“Hell, yes.”
“We’ll be up soon.” He kisses me sweetly. “My room tonight,” he whispers against my ear before pulling away.
I feel lightheaded at the silent promise of staying with him tonight as he and Cooper disappear toward the front desk.
“I wish we could stay longer, and at the same time, am exhausted and ready to go,” Nessie says, linking her arm with mine. “Does that make sense?”
I nod, laughing at how well I understand.
“The fountains are about to start! We’re going to miss them!” someone exclaims to their friend as they hurry past us.
Nessie’s eyes grow round. “We haven’t seen the fountains.” She spins to face me. “We have to see the fountains.”
I nod. “It’s a must.”
Nessie grins. “Come on!” We head back outside, the air feeling warm in contrast to the air-conditioned lobby as we head in the direction of the iconic Fountains of Bellagio. Nessie fishes her phone out of her purse and starts texting Coop. “If I learned nothing else from Arizona, it was that we tell people where we’re going,” she says.
I laugh. “Look at you, creating rules.”
“I think I could live in the Southwest,” Nessie says as we weave through the crowds of people.
Her words catch my attention. “Yeah?”
She nods. “I like that it’s warm without the intense humidity and without storming every afternoon to hatch a million mosquitoes.”
“You still have the desert and extreme heat.”
Our heels clip along the sidewalk as we hurry toward the fountains, though they’ll play again shortly if we miss them. “Or maybe we just stay in Seattle,” she suggests. “I don’t like the dreary days, but I like the four seasons, and I really love the mountains.”
“But what about the beach? Disney World? Walking outside during December in a T-shirt?” I ask.
“I’ll miss that stuff, but I’m good with planning visits to do all that,” Nessie says with a gentle shrug like she’s already made up her mind. “In Seattle, we can still live by the beach or downtown or in one of those old neighborhoods with the Victorian houses you love so much.”
Sometimes, these thoughts are paralyzing—the reality that we might be separated because of jobs or preferences—the reality we might choose to live on a separate coast than our family and all that we know and love. What will Cooper choose to do? What about Tyler?
My solace is knowing we still have two years at Brighton before any of these decisions have to be made.
“Did you really think Ty and I would get together?” I ask.
Her eyes grow round with excitement. We’ve had so little time together to gossip and talk about things. Today, many of our spa treatments were individualized and had us separated. “Oh my gosh, Chloe, yes! I told you freshman year that you should date him. Remember?”
“You also suggested I date Cooper freshman year,” I remind her.
She cringes. “That was before Ty came into the picture. There’s something about him—about you guys together. I don’t know how to explain it exactly, but you just make sense. Like he brings out the playful side of you or something. Plus, he is so attentive to you. That’s how I knew you guys were going to get together. Like when you fell asleep on our first day on the way to New Orleans, he was the first to notice, and he turned down his music, and when we had to stop in Texas, he didn’t want you to go out to the car alone to get things, and he sent lunch to us when we were hiking. He notices things and pays attention. I’m convinced it was sexual tension that always made you guys fight.”
“Pretty sure it was just him.”
She laughs, pulling me tighter as she wraps her arm around my waist. “I’ve missed you these past few days.”
I nod, leaning my head against hers. “I’ve missed you, too. But I’m glad you and Coop are so happy together. I should have been more supportive from the get-go.”
She shakes her head. “Honestly, I’m glad you weren’t because it made me have to think about things and consider what it would be like. I had to move slower, and I think that helped ensure we were both ready and had the same intentions. And I think it makes sex better. Everything is so good with him.”
I close my eyes and shake my head to stop the images from forming. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“But what he does with his hands,” Nessie says.
“Nope. No. Nope.” I shake my head again. “I need some more time to get used to things before I start hearing these details.”
She laughs at my discomfort, but it’s brief as the music for the fountains begins, and we race the rest of the way to catch the fountains dance in sync to the music.
“Hey, are you guys sisters?” a guy asks us. He’s middle-aged with a grizzly beard and is wearing jeans and boots that make him stand out even more as a tourist. Beside him are three guys. One stands closer that the rest with dark hair, dark eyes, and a smirk that curls one side of his uneven mouth as he listens to our interaction, while the others peer at one of their phones.
“You aren’t going to answer me?” he asks, his tone turning belligerent. It’s a situation I loathe because I’m a firm believer that everyone should act with grace and kindness, and yet I also hold strongly to the belief that politeness and obedience are oceans apart. “I think I have your card,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an entire stack of the hooker cards that are passed out on corners in Vegas.
“Let’s go,” I say, grabbing Nessie’s hand and moving toward the walkway, content with seeing the fountains from another viewpoint—one far away from this guy.
“Don’t get shy on me now,” he says, his boots loud as he trails behind us. “I just want to know if you offer a two-for-one deal because my buddy’s getting married…”
I spin on my heel. “We’re not prostitutes, asshole.”
He leers, his gaze never meeting my eyes.
Jerk.
“She talks,” he says.
“Not to you,” Nessie says, grabbing my hand again.
“Good. I prefer girls who are silent.” He reaches forward as though he’s going to touch one of us and stops when I swat his hand away.
“You’re drunk,” I tell him. “You’re being an asshole, and you’re likely going to forget this moment tomorrow, but I’m going to warn you that girls stand up for each other. I scream for help and every woman here is going to be ready to kick you in your useless balls.”
Two women standing near us step away from the fence. They look around our mom’s age. “I prefer to use my knee,” one of them says, her attention on the stranger.
He raises his hands and takes a step back, chuckling like the situation is funny. “I just assumed twins, Vegas…” He shrugs.
Nessie looks at me, her eyebrows lowered with anger, then looks beyond him at his group of friends who are still several feet back. “Friends of Neanderthal, your buddy needs a leash before he gets punched in the face.”
A couple stops beside us, the guy glancing between the burly bearded jackass and us. “Everything okay?”
The dark-haired friend of the jerk jogs over, grabbing his friend by the shoulders and redirecting him. “Sorry. Sorry,” he says, steering him back to their group.