Chapter 5
WORST CASE SCENARIO, VEGAS EDITION
DAVINA
Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, the universe said, “Hold my beer.”
The airport doors whooshed shut behind me, severing my connection to the air conditioning and abandoning me to the hellscape of Las Vegas in July.
I was now marinating in what felt like one-hundred-and-fifteen-degree heat and contemplating all the ways I could murder whoever at the airline lost my luggage.
My phone screen mocked me with its cheerful map, displaying zero available Uber drivers.
“Come on, come on,” I muttered, stabbing the refresh button for the fourteenth time.
The little icon spun optimistically before delivering the same soul-crushing results.
Apparently, every single person in Las Vegas decided they needed a ride at exactly 3:38 PM on a Thursday.
“Having trouble, Davidson?”
My spine went rigid, and my lip curled into a snarl. His voice was as smooth as expensive whiskey and twice as likely to give me a headache.
I whipped around, clutching my phone like it might suddenly manifest an Uber driver through sheer desperate will. “It's Davina,” I retorted, my voice tinged with irritation. “My name is Davina. It's been Davina for twenty-eight years.”
“Oh, I know exactly what your name is… Davidson.” His grin widened, all straight white teeth, and I wanted to throw my phone at his face. “But you turn the most delightful shade of red when I call you that.”
“I don't…” The heat was already creeping up my neck. “I'm flushed from the heat. It's literally the surface of the sun out here.”
“Sure you are.” He shifted his weight, and I caught sight of a sleek black Mercedes idling at the curb behind him. “No Ubers, huh?”
“There are plenty of Ubers,” I lied, jabbing at my phone screen. “I'm just being selective. Checking reviews. Safety first.”
“Right.” He had the audacity to check his watch like he had somewhere important to be. We were going to the same place. “Well, my car's already here. Since we're both heading to the Bellagio, you could ride with me. I promise I only have a moderate amount of duct tape and zip ties in the trunk.”
I stared at him. Then at the car, which probably had that new leather smell and working air conditioning. Then back at him. “I'd rather walk.”
“It's ten miles. In hundred-degree heat.”
“I'd rather crawl through that heat.”
“You'll melt into the pavement like the Wicked Witch of the West. Which, given your disposition, seems appropriate.”
“I would rather,” I said, speaking slowly and clearly while a bead of sweat traced a path down my spine, “gnaw off my own arm, cook it medium-rare with a nice chimichurri, and eat it than get in a car with you, Dodger.”
Dallas tilted his head, studying me. “That seems unsanitary. Also impractical, but which arm? Because you're going to need at least one to hold your bouquet at the wedding. Unless you're planning to carry it in your teeth.”
I refreshed my Uber app again. A small spinning wheel of doom appeared.
“The offer stands, Davidson.” He gestured toward the car. “You're melting out here. I can literally see your makeup sliding off.”
I glanced down at my reflection in my phone screen. He was right, which made everything so much worse. There was a visible damp patch forming under my arms, and my makeup decided to migrate toward my chin.
The app refreshed. Still no cars available.
I looked at Dallas, contemplating my options. Stay here and slow cook myself from the inside out while I wait for a car, or get in the air-conditioned car with Dallas.
“Fine,” I bit out, each word costing me a piece of my soul.
“Your chariot awaits, my lady. Watch your head.”
“I hate you,” I muttered, stalking past him toward the car. The temperature differential when I entered was so extreme that I nearly wept with relief.
“I know,” he said cheerfully, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
I rolled my eyes, determined to ignore him for the entire ride. Ten miles. Twenty minutes tops. I could handle this, but as Dallas folded his long legs into the backseat, I began to question that assessment.
“I thought you'd sit up front,” I said, my voice ice-cold despite the sweat still cooling on my skin. “You know, with your driver.”
He stretched his arm across the back of the seat, not quite touching me but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. Or maybe that was just my blood pressure spiking. Hard to tell.
