Page 146 of Heart Over Heels

“Not exactly a present.” He rummaged a second longer before pulling something free. “More of an invitation, I guess?”

What he held out was a single key with a purple ribbon tied around it in a crooked bow. He grimaced. “I probably should’ve put it in a box.”

Taking it carefully, I let it settle in the center of my palm. The metal was warm from being pressed to his thigh, and itshone bright silver against my skin. Keys were only good for two things: keeping people out or letting them in. And being handed one was its own quiet declaration.

I tore my gaze away from the object that was, unquestionably, the best present he could’ve dreamed up, and looked up at him.

“Mercy… is this what I think it is?”

He nodded toward the club building behind us. “I know this is your home, but I thought you could stay at mine sometimes? You’re already half moved in with all the stuff you left there.”

“You like it,” I teased while being drawn by the gravity of being welcomed, invited… wanted.

“Iloveit,” Mercer corrected. “Just like I love you.”

He was so free with those words, and they had yet to lose their charm. I curled my fingers around the key—fisted it tight—then launched myself at him. My arms locked around his neck, clinging. He smelled like store-brand detergent and Old Spice. Basic. Familiar. Beautiful.

I breathed him in until my pulse steadied, then I leaned back, holding on to his elbows.

“Ask me again,” I whispered.

Mercer gripped my waist and gave it a slow, affectionate squeeze. “Do you love me, pretty girl?”

My head started nodding before he finished speaking.

“I do,” I said.

One of these days, I’d be able to say it myself without hesitation. It was already getting easier, but for now, this was good too.

Mercer’s hands slid up my sides and then settled around my waist again, pulling me into him. Before I could take another breath, he pressed a soft kiss to the crown of my hair.

I might have stayed there forever, missed the BBQ cookoff this afternoon and our work shift tonight, but a flash of movement down the Strip snagged my attention.

A crane was hoisting something up the side of a distant building. Workers balanced on a platform, stretching a massive vinyl banner into place over an old sign I recognized instantly, even half covered.

The Devil’s Dollhouse billboard.

Or what was left of it.

My stomach dipped as the new image unfurled. Stylized flames, a pitchfork motif, and a scantily clad silhouette that was definitely not one of ours.

“Mercy,” I whispered.

We both turned toward Las Vegas Boulevard just in time to see the text appear, bold and brazen:

PURGATORY

A Brand-New Strip Club Experience

Coming Soon to Friendly Fairmont Street

My hand clenched around the key until its metal teeth dug into my palm.

So much for a peaceful Sunday.

EPILOGUE

Darby