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 therearelimits.”
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?”
