Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
DONOVAN
The casino hits all at once.
Hard.
Lights and noise. Garish decor. Music bleeding into laughter and voices—loud, chaotic, alive.
Scarlett doesn’t hesitate. She pulls me straight into it.
“Okay,” she says, spinning once like she’s taking it all in. “This is already better than Cedarville.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “That bad, huh?”
“You have no idea.”
She turns back to me, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, and for a second… I forget where we are.
“Drink?” she asks.
“Thought we were outrunning a hangover.”
“We are,” she says, already tugging me toward the bar. “This is part of the strategy.”
“Sounds like a terrible plan.”
“The best ones always are.”
We squeeze in between bodies, the heat of the room settling in fast.
She leans against the bar, hair falling over one shoulder, and I step in behind her without thinking. Too close. But not close enough to step back.
“What are we having?” I ask.
“Something strong,” she says. “And irresponsible.”
I glance at the bartender. “Two of whatever that means.”
He nods like he’s heard it before.
Scarlett tilts her head back slightly, looking up at me over her shoulder. “You always this agreeable?”
“Only when I know it’s a bad idea.”
She smiles, slow and dangerous.
“Good,” she says. “Because I have a feeling tonight’s going to be full of them.”
The drinks land in front of us.
She grabs hers, tapping it lightly against mine. “To Vegas.”
“To bad decisions,” I answer.
She laughs, and we drink. The burn hits fast.
Warmer this time. Easier. Like the edge is already gone.
She exhales, eyes closing for just a second. Then she turns, facing me fully now. Close enough that I don’t have to reach to touch her.
I don’t. But I think about it. A lot.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods. But her gaze doesn’t leave mine.
It should be awkward.
Instead, it feels right.
“Better than okay,” she says softly.
Something in my chest tightens. Because I don’t believe her. But I want to.
“Come on,” she says suddenly, grabbing my hand again. “I want to try something.”
“Pretty sure I’m going to regret this,” I mutter.
She grins. “Probably.” And then she’s pulling me deeper into the casino. And I let her.
“Is this always a thing with you?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light and flirtatious.
“What?”
“Making terrible decisions?”
“Terrible decisions.” She blinks twice like she has no clue where I’m going with this.
“Bidding on me for starters.”
Her forehead creases. “What are you talking about? You’re the best decision I’ve made all night. And I hope, the beginning of a new lucky streak for me.”
Lucky streak?
Never been called that before.
She plops down at a slot machine directly in front of us, pulling out her phone to take a selfie.
I groan. SoCal Hotshots with Ambrose’s dumb face plastered all over it.
That’s why she bid on me. Just like Dallas said. I’d almost convinced myself otherwise.
“Come and get in one with me,” she says.
I shake my head.
That gets her attention. “You know I bought you tonight. Paid a whole five hundred for you. So stuff like this—the little asks—you can’t say no to.”
“Feels like a big ask to me,” I grumble, leaning in and frowning for our picture.
“You jealous, Phoenix? Afraid Avery Ross was the guy I was really after?”
“Jealous of Hollywood?” I huff. “No way.”
But she doesn’t look convinced, smiling as wide as the Cheshire Cat. “Enough of him,” she says with a wave of her hand. “It’s time for you to help me win some money.”
I groan.
A scantily dressed cocktail waitress comes around wearing glittering eyeshadow and lipstick. “Drinks?” she asks, eyeing us both.
I shake my head firmly.
Scarlett makes her repeat our order twice.
This is spiraling out of control… like the garish purple and orange carpet under our feet. Stare at it long enough, and you’ll swear it’s moving.
“You know why casinos don’t have windows or visible clocks?” I ask.
But she’s too busy trying to stuff a crumpled dollar bill into the machine to listen, biting her ample bottom lip and scrunching her face in concentration. The device keeps spitting it back.
“Shouldn’t be so hard,” I say without thinking, brushing against her from behind. My hand comes up gripping hers.
Her breath hitches in her throat, and my chest does a kathunk I haven’t felt in a long time.
A really long time.
“Like this,” I say gruffly, leaning in, guiding the dollar bill, drawing too close to the crook of her neck where my warm breath settles.
