I quietly sigh, feeling the truth of her words inching into my chest. I ignore them and the thoughts they carry as the lights dim so the room is the color of pitch, and I can only see a faint outline of Chloe. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask her.
The sheets rustle as she moves. “I’m just tired.”
I nod into the darkness. “We should have taken you guys to the hospital. You probably need IVs.”
“Just sleep,” she mumbles. “Goodnight, Ty.” The blankets shift again as she cuddles down in the bed.
The dim lights flicker back on as I stand and move to the closet to find a pair of sweatpants. After making the promise that I wouldn’t touch her, they seem like a necessary barrier because sleeping naked, like I prefer, would absolutely turn me into a liar. I lose my T-shirt, brush my teeth, and silently cross to the bed again. Her eyes are closed, one hand curled into the comforter. I lie down behind her and close my eyes, taking long, deep breaths as my thoughts twist into a dozen situations that explore what I would have done had we not been able to find them. Where would we be? Who would I be paying off? Bribing?
“Your thoughts are too loud. Go to sleep,” she says.
I hook a hand around her waist and haul her back against my chest. Her hair doesn’t smell like oranges, and the floral scent on her skin is masked by whatever soap she used in my shower. My shower. I can’t decide if I love or hate this.
“Fair warning, I kick while I sleep.”
“You would.” I slide my hand over her hair, pulling it to one side of her shoulder when it tickles my face. Then, I pretzel our legs and wrap my arm around her slender waist and close my eyes, finally able to fucking breathe.
14
Chloe
I wake up to an empty bed. Tyler is gone, as are my senses, evidently.
I have no idea why I stayed. Maybe I can claim heatstroke or exhaustion or these beds that make me feel drugged, allowing me to sleep better than I’ve ever slept before.
I roll with the intent to get up and pause, catching the scent of his cologne on the pillow. It’s spicy and sweet, mixed with the aromas of eucalyptus and mint, and because I’m alone, I bury my face in the pillow, reluctant to move again.
Nessie.
Cooper.
I sit up, searching for a clock to see how late it is. What will they think if they find out I slept in Tyler’s room? Nothing good.
I flip off the covers and discover a silent living room and kitchen. Relief floods me as I make my way out to the patio. The railing is glass, and though it’s another bright and sunny day, all I can see is a dark club and bright lights, bodies dancing, and Tyler’s intense gaze as he accused me of wanting him in New Orleans.
I expel a deep breath and abandon the patio in search of coffee.
“Hey, look. Another desert. You guys want to take a little hike?” Cooper teases from the back seat of the Tesla.
“Shut up,” Nessie says, finishing another sports drink. “I don’t look sunburned, but I feel sunburned,” she says.
“Bloody hell, what do you expect?” Cooper asks, trying to impersonate Tyler, who pulls his chin back and looks at me as I laugh.
“I don’t sound like that.”
“Yeah, you do,” Nessie says.
“Bloody hell,” he says, shaking his head and making Nessie and me laugh even harder.
“Throw in a wanker or a shite,” Coop says.
Tyler shakes his head again, flipping him off.
“What are we going to do tonight?” Nessie asks. “It’s Saturday, and we’re about to be in Vegas. We need plans.”
“Are you guys sure you’re up for going out?” Tyler looks in his rearview mirror at Nessie. For much of our three-hour drive, he’s barely looked at me and hasn’t addressed me directly once.
I hate how uncomfortable and self-conscious it makes me feel—how exposed and vulnerable and rejected I try to avoid feeling. I lean my head back, closing my eyes as Nessie assures him we’re okay and want to go out.
I don’t argue and say that I don’t. Being out in public is better. I need to be around others because it allows me space from him.
“Where do you want to go?” Tyler asks her.
“A club. I’ve heard stories, and I want to see if they live up.”
“Mr. Banks?” I open my eyes as an unfamiliar voice fills the car.
Tyler calls her Anika and asks her to get passes to a club with a foreign name and confirms a reservation and what time we expect to arrive in Vegas.
I spend the next two hours resting, sometimes in a full sleep and other times relaxed, keeping my eyes closed. I don’t have the energy to join in the conversation, and everyone seems to accept that. I don’t open my eyes until Nessie exclaims about the size of a hotel. We’re on the Vegas Strip. I sit up to get a better view, taking in the sidewalks filled with people and the casinos that stretch on for blocks.
Cooper whistles under his breath. “This is crazy.”
“I can’t believe we’re in Vegas!” Nessie says, gripping the back of my seat and leaning forward so her face is right behind my headrest. “Are you seeing this?”
Tyler turns into the Banks Hotel, the building so tall I can’t see the top half. Everything is gold and white, a massive fountain in the front that we pause in front of when a group of pedestrians walks past us, dressed like they just walked off a fashion runway.
I glance at my sweatpants and Brighton tee. I’d chosen them based solely for comfort, knowing we’d change when we reached the hotel, and regret the decision nearly as much as not having packed more water for our hike yesterday. Pathetic. Shallow. I know.
Tyler slowly pulls forward and puts the car in park. Our doors are opened, the heat of the desert rushing to battle the air-conditioned interior.
“Welcome to Las Vegas, Ms. Robinson,” the man says, offering me his hand.
“Thanks,” I respond, still feeling awkward about these moments, though it occurs at each stop—except for our brief stay in Odessa, where we had to bring in our bags and check in at the front desk like everyone else. Aside from New Orleans, every other hotel we’ve stayed at Tyler scans something from his phone into the elevator when we arrive, and we find a stack of key cards and a welcome gift that is always in the form of food, usually fruit and desserts from their renowned restaurant that the area is known for.
Nessie is wearing a pair of blue denim shorts that are fashionably distressed and a blouse that falls off one shoulder. She meets me on the sidewalk, her hand sliding into mine as she silently checks in with me. Are you okay?
I nod to confirm I am, and she gives me a gentle smile. “I look like a bum,” I tell her, watching more people exit the hotel who look at us with mild curiosity before looking away. Everyone staying here is loaded, unimpressed with Tyler’s extravagant car.
“No one cares,” Nessie assures me. “You should drink some more Gatorade.”
I chuckle. “Just to see Tyler’s expression when I tell him that I need to pee again.”
She laughs outright because we had to ask him to pull over three times, extending our drive by over an hour.
We step into the lobby, the same sweet and rich perfume that is in the air of all Banks Hotels greets us, but unlike the others, this hotel was made for guests just as much as it was made for tourists not staying here, the lobby more opulent, with wider halls to accommodate more foot traffic. A series of fountains is in the middle of the lobby, with small seating areas arranged throughout the space.