Chapter 6
RILEY
Duke walks toward the pool bar, and I’m not the only one watching him go.
The rooftop infinity pool sparkles under the unexpectedly warm Vegas sun, water shimmering like liquid sapphire against the endless blue sky.
The Strip stretches below where we’ve claimed two loungers near the edge, close enough to the infinity ledge that it feels like we’re floating above the city.
I’m trying very hard not to stare at Duke in swim trunks. Trying and failing. The sun catches the planes of his shoulders, the ridges of his stomach, and my mouth goes dry.
He’s my best friend, not really my husband, I remind myself, trying and failing to not feel horny as hell as I watch Duke.
A brunette in a white bikini doesn’t hide how she’s watching Duke.
She’s another one of the impossibly pretty and perfect women I’ve seen in Vegas.
There’s no way I can compete with women like that, and it’s uncomfortable to even see them, and it stirs up ugly feelings when I see them looking at Duke.
I brace for the old wound to open if Duke looks at her, even if he doesn’t talk to her. The ache is familiar. Of course. Why would he want me when women like that exist? He was just being nice on Valentine’s Day, before the concert.
I adjust my swimsuit and shift in my seat to try and minimize my lumpy tummy.
But Duke walks past her with barely a glance and keeps moving. He gets our drinks, laughs at something the bartender says, and walks straight back to me. His eyes find mine as he walks back to me, and my heart nearly explodes at the way he smiles at me.
He settles onto his lounger and hands me a frozen something-or-other with a tiny umbrella sticking out of it.
“Hangover finally gone?” He takes a sip of his own drink, squinting against the sun.
“Mostly.” I watch the condensation drip down my glass, acutely aware of our bodies touching. “Still can’t believe we actually—”
“Yeah.” His thumb finds my hand. Traces absently over the ring on my finger like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like we’ve been doing this forever.
My breath catches.
The brunette is still watching. She adjusts her bikini top in a way that’s clearly meant to draw attention.
Duke doesn’t notice. He’s looking at me.
Possessiveness surges through me in a way I’ve never felt before.
Back off, bitch. He’s mine.
The thought shocks me. We’re not really married. This is fake. He’s my friend.
But the ring is warm on my finger, and Duke is warm against my side.
Before I can think better of it, I reach over and lace my fingers through his.
Rest my left hand on his chest, right over his heart, ring prominently displayed.
His heartbeat thuds against my palm—steady, strong, accelerating slightly at my touch. He doesn’t flinch at all.
The brunette’s eyes flick to the gold band. Her smile falters. She turns away, reaching for her phone with a little too much determination.
That’s right.
Duke glances down at our joined hands, then up at my face. His fingers tighten around mine, and he squeezes gently, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
My heart hammers against my ribs. I just staked a claim on a man I’m not actually with. On my best friend. On a fake marriage.
What the actual hell is wrong with me?
But the word mine keeps echoing in my head.
And I don’t hate it.
My phone buzzes against the lounger, and I grab it without thinking. Megan’s name flashes across the screen. I sit up slightly, suddenly aware of how close Duke is and that he’ll be able to hear anything I say.
“Hey.” I press the phone to my ear.
“Finally!” Megan’s voice is too loud, too cheerful. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. Get dressed. We’re getting margaritas. You need to stop moping over that asshole.”
“Actually...” I hesitate. Duke is pretending to be very interested in his drink, but I catch the way his head tilts slightly toward me. “I’m in Vegas.”
“WHAT?” The shriek nearly pierces my eardrum. “By yourself??”
“No, I’m... with Duke.”
The silence lasts exactly two seconds. Then Megan loses her mind.
“Duke Duke? Mr. ‘We’re Just Best Friends,’ Duke? The one you won’t admit you’ve been in love with since high school, Duke?”
Heat floods my cheeks. I turn away from Duke, lowering my voice. “He surprised me with a weekend away. He knows what happened with Jeremy.”