She side-eyes me, head tipping up slightly. The world narrows to her and me—a damn miracle with lights flashing, slots singing, and people hustling through like they had somewhere to be five hours ago.
“Why?” she says suddenly, parting her lips, nostrils flaring.
“Why what?” I murmur, unable to think, breathe… or pull away.
She arches an eyebrow. “No windows, no clocks. You never completed your thought.”
“Oh,” I say, pulling back just enough to get my head on straight. Though I can still smell her—something sweet like nectar, warm and velvety like rose and almond oil. “It’s so casino-goers lose track of time… don’t realize how long they’ve been inside gambling away all their money.”
“Kind of how you make me feel?” she asks with a breathy laugh.
My face heats, something tugging behind my ribs. “How do you mean?” It comes out grumpy, as if I’m trying to mask the warmth.
“Time kind of stops when you’re around. First noticed it at the auction tonight.”
“Is that why you bid on me?” I ask, throat tightening.
“Honestly? I haven’t figured that out yet… beyond needing to feel safe. And needing to have someone to enjoy Vegas with.”
“That’s enough,” I say with a nod.
“Now, show me how that whole slot machine thing works again?” she says, as the cocktail server returns, setting our drinks down carefully. I tip her begrudgingly.
“Either way, we need to slow down after this,” I say to my curvy compatriot.
“After this one,” she says with a wink.
Famous last words…
The city goes by in a blur, and I swear we walk most of it in one night. At some point, we slip out into the dark, enjoying a slight coolness to the air.
“That feels good,” I say, still tugging at the collar of my shirt.
“Oh, look!” she exclaims, running forward. “Let’s check out the fountains and lights.”
We watch the full show, choreographed to music, then check out a pirate ship battle staged in another massive lake. At the Sphere, we’re mesmerized by the images and music dancing across the rounded surface, and, then, we tour the Venetian, Paris, and New York-New York.
Mini versions of the world’s greatest hits, just small enough to remind us how kitschy they are.
At some point, it all starts blurring together. The booze, the music, the lights, the frenetic energy of the place. Until I pull her into a little dive bar off the main strip where neon signs and clanging slots give way to soft crooning country and low lights.
She fits too good in my arms when I pull her close in the back corner. Like she was made for me. And though we’ve sobered up and are starting to talk and think sane again, she doesn’t back away.
Her lips part, pupils blown wide when she looks up at me. Like I’m not some stranger she bid on at a small-town animal rescue auction. Like I mean something to her, that this night does, too.
“What are you thinking?” she asks softly, cheek resting against my chest, breath hitting my neck and doing crazy things to my heart.
“Not thinking. Reminding myself to be careful.”
“Careful of what?” Her voice is a breathy whisper I have to lean in to hear.
“Careful of reading too much into this. Thinking this is more than—” I swallow hard, searching for the right words. “Something you paid for.”
Her eyes cast to the side, face darkening.
My hands shift to her waist, pulling her closer to me. So damn close the thin sliver of air between us feels heated.
“Do you really want to know why I bid on you?” she asks.
“Not sure,” I admit. “If it ruins this, then no.”
She frowns. “Roger that. We’ll keep things simple then. Uncomplicated.”
“Don’t mean that, either,” I say, cocking my head to the side so I can draw closer while still wearing my Stetson. “What I mean is I don’t care why you bid on me. But I do care about what happens tomorrow… after this is all over.”
“Does it have to be?” her voice comes out like a squeak, her eyes catching mine.
“Now you’re reading my mind.”
“You don’t make it easy.” Her smile is slow and mischievous like there’s an idea brewing.
“This doesn’t have to be over… doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to be,” I say.
“And what do you want it to be?” she asks so softly I have to lean closer to hear her.
“What it already is,” I say. “The best night of my life.”
And I know it.
The moment those words leave my mouth, I know I’ve crossed over a line. Regret washes over me.
But then she smiles, and I remember it’s true.
Couldn’t be more so with this woman, though I barely know her.
“So, you’d be here… with or without the five hundred dollar bid?” she flirts.
“Probably not,” I admit. “Needed a little extra push to do something so—” I search for the right word, “…out of character.”
The server comes by. “Can I get you two something else?”
