“Nope.Do you?”
“Nope.”
“You gonna eat all those fries?”
“Of course I am.Duh.”
But she grabs a handful and drops them in my empty container.“You’re beautiful, Summer.I can’t stop looking at you.”
“I bet you say that to all your almost-wives.”
“You’re the first and only.”
Her smile spreads.
I ache to touch her.It’s been ten minutes, which is way too long to go without touching her.I’m growing hard thinking about how silky she is in my hands, how hot and tight she feels when I’m all the way inside her.
Heaven help me, I want her again.I’m like a drug addict tasting cocaine for the first time.I know I’ll never get enough of Summer.I want to love her, possess her, be with her.
Protect her.
And all of these feelings have twisted together inside me, creating a heavy guilt deep down in my psyche.I shouldn’t have taken her like that.I shouldn’t have used her.I should have been able to stop.
“No guilt, Declan.Remember, you did nothing wrong.”
I groan.She’s reading my mind.She does that.
“I wanted it, and I want more of it.And I want to get married.So, let’s do it before either of us changes our minds.”
I nod and swallow hard.“I’ll make this right, Summer.We’ll fly to New York and visit Harry Winston.I’ll buy you whatever style of obscenely expensive wedding ring you might want.”
She snorts.“I can already see it—me out in the sleet moving cattle, a honker-sized diamond getting stuck in the horse’s mane.Or watching it fly off my hand while I’m mucking stalls.”
“It won’t fly off if it’s properly sized.”
“I wouldn’t mind a simple band, though.”She says this looking out the car window again.
“This will be a wonderful adventure, Summer.”I’m trying to reassure her.Maybe myself, as well.
“It’s funny, really,” she says.“We came to Las Vegas to stop Evander and Phoebe from eloping, and nowwe’reeloping.It doesn’t even feel real.”
“We can do whatever you want to help make it feel real.We’ll have a big party after if you want.Bigger than Finn and Emma’s wedding, if that’s even possible.I promise to make you happy.”
“Then don’t force a big, fancy party on me.”She turns my way, irritation etched on her face.“No way am I wearing one of those stupid white dresses.It was bad enough being a bridesmaid twice in one year.I’m perfectly happy to do this in jeans and a T-shirt and then get on with my life.”
She is wearing the dark-wash jeans and simple sky-blue T-shirt I ordered for her when she was in the shower.Her only wardrobe choices were a tequila-spotted black cocktail dress rumpled on the floor of the suite or her barfed-on snap-front shirt and ranch jeans she left in her room. I’m in my standard uniform of black jeans and a charcoal-gray T-shirt.
Fancy party, this is not.
“I wonder what life will look like,” she says, glancing out the window again.“You know, like the logistics of it all.Will we live together?”
“We’ll be married, so…”
“This doesn’t feel like a joyous occasion, though,” she adds.“It feels like crisis resolution.Isn’t that what you MacLaines like to say?Crisis resolution?”
“This isn’t crisis resolution,” I snap, but I’m not sure that’s the truth.It was a crisis that I took my best friend’s virginity when I had no idea that’s what I was doing.And my resolution was to get married.“We’ll live together.Husband and wife.If you don’t like my house, we can live in your cabin.”
“Where would we park all of your cars and off-roading vehicles?”
