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.