“Two shots of trouble,” she says, holding up her fingers.
He nods, sauntering back toward the bar. No need to rush here, we practically have the place to ourselves.
“Been thinking,” she says, “we’ve already committed the first Vegas offense and come out unscathed.”
“You mean gambling? Think we lost a good fifty dollars.”
“Chump change around here.”
“In other words, unscathed.”
“Maybe it’s time to tempt fate again,” she says.
“What do you have in mind?” I growl, lips so close to her neck I can almost taste her.
“The craziest thing we could do tonight. Maybe the wrongest, too.”
“Wrongest. You know, you’re the only person I’d agree to that with,” I confess.
“Plain-talking cowboy. I like that.”
“Old-fashioned, too.”
“How old-fashioned?” she asks, grabbing my hat before I can stop her and plopping it onto her head.
God, that does something to my body. My hands close the distance, pressing her flush against, making what she’s doing to me undeniable.
Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire croons from the glowing and throbbing jukebox, faint but insistent.
Her mouth drops open, cheeks glowing. “I think we’re on the same wavelength, cowboy.”
Her fingers curl into the brim of my hat, holding it in place like she’s claiming it.
Like she’s claiming me.
“I think we are,” I say, voice rough.
She watches me for a second. Really watches me. Like she’s deciding something.
“What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?” she asks.
I huff a quiet laugh. “Tonight’s climbing the list.”
“Not good enough,” she says, stepping closer. “I mean really crazy.”
I glance down at her. At the way she fits against me. At the way this whole night feels like it’s already slipping out of my control.
“Why?” I ask.
Her smile turns slow, wicked.
“Because I don’t want to forget this,” she says softly. “I want something that proves it happened.”
Something in my chest tightens.
“Scarlett—”
“Marry me.”
The words land between us like a spark.
I stare at her. “You’re drunk.”
“So are you.”
“That’s a terrible reason to get married.”
“Then give me a better one,” she challenges.
I should say no. I should shut this down… walk away.
Instead, I reach up, adjusting the hat on her head. “You sure you want to do something you can’t take back?” I ask.
Her eyes don’t waver. “Are you?”
That’s the problem. I don’t remember the last time I wanted anything this much.
Though it makes no sense at all.
And I know better… that marriage isn’t something to be taken lightly or rushed into.
Even though…
I take her hand.
“Alright,” I say quietly.
Her breath catches. “Alright?”
“Let’s go find an Elvis.”
Her smile is radiant as she launches onto her tiptoes and pecks my cheek. Her hand follows, sliding across my cheek.
“Stubble,” she says, fingers moving back and forth, tracing sparks along my flesh. “Sexy.”
And that’s all I need to make the best worst decision of my life.
We find him three blocks down. Of course we do. Like Vegas just… provides.
He’s standing outside a chapel that looks like it hasn’t been updated since 1987, sweat darkening the collar of his rhinestone jumpsuit, sideburns glued on a little crooked.
“Y’all lookin’ for love tonight?” he calls, voice already hoarse.
Scarlett lights up like she’s found buried treasure. “That’s him,” she says, tugging me forward. “That’s our guy.”
“Our guy,” I repeat, because apparently this is my life now.
Elvis squints at us, taking in the hat, the dress, the way we’re already standing too close.
“Well now,” he says, grinning. “I seen a lotta couples come through here… but I can tell when it’s real.”
I huff a laugh. “You can, huh?”
“Son,” he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder like we’ve known each other for years, “I married a pair just like you two last week. Still goin’ strong.”
Scarlett giggles beside me. That sound alone might be enough to ruin me.
“You do weddings right now?” she asks.
Elvis spreads his arms wide. “Darlin’, I was born ready.”
I glance at her, eyes shining. Marveling silently at how this whole night feels like it’s tilting off its axis.
“This is crazy,” I mutter.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “It is.”
Neither of us steps back. That’s the problem.
I don’t want to.
Elvis claps his hands once. “Alright then, step on inside, lovebirds. Let’s make it official.”
Scarlett squeezes my hand.
I squeeze back.
Because I should stop this… say no. Remember exactly who I am when I’m sober.
But right now?
I don’t want to be that guy.
I want to be the one who says yes.