Chapter 2
RILEY
…and then she looks him dead in the eyes and says, ‘I thought you were taller.’”
Duke nearly chokes on his whiskey. “She did not.”
“Hand to God.” I steal a piece of bruschetta from his plate, grinning at the memory. “Poor guy just sat there, mouth hanging open, while she paid for her drink and walked out. Megan said she never heard from him again.”
“Remind me never to get on your coworker’s bad side.”
“Smart man.”
The restaurant is perfect—exposed brick, Edison bulbs casting everything in warm amber, craft cocktails with ridiculous names.
Our corner booth feels like its own little world.
The leather is soft against my bare shoulders, and the dress I’m wearing makes me feel pretty for the first time in weeks.
A vase of red roses sits on every table, and I try not to think about what it would mean if this were actually a date.
Duke’s sleeves are rolled to his elbows, his forearms tan and corded with muscle.
A confusing desire tugs at me, and I have to look away.
This is Duke…not a date. Or maybe I’m still in that stage of a breakup where I look at every man as a potential new partner.
I’m very specifically ignoring the fact it’s Valentine’s Day.
Though I tell myself at least I’m with Duke, not home alone with more ice cream.
But I remind myself that this is Duke. He’s my best friend, and there’s no way I’d ever want to jeopardize that.
Even if the way his shirt stretches across his shoulders makes me want to caress his muscles. Or how the low rumble of his laugh makes me happy in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. Or how he’s been watching me like a hawk all evening.
Stop it, I tell myself. He’s your best friend. He’s always been your best friend.
I take another sip of my Desert Sin—something with mezcal and grapefruit that burns going down my throat—and scan the restaurant. That’s when I see her.
A leggy blonde is sitting at the bar, staring at Duke.
More specifically, she’s running her gaze over him like she’s already imagining what he looks like without that shirt. Her lips part slightly. She glances at me and obviously doesn’t care that Duke is here with me. On freaking Valentine’s Day. Bitch.
Jealousy twists in my stomach. I don’t have the right to feel possessive about Duke. He’s not mine. So why am I so bothered?
“That knockout over there is eye-fucking you,” I say, nodding my head toward the bar. “Seriously. She looks like she wants to eat you alive. She doesn’t even care that you’re sitting with me.”
Duke doesn’t turn around, doesn’t even glance to see who I’m talking about. “Not interested.”
I laugh, incredulous. “Duke. She’s gorgeous. Like, Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition gorgeous. Go talk to her.”
He glances over—a brief, dismissive flick of his eyes that takes maybe half a second—then turns back to me and steals the last piece of bruschetta right off my plate.
“Hey! That was mine.”
“You snooze, you lose.” He pops it in his mouth, completely unbothered. “And I’m good.”
“You’re on leave,” I press. “We’re in Vegas. I’m not going to be offended if you want to have some fun. Doesn’t matter if it’s Valentine’s Day, because it’s just us.”
His jaw tightens, and frustration flashes in his eyes. “This weekend is about you having fun. Not me picking up strangers.”
The finality in his voice is surprising, but I let it go. It means something that he’s choosing me, after Jeremy made me feel like I wasn’t worth choosing.
Duke flags down the server and orders another round without asking what I want—because he already knows. He always knows. Whiskey neat for him, another Desert Sin for me.
I watch him across the booth. The way he leans back, relaxed but alert, taking in everything around us. The way he asks about my job, my friends, and whether I’ve finished that book I was reading last month. He remembers the book. He remembers everything.
Jeremy used to scroll through his phone during dinner. He’d look at other women so obviously that I’d catch him doing it, and when I called him out, he’d make me feel crazy. I was just looking around. You’re so paranoid. Why are you so insecure?
After a while, I’d stopped calling him out. Started wondering if maybe I really was too sensitive, too needy, too much.
Duke hasn’t looked at his phone once tonight. Hasn’t looked at anyone but me.
Jeremy never looked at you like that, whispers a traitorous voice in my head.
Why can’t I find a man who looks at me like Duke does?
The Vegas Strip is chaos.
Neon flickers to life on every corner, transforming the street into a river of electric color.
Heart-shaped lights flash over the entrances to the casinos.
A guy hawks roses from a bucket on the corner, calling out ‘Roses for your Valentine!’ Couples walk hand-in-hand everywhere I look, and I try not to feel the sting of it.
The Bellagio fountains dance in the distance, shooting white spray against the darkening sky.
Music pulses from open doorways—bass-heavy club beats mixing with the jingle of slot machines.
The air smells like cigarette smoke, stale alcohol, and cheap perfume.
