth pops open, then snaps closed as the bright orange numbers on the crossing timer gradually flick to zero.
“We just missed our chance to cross!” My hand finds my hip as his eyes crinkle around the edges, a goofy smile breaking across his face.
A small crowd gathers in preparation of another countdown. “There’s got to be another spot to cross,” I mutter, bouncing on sore feet.
Derrick turns so that his back is to me.
Who let this man out of the hotel with this shirt? It ought to be a crime.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask when he drops to the ground, squatting like a frog.
“Hop on.”
Nosy onlookers direct their attention to us. A pair of older women stare with wide eyes, making my face unbearably hot. He can’t honestly expect me to jump on his back leapfrog style so he can carry me across the street.
“You’re deranged.”
“Don’t be a chicken,” he goads.
“I’m not a chicken,” I hiss, clutching my heels against my short black dress. “These panties leave little to the imagination, and I’m pretty sure this side of Las Vegas doesn’t want a sneak peek at my kitty.”
His responding chuckle is deep from where he patiently waits for me. “Agree to disagree.”
Our geriatric audience continues glaring like we’re two parts of a whole sideshow. One of them leans over to the other, mumbling something about ‘street trash,’ while pointing at us.
Screw it.
“I’ll give you old coots something to stare at.”
The timer beeps, signaling our turn to get a move on. Derrick’s shoulders are hot beneath my palms. I give them a complimentary squeeze before hoisting up onto his back. The man is built like a God, while I’m the equivalent of the dough that forms tortillas.
“Hold on tight,” he says as he winds his arms around my thick thighs and stands in a rush.
The wind carries the sound of my bubbling laughter off into the night while I marvel at the starless sky above Sin City. Securing his hold, he takes his first step, and I whip around to flip the old biddies off.
“Juliana?” The faintest brush of humor laces through my name.
I lean over, chin bumping against his shoulder with each stride. “Yes?”
“Did you just flip those ladies off?” I’m gifted an arched brow.
The gentle summer air breezes against my exposed cheeks. Sparing a glance over my shoulder, I see their jaws go slack as they get an eyeful of the goods.
I smile triumphantly. “Sure did.”
His blond hair tickles my nose when he tips his head back, releasing a burst of laughter that shoots straight through his chest and right toward my lady bits.
I suppress a shudder. But what to do about those butterflies?
When we finally reach the storefront, I waltz in with bare feet, only to emerge with the ugliest pair of shoes I’ve ever had the displeasure of wearing.
“Carajo,” I mumble when Derrick’s eyes fly straight to the pink feathers covering the straps of the sandals. Tiny plastic sunglasses are glued to several spots, and one area is even missing a piece, leaving a wad of glue in its place.
He bends over, hugging his arms across his middle.
I hurl a string of Spanish curse words at him, pushing past where he stands and ignoring the trail of obnoxious laughter that follows.
