by Taryn Quinn
I closed his lips with my fingers, surprised at how easy it was to smile with him. Even easier than it was to snark or toss insults. “Shut up.”
We went back into the bedroom and he cleaned up the sheet and me, though I told him I would just take a shower. But he was insistent, and then he told me why.
Apparently, broken condoms don’t always break cleanly. Sometimes pieces get left behind.
Yeah, you guessed it. My heretofore untested love canal had possibly been strewn with the perils of hasty sex. Or improper condom usage, which was probably closer to it.
Next time, I’d just let him handle the latex and I’d take notes. If there was a next time.
There had almost been one when he’d been performing the surprisingly unhideous cavity search. He’d managed to make it arousing. He made everything arousing, which was how I’d ended up coming by the end of it.
All’s well that ends well, right?
We showered and he returned to his room to get his suitcases. Seemed stupid for him to be so far away, when I pretty much wanted him to live inside me.
Over the top? Not so much. I had a lot of time to make up for.
“I feel like we should compromise on the day’s activities,” he said over lunch in yet another restaurant, this one with an open-air patio that let me take picture after picture of the palm trees, and the pedestrian with the fun, jaunty hat, and the cool vintage cars that rolled past. Vegas was a whirlwind, and I wanted lots of images for my journal.
Pictures of Oliver weren’t a must, since I could take those any old time. But he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt purchased at the same boutique we’d gotten my bikini—still had a skirt, so whatever—and I figured I’d probably never see him in it again. He kept pulling at the collar and saying things like “thank God no one knows me here” and “is it bikini time yet?”
I’d bribed him to buy the shirt with offers of swimsuit modeling. I was still wrapping my mind around having a bikini-worthy body, never mind this insanely attractive man being willing to subject himself to his version of fashion suicide just for the chance to see me in one.
I only took a couple photos of him in his new threads. The pictures might not even make it into my journal.
Well, the one with him sitting with his chin propped on his hand as if he was contemplating weighty issues definitely would. I’d almost uploaded it to Facebook and Instagram.
Oliver Hamilton, pondering life.
Since I valued my well-being, I’d stopped short of doing so, however.
After setting down my phone, I picked up one half of my chicken salad sandwich and nibbled a corner. “What kind of compromises are we talking about here, Hamilton?”
“The kind where if I have to see a fake Elvis, you have to wear that bikini for approximately twelve hours straight.”
I hid my smile behind my sandwich. “Not seeing how that’s an equivalent trade.”
“You would if you knew how I felt about Elvis impersonators,” he muttered.
“You should have more respect for the King. Besides, they’re part of the entire Vegas experience. When Ross and Rachel got married—”
“Dear God, not that again.”
I sniffed. “Last night you were trying to wrangle a date with me to watch every episode. Is the bloom off the rose now that you’ve thoroughly plowed through mine?”
His grin was dazzling. “Is that what I did?”
“No. Shut up.” I tore off a piece of my crust and flung it at him, giggling and ducking as he tossed it back.
“I wasn’t trying to wrangle a date with you, by the way.”
“You so were.” I smirked. “It was funny seeing you trying to act casual.”
“You were screwing with me on purpose?”
“No. I would never screw with you.” Deliberately, I lingered over the last three words, and his eyes heated as if we were alone and naked.
“Lies. All lies. You’ve been screwing with me since the day we met.” His voice had lowered to match mine.
“When was that, exactly? I don’t really remember.” Small town or not, our families hadn’t exactly run in the same circles. “You’ve just always been around.”
Last week, I would’ve added like a fungus. Amazing what bed-rocking intercourse could do to a previously tumultuous relationship.
Oliver sliced neatly into a piece of flank steak. “I’d come back from prep school in May, and my father didn’t feel comfortable having the friend I’d brought with me staying at the house. So, we came to the bed-and-breakfast to arrange her room. You were behind the counter in cutoffs and a tank top, and you were smiling and waving at everyone so much, I was sure you must be on speed.”
It was possibly the most words I’d ever heard Oliver say at one time. And so many of them were fascinating.
“You remember my outfit?”
He nodded. “Pink tank with stripes, denim shorts. You were sunburned too. Told me you’d fallen asleep reading a book by the lake the day before.”
“What was your friend wearing?”
He shrugged and reached for his water. “Don’t remember. She was a friend from our sister school. We weren’t that close, but I hated the idea of leaving her behind for the holiday. Her parents had never been around much during breaks.”
Hmm.
I wished Ally was here to tell me what this meant. If it meant anything at all. But then I couldn’t ask her, because she would immediately say I was a fool for sleeping with Oliver in the first place, never mind wondering what it said that he remembered my outfit from a lifetime ago.
“Why wouldn’t your father let her stay at the house?”
“She was underage.”
“Pervert.” My pleasure at his memory of our first encounter disappeared with my recollection of his friend. It was hazy at best, since I didn’t have Hamilton-level powers of total recall, but I thought I remembered shiny auburn hair, mile-long legs, and a Cover Girl smile.
I also recalled Oliver driving that damn silver Porsche he still drove now, and the crinkles around his eyes as he smiled at me. Briefly, as if he couldn’t spare the wattage on just anyone. But he’d offered her plenty.