“And miss the chance to enjoy your delightful company, Davidson? Never.” His grin was lazy, confident, the smile of a man who'd never been rejected in his life. “Besides, the view's much better back here.”
The car pulled away from the curb, and I pressed myself against the opposite door. Dallas noticed, and his grin sharpened.
“Comfortable?”
“Perfectly.”
“You're practically hanging out the window.”
“Fresh air is good for you.”
“The AC is on. I can adjust it if you'd like.”
“I hate you.”
“You've mentioned that. Twice now in the last three minutes. That’s a new record.” He shifted, and the movement made the space feel even smaller. His thigh was approximately two inches from mine. “So, are you ready for the bachelorette party tomorrow?”
“Stop talking.”
“Oh, come on. We can be friendly. Civil, even. Like diplomats at a peace summit.”
I turned to glare at him. “There is nothing friendly about you, Dodger. You're a fuckboy with good hair and a protein shake addiction.”
His eyebrows rose. “You think I have good hair?”
“That's not… I didn't mean…” I could feel my face heating again, a full-body flush that had nothing to do with the Las Vegas heat. “Your hair is average at best. Mediocre. I've seen better hair on a golden retriever.”
His gaze drifted downward, settling on my mouth.
“You're a terrible liar, Davidson.” He reached out, gripping my chin between his thumb and finger, lifting softly and forcing my eyes to meet his.
“You chew on your bottom lip when you lie. Did you know that?” He tugged my bottom lip free from my teeth, and I forgot how to breathe. “It's adorable.”
“I am not adorable.” I pulled away from his touch. “And stop calling me Davidson.”
“Stop being so fun to mess with, and I'll consider it.”
The car hit a pothole, and I lurched sideways. My shoulder collided with his chest: solid, warm, and smelling entirely too good for someone I was supposed to despise.
I scrambled back to my side of the seat like he'd electrocuted me, which wasn't far from the truth. “Tell your driver to avoid the holes.”
“I'll get right on that. 'Hey, Frank, could you please drive around the holes in the road? All of them. Yes, I know that's impossible, but the lady insists.'“ He snorted out a humorous laugh. “You know, if you stopped hating me for thirty seconds, you might realize something interesting.”
“What's that? That you're a giant man-child? Because I already knew that.”
“That you don't really hate me.” His voice dropped lower, almost intimate in the enclosed space. “That maybe all this animosity is covering up...”
“Hard pass.” I cut him off. “Blocked and reported as spam.”
He laughed, and the sound filled the car. It was a good laugh, genuine and unguarded, and I hated that I noticed.
I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling. I would not find Dallas Dodger charming. I wouldn't.
The Bellagio finally appeared in the distance, its fountains dancing and its lights beginning to glow in the approaching dusk. Salvation. Freedom. A room with a door that locked and kept out annoying wrestlers.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said stiffly as we pulled up to the grand entrance, where doormen stood ready to assist.
“Anytime, Davidson.” He reached across me to open my door, letting his body brush against mine, and I sucked in a harsh breath, holding it until the heat of him was gone. “See you tomorrow. Try not to miss me too much tonight.”
I grabbed my carry-on and practically fell out of the car in my haste to escape, my ankle rolling on the curb. “Unfortunately, I'll be too busy enjoying your absence.”
His laughter followed me all the way across the marble entryway into the lobby. I did not look back to see if he was watching me go.
I didn't.
Not even once.
Okay, fine. I looked once. Maybe twice, and he was definitely watching, leaning against the car, smiling with his arms crossed over his chest in a way that did absolutely nothing for me whatsoever.
“You made it!” Brooke's squeal echoed across the lobby. She charged toward me, and I smiled, forcing my attention away from Dallas. “Of course, I made it. Did you doubt me?”
“We were just waiting on you and Dallas,” Matt said, his gaze lifting over my shoulder. I didn't need to turn around to know Dallas had caught up to me. I could feel his presence.
“Where's Kali and James?” I asked, trying to ignore Dallas, who was approximately six inches behind me.