Tourists flood the sidewalks, laughing and shouting and drunk. I feel drunk on something too, but I don’t think it’s the mezcal.
I’m trying not to limp.
The blue dress was a good call—it hugs my curves in a way that makes me feel powerful instead of self-conscious—but the heels were a mistake. They make my legs look incredible. But we’ve been walking for twenty minutes, and my feet are screaming.
Duke notices and slows his pace without comment, matching his stride to mine, his hand hovering at the small of my back. The heat of his palm seeps through the thin fabric of my dress.
“Just tell me where we’re going,” I try again. “I’m dying here. Will you kill me if I buy some flip-flops?”
That infuriating half-smile. “You’ll see.”
“A show?”
“Maybe.”
“Cirque du Soleil?”
“Nope.”
“Magic Mike?”
He shoots me a look that’s half-horrified, half-amused. “Jesus, Riley. Like I want to watch men strip and gyrate. I love you, but there are limits.”
I laugh, and a group of bachelorettes stumbles past, and a pang of regret surfaces in me. For a while, I thought Jeremy and I might get married, that I’d have a bachelorette party of my own, though maybe not in Vegas.
We pass the fountains, the spray catching the light and throwing rainbows across the concrete. Duke’s arm brushes mine.
And then it hits me.
All of this. The trip. The dress he remembered. The secret he’s so pleased with himself about, whatever it is. The way he showed up at my apartment and refused to let me wallow.
My eyes sting.
I stop walking.
Duke turns back, concern flickering across his face. “Hey. You okay?”
I swallow hard. The neon paints his features in blues and pinks and golds, shadows shifting across his jaw, his cheekbones, those eyes that have known me for fifteen years.
“I just—” My voice cracks. I try again. “Thank you. For this.”
I gesture vaguely at the lights, the Strip, the whole improbable weekend stretching out before us. I’ve never been to Vegas before, but the overwhelming-ness of Vegas piled on top of all the emotions about being dumped? Fragile doesn’t even cover it.
I continue, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “I’ve been such a mess. You just... showed up. You always show up, Duke.”
He steps closer. Close enough that I can feel the heat of his body. “That’s what you do for the people you—”
He stops. Clears his throat.
“For your best friend,” he finishes.
I take a shaky breath and say something I haven’t told anyone else.
“He said I’d let myself go.”
Duke freezes, every muscle in his body tensing. “What?”
“Jeremy.” The name tastes bitter on my tongue. “He said I wasn’t the girl he started dating. That he wasn’t attracted to me anymore.” I force a laugh that sounds hollow even to me. “I mean, I have gained weight—”
“Riley.” His voice cuts through mine like a blade. “Look at me.”
I do.
His eyes are blazing. His hands have curled into fists at his sides.
“He’s a fucking idiot.”
Duke takes a step closer, and suddenly there’s barely any space between us.
“You are gorgeous and funny and smart. I’ve never met another woman who makes me laugh like you do, or who is half as interesting.” He says it like a fact, like something so obvious it doesn’t require explanation. “Don’t you dare let some insecure prick make you believe otherwise.”
Hot tears prick at my eyes, and I force myself not to cry. Duke is taking me out, and I don’t want to ruin my makeup or the night he has planned. Not for the first time, I wonder why I can’t find a man like Duke.
Jeremy used to shrug when I told him something hurt me. You’re too sensitive. I was just being honest. He’d said the cruelest things with a smile on his face, then made me feel bad for caring.
Duke is looking at me like he wants to burn down the world on my behalf, starting with Jeremy.
I don’t know what to say.
“Well.” I attempt a smile. “Remind me not to leave you two in a room together.”
Duke doesn’t laugh. His jaw is still tight, his eyes still fierce.
But I reach out and take his hand. My fingers slide between his, palm pressing against palm, and I hold on. His skin is warm and rough with calluses.
I don’t let go.
Duke looks down at our joined hands. The fury bleeds out of his jaw, his expression softening into tenderness. He tightens his fingers and pulls me close to him.
We stand there for a long moment, the Vegas lights swirling around us, tourists streaming past. The fountains erupt behind us, but neither of us turns to look. His thumb brushes across my knuckles slowly, and an unexpected surge of tenderness and desire surges through me.
“Come on,” he says quietly. His voice is rougher than before. “We’re going to be late.”
He tugs me forward, and I follow. Our hands stay linked as we weave through the crowd, his grip steady.
His voice echoes in my mind. You are gorgeous and funny and smart
And for the first time since Jeremy broke my heart and my self-worth, I see a glimmer of the kind of man I want as a partner.
A man like Duke.