“Jennifer,” I said, half to myself.
“Yes. You do remember.”
“Bits and pieces. Did you pork her?”
That damnable black brow winged up. “If you’re referring to sex, no. As I said, we weren’t that close, and that includes our body parts. If you’re referring to bringing her to a luau, perhaps due to my shirt, definitely not.”
I laughed and picked up my cell as it buzzed. I’d only turned it on a little while ago to take pictures and it was notoriously slow about gathering missed texts, so I’d planned on checking my messages after lunch.
Texts from Ally flooded my screen just as the buzzing from the incoming call cut off.
How was the goddess? Did she sing “Where Does My Heart Beat Now?” Lost classic!
I’m hoping the reason u haven’t replied is because she slayed you & u needed time 2 recover!
Ok, I’m just a crazy pregnant lady, so that’s why I’m worried. Hope u are ok. Really don’t want 2 have 2 text Oliver.
I stopped reading there because my phone started buzzing again. Seth? What the hell?
I answered and exhaled. “Is it the baby? I haven’t read all her texts yet. Sorry, my phone was off. Is she okay? Is she having contractions?”
“Are you all right?” Before I could answer, he lowered his voice. “Whatever happened, we will always be your friends.”
What the actual fuck? I didn’t even have time to mess with the swear gallon right now.
“I’m perfectly fine. Better than fine. I have no idea what you mean, Hamilton, but you better spill.”
Across the table, Oliver let out a sigh. “Let me talk to the ingrate.”
I held up a finger. “Well?”
“You didn’t call all night. All night,” he added, as if that meant something important.
“Your point
? I’m on frigging vacation.”
“Nighttime is Oliver’s prime time,” he said meaningfully, and I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
“Oh, is it now? What does that mean, exactly? Does he don a superhero outfit and leap from tall building to tall building?” I couldn’t keep from snorting.
“Sage, give me the phone.”
I switched the finger I was holding up, pretending not to hear the shocked gasp from the table behind us. No one would ever accuse me of being classy. So sue me.
“You know what I mean. I understand if you feel smothered by our concern, but we have reason to be. Me more so than Ally, because she truly didn’t think things would swing that way.”
“Oh, but you did?”
Seth neatly sidestepped that question. “My brother has far more experience than you, and my wife’s misguided attempt to make sure you were safe in Vegas might have led to—”
I didn’t hear anything after that. Just that white-noise fuzz in my head that let me know either a panic attack or a rage meltdown was coming on fast.
Possibly both.
“Talk to you later.” I clicked off on the call and immediately more missed texts from Ally started filling my screen. Someday I’d have to replace this old, crappy phone.
I could do that now, since I’d won some money yesterday. Money I’d barely thought about since I was high on Oliver.
High wasn’t the word for my feelings toward him right now.
“Sage?”
“Ally asked you to come babysit me.” Rather than look at him, I looked at my partially eaten sandwich. My appetite was gone.
For a lot of things.
He didn’t deny it. He simply picked up the napkin in his lap and folded it beside his plate. He’d finished his meal while I was speaking with his brother. Why should his lunch be disrupted? He wasn’t the one who needed to be protected and coddled.
“It wasn’t babysitting,” he said quietly. “Did any of this seem to you as if I was put out, or wasn’t enjoying your company?”
I only half heard him. “I knew it was fishy you were on that plane. Business…yeah, right. But that’s on me. I didn’t want to examine your motives too closely because I was happy to have someone with me—even a sort-of friend like you.”
“And we’re much more than now, are we not?”
“Was that part of your caretaking too?” I had to force out the question. “I know Ally would never have requested it, but maybe that was your bonus with purchase.”
Before he could respond, I stumbled to my feet and ran to the gate that bordered the patio, escaping to the street.
I stood on the sidewalk and fisted my hands at my sides. Where was I going to go? Back to the suite he’d “upgraded” for me? Or I could take an Uber and run home. Tail between my legs, pride thoroughly tattered. And I wasn’t even entirely sure what I was angry for.
That Ally had asked him to watch over me? That he’d agreed?
Most of all, that he hadn’t told me?
He’d let me believe he’d come of his own twisted volition, business or no business. I’d taken it mostly at face value because I wanted to think it was happy circumstance that had led to us being together—minus the few minutes when I’d wanted to kill him, present moment excluded.
“Sage.” His footsteps sounded behind me.
I gazed around blearily, needing space. I couldn’t process any of this when he was close.
An Uber pulled up to the curb to let someone out, and I rushed forward, slipping into the back.
The driver blinked at me in confusion as Oliver hurried across the sidewalk, his movements less coordinated than I’d ever seen them.
Good. Let him be the one off-center for a change.
“Miss?”
“Take me to Elvis. Now,” I demanded, as he whipped away from the curb just as Oliver reached for the door handle.
“I’m assuming you mean one of the chapels? I personally know of a few of them.”
Hi, my name is Sage Evans. I claim not to be a romantic, but where do I run after a possible breakup with a man I wasn’t even dating, just fucking? To a wedding chapel.
With a fake Elvis, but whatever.