“Here!” Kali sang from somewhere behind the mountain of a man standing in front of me. She popped her head around Matt's, her long strawberry-blonde curls even wilder than usual. “I see you survived the journey. Both of you. Together. Interesting.”
“Don't start,” I warned.
“I haven't started anything. That was just an observation.”
“Kali…”
“Anyway,” Brooke interrupted, her entire demeanor shifting in a way that made my stomach drop. I knew that look. That was the I have bad news, and I'm about to ruin your day look. “We need to talk about the room situation.”
“Room situation?” My shoulders slumped. “Please tell me you're about to say something that doesn't involve me sleeping on a pool chair.”
She winced. “So... we checked everyone in yesterday since I booked all the rooms together for the girls and Matt booked them for the guys, and there was a tiny, minuscule, barely-worth-mentioning issue.”
“Issue.” It wasn't a question. It was a statement of defeat.
She nodded, guilt written across her face. “They overbooked the hotel. Apparently, several events are happening. Anyway, we're short a room.”
I rubbed my forehead, feeling a headache forming behind my eyes. “Fantastic. Love that for me.”
“But,” Brooke continued, speaking faster now, “you could just stay with Matt and me. We have a suite, and…”
I shook my head firmly. “Absolutely not. It's your wedding weekend. I'm not crashing your pre-wedding romantic time.”
“You could stay with James and me,” Kali offered, though her expression suggested she already knew my answer. “We only have one bed, but we could make a pillow fort situation, or…”
“No,” I cut her off. “You guys are also newlyweds. I'm not sleeping on the floor. I'm twenty-eight, not eight. My back can't handle that kind of punishment anymore.”
“You could crash with me,” Dallas said from behind me, and I could hear the humor in his voice without even turning around. “I don't bite. Unless you ask nicely.”
My lip curled into a snarl as I spun to face him. “I'd rather sleep in the fountain outside.”
“The fountain's lovely this time of year,” he agreed. “Very romantic. Also illegal, but I support your choices.”
“He ended up with a double queen room instead of the king we booked,” Matt added helpfully, or unhelpfully, depending on your perspective. “Plenty of space and completely separate beds. You wouldn't even have to look at him.”
“I think I'll just find another hotel,” I said, already pulling out my phone. “There have to be dozens of hotels in Las Vegas. Hundreds, even.”
“It's a convention weekend,” Brooke said miserably. “That's why they overbooked in the first place. We're lucky we got the rooms we have. I already checked when I was trying to find my mom a room. We managed to get her a room on the opposite end of the strip, and it was the last one.”
I scanned the room. “I'll sleep in the lobby. The couches look comfortable.”
“Security will kick you out,” Kali added.
“An all-night diner. I'll just drink coffee until Monday.”
“Davina.” Brooke grabbed my hand, her eyes pleading. “We were all supposed to be together this weekend. That was the whole point of the trip. Please don't leave. It's four nights. You and Dallas are adults. You can handle four nights.”
I looked at Dallas, who had the audacity to look completely unbothered by this catastrophe. He even had the nerve to wink at me.
Four nights. In a room. With Dallas Dodger.
This was going to be a disaster.
“Okay,” I forced out through clenched teeth. “Fine. I will share a room with Dallas. But I'm taking the bed by the window, I get bathroom priority in the mornings, and if you snore, I'm smothering you with a pillow.”
“That's the spirit,” Dallas said cheerfully, clapping me on the shoulder. “This is going to be fun, roomie.”
“I hate you.”
“You keep saying that.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. “But your face says something different.”
Fuck my life. The whole fucking thing. Just burn it down and start over.
“This is going to be a great weekend,” Brooke said, bouncing on her toes with excitement, blissfully unaware of my internal breakdown. “I can feel it. What could possibly go wrong?”
I looked at Dallas, and he looked at me. We both looked at Matt, who was grinning like he'd just won the lottery.
Everything. Literally everything could go wrong, and based on how this day had gone so far, it absolutely would.