CHAPTER 7
Declan
This sucks.
Summer and I have visited all fifty free-standing wedding chapels on the Strip and all but one of the hotel-based altars to romance. We’ve made phone calls to another thirty located elsewhere in the city. No Evander MacLaine and Phoebe Travis to be found.
I left Bryttni in the hot tub of our hotel suite—alone—so that Summer could drag me around a city that she can’t stand and people she can’t stop complaining about.
“Look at these idiots,” she says, coming to a stop in front of the MGM Grand, proving my point. “They’re all drunk and have been wandering around under the desert sun without a hat.”
“I’ve got a hat,” I say proudly. “A very elegant one.”
She smiles. “I must admit, it suits you. But you should scratch off the ‘Sonny & Cher Love Palace’ lettering and replace it with ‘Declan MacLaine, Hot Pilot.’”
“You’re just jealous you didn’t get yourself one.”
“So true.”
“Hey, I would’ve been happy to buy you one. All you had to do was say something. You know what you need, Summer?”
“A beer bong hat?”
“Yes. Plus, you need to start speaking up about what it is you truly desire.”
I straighten the pink plastic construction hard hat and make some needed adjustments.
We’ve been walking so much that each of the two beer-bottle holsters have wandered too far forward on my head.
The two long sections of plastic tubing have developed kinks, meaning the beer isn’t reaching my mouth at the expected rate.
“Will do,” she mumbles, distracted. Summer’s used her phone to track which chapels we’ve visited, so we don’t go anywhere twice. Honestly, if you’ve seen one chapel, you’ve seen them all. It wouldn’t be hard to get mixed up.
Soon, the afternoon sun starts to dim. I’m hungry and only partially tipsy, which is no way for a grown man to be on New Year’s Eve in Vegas.
I take off the hat and hand it to the first passerby whose eyes light up with interest.
“Thanks, my man!” he says. “Free Bird!” I watch him walk away, sipping the pre-loaded brewskis as he goes.
“Do I have hat hair?” I ask Summer, raking my fingers back over my scalp.
“No, darn it. You have perfect hair as always,” she’s looking down at the map feature of her phone and not even checking my hair. “It’s always amazed me how you get away with that. Even after a hard day in the saddle under your Stetson, you look like you just stepped out of a magazine ad.”
“An ad for what?”
“Oh, you know… men’s cologne or bent wiener syndrome or something.”
I bust a gut laughing. She finally looks up at me, her eyes sparkling and her mouth wide with a smile.
I suddenly have the strangest thought. What would Summer look like if she paid even the slightest bit of attention toward her outward appearance.
She’s so beautiful in her cotton snap-front shirt and threadbare jeans, and her no-fuss hair and face. She’d probably stop traffic in a dress.
Cause a few fender benders.
Men would trip on the sidewalk and knock out their entire top row of teeth.
Maybe it’s best for everyone if she stays at her current level of jaw-dropping beautiful, just as she is.
Oh shit.
I just remembered that I told Bryttni to save a spot for me in the hot tub. I really hope she didn’t take that literally, because she’d be a prune by now. I should call her.
Summer grabs me by my shirt sleeve and tugs me into the MGM Grand. Once inside, we gulp in the air-conditioned air. Even on December 31, it feels hotter than hell in Vegas. It’s got to be all the concrete.
Summer scans the crowd for Evander and Phoebe like she’s done in every hotel we’ve visited. I take out my cellphone and dial.
“You’re making a phone call? Now?” She’s pissed off.
I put my finger in the air. “I’m doing what you told me to do. Hold on a sec.” The private investigator my brothers and I use for StellaR Tech answers on the second ring. I tell him what I need, and he tells me no problem. The entire conversation takes less than a minute.
“What was that about?”
“Work smarter, not harder, Miss Stevens. We’re getting nowhere, so I called our investigations contractor, as you suggested hours ago. I should have listened to you. They have a couple men in Las Vegas, and if anyone can track down Evander and Phoebe, it’s them.”
“You should always listen to me.” Summer stands still for a moment and bites her lower lip.
I expect her to continue arguing with me, but I see how tired she is.
She’s had a long day. Hijacking jets takes a lot out of a girl.
Not to mention the airsickness and then the pointless wandering all over Las Vegas for two people who probably aren’t even here and don’t deserve to have their privacy interfered with.
I haven’t seen Summer eat anything all day, and I’m not sure she’s had anything to drink either. Standing in the middle of the casino with her teeth biting her lip, she looks worried and overwhelmed. I’ve never seen her like this.
Because I’ve never seen her so completely out of her element.
My heart lurches. I hate that she seems so lost.
I clench my fist at my side, stopping myself from touching the soft skin of her cheek. Sometimes I want to wrap Summer in my arms and just take care of her, protect her, and treasure her. But I know she would never allow that.
She’d kick me in the ’nads if I even tried.
“I promised we would look for them,” she says softly, concern etching her face.
I know that my family’s wellbeing is Summer’s priority. She can’t bear to disappoint anyone in the MacLaine clan. She’s dedicated to us. Utterly loyal. She’ll do anything for us.
“No worries, Summer,” I say. “We’re just taking a break while the professionals do what they can do.
We’ll start up again in the morning. Early morning, on New Year’s Day, as hideous as that sounds.
I promise.” I put my arm around her shoulders.
“Come on,” I tell her softly. “Las Vegas isn’t all bad.
It has good food. I’ll buy you a bite to eat. ”
“I could go for a bacon barbecue burger with onion rings.”
