Levitating Las Vegas by Jennifer Echols Page A

would he do that?”
    She frowned. “I just graduated from college. They let me move into my friend Kaylee’s apartment a year ago, but gosh, she’s head of security at the casino. What could be safer? I wonder whether my parents have made me this promise of magic as a ruse to keep me close and obedient.”
    “And you want to be disobedient?” Rob’s thumb moved on her knee, sending a jolt of awareness up her leg. She’d forgotten his hand was there.
    She ached to explain the real problem: that she had a mental illness. But of course this would scare away a potential boyfriend. Besides, it was hard to feel close to him when he turned everything into a sex joke. Not that she didn’t want sex. She did, when she found herself in a real relationship.
    Which explained why a girl made to work as a bikini-clad Las Vegas showgirl at fourteen was still a virgin at twenty-one. Many times she’d contemplated a one-night stand, just to see what it was like. The thing was, she wanted it to be with a dashingly handsome man who didn’t know who she was. Everyone knew who she was, courtesy of the billboard over Interstate 15.
    Then, last week, Holly had met Rob. He was good-looking in a clean-cut, self-satisfied, frat boy way. He’d just moved to Vegas from Chicago. Now he was gainfully employed as a Clark County Sheriff’s deputy. So he was taking her on this date in his cop car because he was too cheap to buy his own civilian vehicle. So what? Nobody was perfect. She had a mental illness.
    Therefore, she was able to overlook his latest sex joke. She even allowed his hand to remain on her knee as she explained, “I just want to be a magician. My dad hasn’t told me how he pulls off his impossible feats of physical stamina, but I’m brainstorming for something cool I could do for my debut. Walk a tightrope across the canyon at Hoover Dam?”
    “Hoover Dam is a high national-security risk,” Rob said sternly. “That’s why they built the bypass bridge. It would be impossible for you to get a permit.”
    Holly didn’t like being told her idea was impossible. Who did he think he was, the police?
    Wait a minute.
    Best to change the subject. “So, where are we going?” she asked brightly. Last week at the casino, he’d promised he would feed her. She didn’t forget promises about food. She’d been hoping for a late dinner at a nice restaurant—perhaps too much to ask on a rookie cop’s salary, but didn’t men spring for first dates? Broaching the subject might prove awkward, but Holly would be glad to go Dutch or to treat Rob, especially when food was involved. Her mom would die if she caught wind that Holly had ordered dessert. At least Holly could enjoy a salad and the atmosphere of the fine restaurant and feel like an adult, maybe even save this date from sliding any further downhill. They’d entered a residential neighborhood, though. Most restaurants were in the opposite direction.
    “Home sweet home.” He parked behind a way-cool early 1960s muscle car in the driveway of a one-story orange stucco house, landscaped with gravel and cacti, average Vegas living. It was impressive that he’d been able to buy this at twenty-two years old. Maybe the muscle car was his, too.
    “Is this all yours?” she asked.
    “No, I rent it with a couple of roommates.” He got out of the car and slammed the door.
    She watched him as he rounded the car. He was so handsome, with his dark hair short and perfectly styled. She found it a bit weird that he carried a piece while off duty, and that he kept it in a holster at his hip where everybody could see it. But that was probably an overcautious cop habit. She was being too critical. If she’d dated more, she would have seen what a catch he was. He had a logical reason for taking her back to the rented house he shared three ways without making the least effort to impress her first. She smiled brilliantly up at him as he opened the passenger door and held out his hand to her.
    When