Chapter 8
Hailey
“I think—”
“Respectfully, Theo, I will not be taking any of your thoughts into consideration.”
“I think,” he repeats, “you’re writing with too much of a passive voice in that paragraph. It’s a bit too clunky. Try and rewrite it with an active voice.”
I quit typing mid-sentence and swivel my head, very slowly, toward Theo with a deadpan expression.
“What?” he says innocently. “Just because I’m hot doesn’t mean I’m dumb. I enjoyed English in school, okay?”
“You didn’t know what a manuscript was two hours ago. And stop reading what I’m writing,” I tell him, angling my laptop away from his prying eyes. I skim over the paragraph I’ve just written, and damn it. How is Theo Sinclair, of all people, giving me editorial advice that’s actually correct?
“Unfortunately, I don’t have a choice, sweetheart.” He jiggles our handcuffed wrists as though it’s even remotely possible for me to have forgotten that we’re attached to one another.
Trying to type this scene with my right hand dragging Theo’s left hand back and forth across my keyboard is, honestly, a physical form of writer’s block.
It makes the entire process painfully slow, and in the forty minutes we’ve been hiding up in my hotel room, I’ve barely written three hundred words.
I’m getting frustrated, and I don’t like writing with an audience.
I feel self-conscious and embarrassed, but what are my options?
Theo props his elbow up on the desk, rests his chin in the palm of his hand, and blows raspberries out of boredom.
I’ll give credit where credit is due: he has been extremely patient sitting by my side, having his wrist pulled in a thousand different directions while I oooh and ahhh over where my scene is going next.
I quickly rewrite the paragraph he flagged, then slam the laptop shut. “That’ll have to do for now. We’ve been gone way too long, and everyone’s going to start wondering where we are.”
Theo lifts his head from his hand with an easy, confident smile. “We could just tell everyone we were banging.”
“Banging for forty minutes?” I say, arching an eyebrow at him.
“Yeah, you’re right. Forty minutes isn’t long enough.”
“Oh, shut up, Theo,” I groan.
Standing, I pull him with me. As much as he grates on my every last nerve, I can never bring myself to be truly annoyed at Theodore, and especially not tonight.
It’s his first time in Vegas too, and he’s trading sinking beers and gambling in the casino with the rest of the bachelor party to help me out instead.
It’s not a favor I take for granted, so I owe him one.
Together, we trek back down the long corridors toward the elevators and emerge onto the casino floor.
The Cosmopolitan is becoming increasingly loud and packed as the night wears on and more weekend visitors fly in.
There are people milling around everywhere and it is sensory hell.
Cocktail waitresses traverse the casino floor, groups crowd around the live tables, celebratory jingles sound from the slot machines, and boozy patrons wander around sipping on giant pitchers of cocktails.
I knew I’d find Vegas overwhelming, because even a trip to our local mall on a weekday is stressful for me and requires a quiet period of down time afterward, but there’s nothing I could do to prepare for this weekend. I just have to . . . deal with it.
“There’s Addy,” Theo says, tugging on my wrist as he points across the casino.
Sure enough, Adelaide and Melissa are side by side on some slot machines, and we make our way over there. I squeeze Addy’s shoulder.
“Oh, hey!” she says, swiveling around in her chair to face us. “Are you guys surviving?”
“Barely,” I reply, exchanging a quick eye roll with Theo. “Where are the guys? And Evie, for that matter?”
“Evie’s around here somewhere,” Melissa says over her shoulder. She’s locked in on her game, and my eyes bulge when I steal a peek at her screen and notice she’s sitting on an eight-hundred-dollar cash-out. No wonder she can’t tear her attention away.
“The guys are over at the roulette tables,” Addy says. “I think they’ll pretty much be camped out there for the rest of the night unless they move over to the blackjack tables instead. You two might need to compromise. Are you joining the bachelorette or the bachelor party?”
“We’ll go check out how things are going over there and then we’ll decide which party to gift with my presence,” Theo says. “C’mon, Hails.”
Either poor Theo is forced to hang out with the girls, or I’m forced to sit with the men around the cramped, rowdy roulette tables. I can’t think of anything worse.
As Theo leads the way across the casino, I gently tug on his wrist and ask, “What would you like to do? You’ve already missed out on some of the fun so I could write, so we can do your thing now.
I’ll hang out with you and the guys.” My chest tightens as I make the offer, but I know I can’t be selfish.
If we are going to be handcuffed together for the remainder of the night, there needs to be some give and take from both of us, otherwise we’re both going to have a miserable time.
“To be honest, Hails, I’m not a huge gambling fan,” Theo admits, sheepishly scratching the nape of his neck. “Staring at a spinning roulette wheel doesn’t do much for me.”
“Oh,” I say in surprise, because I honestly expected him to fist-bump the air and drag me the rest of the way across the casino floor to go join the bachelor party. “So . . . You want to hang out here at the slot machines with us girls instead?”
Theo raises a challenging eyebrow. “Do you want to hang out here at the slot machines?”
“To be honest, Theodore, I’m not a huge gambling fan, either,” I say with a smile as I mimic his words.
“Then screw the casino. Let’s do something else.”
“Like . . . do shots at the bar or something? Because I’m not a big fan of that, either, but I know you probably came on this bachelor party to get wasted and meet women in the clubs and—”
“I didn’t, actually,” Theo cuts in, and now I’m the one raising an eyebrow at him, unable to hide my skepticism.
“I came this weekend to celebrate with my future brother-in-law—obviously—but also because I wanted to see Vegas. The city. I want to see the shark reef aquarium at Mandalay Bay. I want to ride the rollercoaster inside New York, New York, and zipline over the LINQ Promenade. Did you know there are actual flamingos at the Flamingo hotel? I want to see the flamingos, Hails.”
I gaze up at Theo and his sweet, endearing smile.
I’ve been around him pretty much my entire life, but I’ve never really gotten to know him.
I see his confidence and his popularity and his cute, boyish looks and I immediately write him off as some obnoxious himbo, but he’s a twenty-three-year-old in Las Vegas, and he’d rather go see an aquarium than gamble at the roulette tables with the rest of the guys?
He’d rather ride a rollercoaster than get drunk in the club? Maybe I’ve been wrong about him.
“I’d much rather do those things, too,” I admit, a flush of heat spreading across my face. “I’ve planned the most typical bachelorette party for this weekend, because I know it’s what Addy wanted, but I won’t lie and say any of these plans are anything I’d ever choose to do.”
Theo laughs. “Yeah, I already know.”
“You already know?”
“Yeah, because I know you,” he says with a smile, and my stomach does a weird little flip.
“You grimace every time you take a sip of alcohol. You hate crowded places. I’ve never once seen you in any of the clubs in Boca.
All of this?” He gestures around us to the bustling casino inside our luxurious hotel.
“This isn’t Hailey Clark’s vibe, and that’s fine, because it isn’t mine, either. ”
Theo’s perception of me is so correct, it makes me feel kind of vulnerable and exposed. All this time, I didn’t see him . . . but he saw me.
“So . . .?” I hedge.
“So let’s go explore some of Vegas, Hails.”
And for the first time, I think: Thank God I’m handcuffed to Theodore Sinclair.