She laughs louder than usual and holds up two fingers. “I’ve got two in the bag already. I’ll take my third a little later.” She seems lost in thought for a moment. “Come to think of it, this writer has a bunch of books with scenes set here.”

“Maybe she has a thing for the Bellagio fountains,” I say as the lights splash across the placid surface and the lake begins its nighttime ballet.

Natalie gazes at the show as sprays of water dance up in the air. She sighs happily and stares at the scene before her with the contentment that only liquor can add to a night. “I can see why she likes it.” She turns to me, and her tone is flirty and curious. “What do you really like?”

“Like enough to write about in a few books?”

“Sure.”

“Burgers. Beer. Spicy food. But you knew all that,” I say, as I pinch her ass, just because I can. She wiggles an eyebrow, and I continue, “I like sports and watching the Yankees. I like walking dogs for the rescue, helping them find homes. I enjoy random facts about the world. And I like to cook as often as I can.”

A huge grin splashes across her face, and she shoves her hand on my chest. “You cook?”

I jerk my head back. “Why do you sound so shocked? I’m a man of many talents. I’ll have you know I can work wonders with a grill and a skillet.”

“Just surprised. I’m so used to you with your hammer and drill and that sexy-as-sin tool belt you wear,” she says, roaming her eyes up and down my body, drinking me in in a way that intoxicates me more. “Now I’m picturing you cooking some delicious, spicy stir-fry in your kitchen, and since it’s my fantasy, I’ve decided you’re shirtless with a spatula.”

“In my fantasy, you’re wearing red panties, heels, and nothing else when I serve you this spicy stir-fry.”

She shifts closer, her voice all sexy-husky as she says, “I bet it’s yummy.”

“Just like you,” I say, wrapping my hand around her hipbone and yanking her close to me. We turn back to the water and gaze at the fountain choreography. “What about you, Frisky Mittens? What do you like so much you’d write about it in a bunch of books?”

“Besides Ed Sheeran songs?”

I shudder. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” She knows I can’t stand the guy, but I can appreciate what he’s done for scores of men by providing musical lubricant in the form of his songs.

She hums a few notes from his most popular tune then answers me. “I like being daring. I like exploring new places and exploring places I already know. I like being a goofball sometimes and being serious at others. I also love getting pedicures and having my toenails painted in alternating colors. And I like finally being able to live in Manhattan, because it makes me feel like anything is possible if I just keep trying.”

“That’s a perfect way to describe New York.”

“And Vegas,” she adds, meeting my eyes once more. “Turns out I like Las Vegas.” She places her palm on my chest, softer this time, less Frisky Mittens, and more Sweet Natalie. “A lot,” she adds. “I like it a lot.”

An electric current swoops through me, sending warmth and desire all over my body. “Me, too.” I dip my mouth to hers, brushing her lips with mine. Her soft breath ghosts over me as I pull back from the gentle kiss. “I’m really having a great time with you.”

For the briefest of moments, I can see us having more conversations like this. I’m picturing spicy food competitions, exploring new corners of Manhattan, checking out all the roller coasters in the tri-state area and ticking off how many rides we can get busy on. Not because we’d be trying to amass notches in bedposts, but because it’d be fun. Natalie and I have that in common—the relentless pursuit of fun. We both like making the most of every second.

But that’s not in the cards on account of that little detail of me employing her.

A flickering awareness of what might happen on Monday morning when we’re back at work flashes in my brain, but then it disappears just as quickly as it arrived—because this night exists in its own bubble, and I’m having too much fun to think about anything more than the here and now.

In front of us, the aquatic show has glided into its finale, the sprays soaring high in the sky.

“Hey, let’s take a selfie right now,” she says, then whips out her phone, swinging it wildly into shooting position. I crowd in close and wrap an arm around her. We smile for the camera, framed in the background by one of the prettiest sights in all of Vegas.

“Now, let’s get you to the Venetian, and grab the next gondola.” I smack her ass.

She wiggles her eyebrow. “I like that.”

“You are so fucking interesting, Little Bo Peep.”

“Just wait till you see my crook.”

As we head to the Venetian, she posts the image of us together on her Facebook page. A crew of women out on the town walks in our direction. One of them sips on a towering drink that looks like an oversize beaker from a chemistry class. Natalie stares at it longingly after she puts her phone away.

“Ever had one of those in Vegas?” I say to her.

She elbows my ribs. “You know I haven’t.”

“Then we need to deflower you in the ‘towering, delicious-looking cocktail that you down on the street’ department.” As the group nears us, I call out, “Hey there. Just wondering where we can grab one of those fantastic concoctions.”