“For Valentine’s Day? Must be nice,” she laughs, and I can practically see her eye roll through the phone. “So what’s going on with you two? Is this finally happening?”
I look at the ring on my finger. Think about the video—Duke’s hands shaking as he slid the band onto my finger. The way he kissed me.
I should tell her. Hey, funny story, we got blackout drunk and married by Elvis.
But if I say it out loud, it becomes real. And if it’s real, I have to decide how I feel about it. And if I decide I want it, and Duke doesn’t...
“I should go,” I say finally. “I’ll tell you everything when I get home.”
I hang up before she can push harder and stare at the ring, the way it catches the Vegas sun.
Do I want this to be real?
The answer comes faster than I expected.
I do.
The only thing more terrifying than that realization is asking Duke how he feels.
Am I brave enough for that?
The wine bottle is empty.
I’m not sure when we migrated to the same lounge chair, but Duke’s thigh is warm against mine, our shoulders pressed together. His arm has found its way around me, his fingers tracing absent patterns on my shoulder. The city pulses below us, neon chasing the darkness, and the air feels electric.
Duke turns to say something, and suddenly his face is close enough that I can smell the wine on his breath and feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
My breath catches.
His gaze drops to my mouth and lingers before lifting back to mine, darker than I’ve ever seen it.
I watch his hand come up slowly. His strong, calloused fingers brush my jaw and cup my cheek, and I lean into his touch instinctively, my eyes fluttering closed.
He’s going to kiss me. My mind races at the hot desire flooding my core. How has this never happened before? Anticipation makes my skin tingle, and then his lips touch mine.
His kiss is desperate and hungry. One hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head so he can deepen our kiss. The other slides around my waist, pulling me so close I’m practically on his lap.
I saw the video of him kissing me, but nothing prepared me for the reality of Duke’s mouth on mine.
The way he’s tender and powerful at the same time.
The soft groan that rumbles through his chest when his mouth teases and chases mine, making me whimper with desire.
He deepens the kiss until I’m dizzy with need.
A fire is burning through my core, and I need Duke more than I’ve ever needed anyone in my life.
Then Duke tears his mouth away.
His breathing is harsh and uneven, and he drops his hand from my face like I’ve burned him, and he puts space between us—cold air rushing into the gap where his warmth used to be.
“I can’t.”
The words hit me like ice water. I blink fast, thinking I must be drunk and mishearing him, or I’ve fallen asleep and I’m having a nightmare. But as I watch Duke, I realize I’m awake, and I heard him clearly.
Here we go again; not good enough, not desirable enough, not worth wanting.
I turn away, trying to hide my tears.
“No.” Duke’s voice is sharp. He catches my chin and forces me to look at him. His jaw is tight, his eyes blazing with something fierce. “Riley, no. It’s not—” He struggles, runs a hand through his hair, still breathing hard from our kiss.
“What?” My voice comes out smaller than I intended, wounded.
Duke looks away, staring out at the neon night. For a long moment, he just sits there, the muscles in his forearm tensing as he grips the edge of the lounge chair.
“You’re fucking incredible, Riley.” His voice breaks on my name. “That’s why I can’t do this. Because I care too much.” He looks at the ground, his hands shaking as he runs them through his hair. He stands, not looking at me. His voice is flat and distant. “It’s late. We should get some sleep.”
I stare at Duke as he walks toward the balcony door, his shoulders rigid.
I know I should say something, but my mind is muddled from the wine and the kiss, and my thoughts aren’t clear.
How do you talk to someone who’s already made a pros and cons list, decided there are more cons, and assumes you can’t handle a potential future?
And why close yourself off against something that might happen, instead of opening yourself up to a great love?
But the words won’t come. And Duke disappears inside, leaving me alone on the balcony with an empty wine bottle, the taste of him still on my lips, and a ring that suddenly feels too heavy on my hand.
I don’t know if this can be fixed.