But how did this happen? How did I have a no-dick-zone party with my girls, and how am I on a flight to Las Vegas now? A week ago, I was putting the finishing details on my wedding. Now I’m descending into Sin City with Roman, running from the wreckage of my engagement.
My eyes are glued to the oval window as I finish off the last of my champagne, taking in the Vegas Strip and thejagged mountains in the distance. Roman sleeps beside me, his face slack and peaceful in a way it never is when he’s awake. The cut below his eye is nearly healed, and I resist the urge to trace it with my finger to feel its rough texture.
The flight attendant glides by, murmuring about our imminent landing and how Roman needs to put his seat up. I nudge him lightly with my elbow, and his eyes briskly snap open.
“Sorry,” I apologize since I clearly startled him. “We’re here, and they want you to put your seat up.”
He stretches, his knuckles brushing the cabin ceiling, and I try not to look when his shirt rides up. He shifts and presses the button to bring his seat up before he moves closer to me, rubbing a hand over his face and scratching at his stubble.
“Did you sleep at all?” he asks, peeking out the window as he leans half over me.
“No. Too busy enjoying the free alcohol while contemplating my life choices and debating my future.”
His lips quirk up. “Come up with anything good?”
“Only that I’m going to go with the flow for once. I’m going to relax and have fun and not overthink or wallow.”
“Wallowing and overthinking are overrated.” He takes my empty glass and hands it to the passing attendant with a nod of thanks. “Trust me. I’m an expert.”
Hard to argue that. Even if his wallowing and overthinking made him a masterclass chef, mine will likely only earn me puffy eyes and an ice cream addiction.
“Has he been calling and texting you?” I’m not sure why I ask other than when Roman met me outside the apartment after we moved me out, he was visibly troubled. The man is a tank. Solid and strong and impenetrable. Except inside is a lot of darkness, and the vulnerable, human spot he fights to keep concealed. His people are his weakness, and Adam is one of his people.
“Yes,” he says simply.
“You gonna finally tell me about it?”
He angles toward me. “I’m positive you can guess. He wants you back, and he’s putting pressure on me to help him do that.”
I thought so. “What’s your hot take on that?”
He sighs and looks out the window instead of at me. “I already told you. You’re my girl. But that doesn’t mean I’m not feeling a ton of guilt right now. For a lot of reasons.”
I decide to let it go because he clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, and as long as he’s with me on this, then we’re good.
We land with a few gentle bumps, and then Roman takes my hand as we exit the plane, navigating us through the terminal with familiarity. The moment we reach our baggage carousel, there’s a man in a black suit holding a sign with Fritz printed in block letters.
“I would have paid for the Uber,” I murmur out of the side of my mouth.
He ignores that as we greet the man. “Morning, Jordan. Good to see you.” The two shake hands.
“Good morning, Mr. Fritz. Welcome back to Las Vegas.”
“Thank you. This is Braelyn. I picked her up on the airplane and thought she might be fun to hang out with while I’m here,” he tells him with a completely straight face. “I think we should give her the full Vegas Strip tour.”
Jordan doesn’t even blink. “Sounds good, sir. I’ll go retrieve your bags.”
The moment the driver leaves us for the conveyor belt, I smack Roman’s shoulder, making him crack up.
“I am not your whore.”
“Not yet, but the day is young, and you are so lovely.”
“Oh my god, shut up!” Then something occurs to me. “Wait, is that something you’ve done before? Picked up women and kept them as pets while you were here?”
“No. You can be my first. I’ll buy you a pretty diamond collar and everything.” He winks at me, thoroughly amused, and anodd heat crawls over me that I immediately shake away. “Come on. Let’s go tell Jordan which bag is yours.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re in the back of the black SUV, driving up the Strip. Massive hotels rise like fever dreams, one after the other, each more insane than the last. Vegas light hits differently. The sun is brighter here than it is at home. The sky is a more vivid blue. Then there are the giant billboards and flashing lights.