“Take me to whichever is closest.”
Unshockingly, we ended up back at our hotel, the Golden Apple. We’d been eating lunch just a short distance away, so no surprise there. But I didn’t balk.
I shoved money at the driver, along with my profuse thanks, and climbed out. I didn’t see if Oliver was hot in pursuit. If he wanted to talk to me, he’d just have to deal with the chapel too.
The one thing I didn’t expect? That fake Elvis would have a line even at midday.
A line of couples, most of them giddy. Not surprising, since hey, getting married and all.
Right now, I hated every one of those people.
“Hi, honey, you here to see the King?” A tiny senior citizen with bright turquoise hair and glasses to match came up to me with a clipboard. “You alone or waiting on your fella?” Before I could reply, she lowered her glasses to eye me up and down. “Never had no one marry themselves yet, but there is that whole Galentine’s movement, and we don’t judge at Hunk O’ Burning Love Chapel.”
A laugh burst out of me as I craned my neck to read the sign. Dear God. Perhaps Oliver was right. Who would come to a gaudy place like this, Elvis fan or not?
I could always book a trip to Graceland. Solo, of course. The way I was doomed to travel from now until eternity, amen.
“So, no fella, is it? We won’t stop you from meeting his Excellency, though there is a charge—”
“Fellow reporting in.” Oliver’s winded, harried voice made my stupid heart go into a free fall, but I didn’t turn to look at him.
Naturally, he’d found me. I’d broadcast my plans all over God and country. I was as subtle as Halley’s comet.
“Oh, well now, look at you. You’re a tall drink of water, aren’t you?” The woman tilted back her head. “Y’all getting married?” She glanced at her clipboard. “Do you want the quickie or the longie? Quickie includes—”
“No,” we responded simultaneously.
“No what? No quickie? The longie is much more expensive because the King performs two songs for you, one of them couple’s choice. Tipping is optional.”
“We’re not getting married. Just here to see,” Oliver coughed, “the so-called King.”
I glared at him. “Can’t you just play along? Do you have to ruin everything?”
“I’m sorry if I have trouble calling a man in black pleather the name that belongs to one of the greatest artists this country has ever seen.”
A huge guy wearing leather overalls sans shirt and what appeared to be a full set of brass knuckles stepped out of the line to eye Oliver. “You got a problem, son? This is supposed to be a happy place,” he added in a growl.
Oliver held up his hands, palms out. “No problems here. What you people do for entertainment is your business.”
That didn’t seem to placate the man, and he stepped forward. “That so? How you feel about me entertaining myself by putting my hands around—”
“Hey there, mister.” The turquoise-haired lady smacked the man in the gut with her clipboard. “Back in line or you lose your place. We don’t tolerate no riffraff here.”
“He started it,” the guy said before stepping back into line.
“So, no marriage?” Clipboard lady confirmed, noting something on her form. “Just a visit. No songs?”
“Absolutely not.”
I narrowed my eyes at Oliver. “You are a horrible human being.”
“Fine. Have him sing his whole fucking repertoire for her. How’s that?” Oliver tugged out his wallet and shoved a truly shocking amount of bills at the woman. “Consider the extra your tip.”
Her eyes bugged out behind her turquoise specs. “Why, I can’t—George! We have a rush couple!”
Leather dude turned around to growl again. “Oh, hell no.
Hawaii Five-O is not cutting the line.”
Oliver glanced down at his shirt as if he’d forgotten his attire and sighed. “We can wait. What else could we possibly have to do on a fine day in Vegas?”
“Well, thank you. Thank you very much.” She moved on to the new couples that had joined the line behind us.
“We need to talk,” Oliver said, voice low. “We can do it here if you insist, but we need to.”
I crossed my arms. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“Fine. I’ll do the talking.”
I waited.
“The day we talked in the diner break room, Ally sprang the following-you-to-Vegas idea on me. She’s pregnant. Did you expect me to say no and condemn her to a weekend of worrying? She loves you, whether or not you wish she’d mind her own business. If it’s any consolation, I usually wish the same. But not over this.”
I started to argue. It was our typical way. Then I really heard what he’d said.
“Why not?”
He glanced off in the distance before finally meeting my eyes. “This weekend has been incredible.”
The blatant honesty in his statement rocked me off my feet. There was a lot I didn’t know in this life, but one thing I could spot was a liar. At least that was what I told myself.
He wasn’t lying. He meant it.
“If I’d missed out on a minute of it…” He raked a hand over his surprisingly disordered hair. He’d even kept his scruff under duress, simply because I’d asked him to. “Well, let’s just say I owe my sister-in-law a debt of gratitude.” He paused. “My brother, however, deserves a knee in the nuts, which I will be all too happy to deliver.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “He said your prime operating time was nighttime.”
“Oh, did he now? Not much different than what he said last night.”
Frowning, I hooked my fingers in the pocket of his shirt and made him look at me. “Is that why you got all moody after he called last night?”
“I did not get all moody.”
“You sure did. I thought it was Celine again.”
“I actually enjoyed Celine. Most of it.”
“Celine too?” Leather Overalls shook his head in disgust. “You have some serious issues, dude.”