“Your wish is my command, little missy.” I place my hand on the small of her back and walk with her toward the restaurant. I immediately remove my hand.
What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I touching her like that?
I take a moment to remind myself just how valuable my friendship with Summer is—along with the importance of keeping my ’nads intact—and the temptation to touch her vanishes.
A few moments later, I sit her at a table at one of the casino’s restaurants and order two burgers with all the fixings. Her eyes grow big when the food arrives. It’s a feast, a death sentence for a heart patient. Luckily, Summer and I are in perfect health.
“I can’t possibly eat all this,” she squeaks, eyeing her plate.
“Very funny. Nice one.”
She snorts. “I was doing my impression of Bryttni.”
“Needs more cat.”
Summer shrugs and dips an onion ring into her milkshake. “I didn’t want to be mean.”
“I shouldn’t be either,” I say. “She’s putting up with a lot from me today. I hope she can forgive me.”
I pick up my burger and take a large bite. Summer does too. We both moan in appreciation at the same time.
A dollop of barbecue sauce gets deposited on Summer’s cheek, and before I can stop myself, I wipe it off gently with my finger, resting there a second longer than I need, locking eyes with Summer’s as I do it.
Realizing that I’ve been holding my breath, I suck in air and drop my hand quickly into my lap. I curse myself and wish I could think of something snappy to say, but I’m paralyzed. This can happen on those rare occasions when Summer and I share a quiet moment.
Sometimes I forget every damn thing I should remember. And I find myself wanting more. And then I wonder what the hell is wrong with me.
Luckily, Summer and I are usually working our asses off at the ranch when we’re together. And when we’re not working, we’re making a lot of noise. Or laughing. Or annoying the rest of the family with our antics.
It suddenly occurs to me—are we doing all that on purpose? So there’s never room for a moment like my barbecue sauce mistake? Maybe Summer and I fall into our routine to reduce the risk of making a misstep. Like the one I just made.
When I glance up, Summer’s eating her food, pretending she didn’t notice the awkward way I snatched my fingertips from her cheek. A wave of relief hits me. I'm grateful for her lack of awareness, even if it’s an act.
We eat most of the meal in silence, but when we get to the last onion rings on our plates, Summer pushes me to resume our search for the wayward lovers.
“Like I said, the agency is on it. We can start looking again tomorrow, though my guess is they’re long gone, if they were ever here.”
Her mouth pulls into a thin line. It's the Summer Grimace. I know it well. She's not pleased with me, but I can't help it. It's fucking New Year's Eve.
“It's fucking New Year's Eve,” I tell her with more of a whine in my voice than I would have liked. “We have plans.”
She drops her last onion ring onto her plate. Her grimace is still there, but now there’s also knitted eyebrows to contend with. Uh-oh. The Summer eyebrow knit can be deadly.
“What plans? I didn’t know about any plans that involved me. When did you have time to make plans for me?”
“I’m a multitasker. I can make plans and do lots of hot-alpha-pilot shit all at the same time. I’m gifted that way.”
She laughs. “Since when do you do hot-alpha shit?”
“Hey, I’d be offended if I weren’t completely secure in my hot-alpha shit-ness.”
Summer’s no longer amused. She doesn’t want to party with me and Bryttni tonight and I can’t really blame her. But I had to at least extend an offer. I have late dinner reservations. I have tickets to shows and clubs. She can tag along if she wants.
“I came here to find Evander and Phoebe.”
“Plans are already in motion. Our contractor is on the case. We start again tomorrow.” I say the last bit while I stand up. “I’m going to get us ice cream.”
She points at our empty glasses. “We just had milkshakes.”
“What’s your point?”
She scowls up at me. “This ‘we have plans’ conversation isn’t over. Do you hear me, Declan MacLaine? You do not make plans for me without my permission. Now, go get me cookies and cream in a cup with double sprinkles.”
“Summer, I damn sure know what kind of ice cream you like after all these years.”
As I hightail it out of the restaurant, I realize I have no idea where to get ice cream or if the MGM Grand even sells it, and if so, where in the endless maze of gambling and drinking and shopping establishments it might be hiding.
But I’m thankful for the break from Summer. She’s mad at me, but even when she’s mad I want to gather her up in my arms and finally taste those sweet, dark pink lips of hers.
This is a spectacularly not-good idea. Summer is the forever type of kissing partner, and I can’t be trusted with forever. In my life, forever is six dates. Tops.
I let my imagination wander. Let’s say one day I lost my fucking mind and kissed her. What then? Worst-case scenario: she sees it as a betrayal of our friendship, the one we’ve built over more than a decade. She could leave Yosemite Ranch, and I would never see her again.
Not worth the risk.
So there will be no kissing of an angry Summer or happy Summer or grimacing Summer or any kind of Summer. Because I need her to stay my Summer. My friend through whatever life throws at us. The way it’s always been.
Besides, what am I going on about? I’m here with Bryttni, who’s new and exciting, smokin’ hot, and ready to go. And all I can do is think of Summer, my pretty friend, totally off-limits, and clearly not interested.
I mean, if she’d ever been interested in me, wouldn’t I have gotten a hint by this point?
I find the ice cream two floors down, and race back with our orders before they melt. I find Summer right where I left her, at our table.
But she’s not alone.
Someone’s sitting across from her.
A male someone.
The gym bro is blond, in black jeans and a tight T-shirt. He leans over the table like he’s about to lunge, then lick Summer like a popsicle. Bro’s captivated by her every word, smiling and laughing and checking her out from head to toe.
Oh, hell no.