He swats my chest, then lets his hand stay there, spreading his fingers like he’s testing the shape of the moment. The city outside slides by—neon slashes, casino names, a billboard for a show. Inside, it’s all soft light and alcohol breath and that thing I can’t name that feels like we came here for a reason that’s bigger than the joke we’re riding.
“Tell me you have a room.” My voice is lighter, but my body means it. “If not, I’m calling in every favor we’ve ever earned, and even the ones we haven’t.”
He flushes—always, always—and nods. “I do. Not sure how I’ll explain it on the credit card, but fuck it.”
“Fuck, that’s hot, you saying that,” I say solemnly, and he actually laughs, full and surprised.
“Rafe?”
“Yeah.”
His smile softens, something shifting behind it. “You have no idea what it meant, seeing you there. At the game yesterday.”
The words hit harder than they did the first time, like he reached in and gripped something already bruised. I can’t tell if he knows what he’s doing to me, if he realizes that every time he looks at me this way, I forget how to breathe.
“I wanted to be there,” I say, voice low. “I needed to see you win.”Because I love you.
He exhales, a little unsteady. “You did.”
“Good,” I say, smiling faintly. “Then we both got what we came for.”
He breathes out. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I echo, and we sit like that, not kissing, not talking, just letting the limo’s motion and the city’s smear hold us.
The convoy hooks hard to the right and pulls up to a building that could be anything from the outside—stucco, vague sign, a single carousel of light above the door—but inside is pure Vegas invention. A woman in white sunglasses behind a glass counter waves two clipboards. “If you’re the rush ceremonies, you’re lucky,” she trills. “We just had a cancellation.”
Two things happen at once: the soon-to-be bride squeals so high dogs three neighborhoods over perk up, and Miles leans to my shoulder and murmurs, “License.”
He’s right. Vegas might marry you in a drive-thru by an Elvis who smells like Bengay, but she’ll still check you for the right paperwork.
I look at Ollie. He looks at me. It’s ridiculous how fast the air changes. How a single word can open a door neither of us knew was there a second ago.
She saidceremonies. Plural.
The noise around us fades—Eli laughing too loud, Drew humming the “Wedding March,” Miles talking to the woman in the veil—and it’s just us, in the middle of it, hearts beating to the same reckless rhythm.
“Clark County Marriage License Bureau’s open till midnight,” Miles says, casual as anything, like he’s reading the thought straight out of my head. “Seven minutes from here if the lights are green.”
Eli’s eyes go so wide his crown slips sideways. “We’re doing this?”
Drew claps once, delighted and horrified. “We’reabsolutelydoing this.”
I don’t take my eyes off Ollie. His mouth is a stunned line, but his eyes—God, his eyes—are lit like the floor under a stage, like he’s about to jump without checking how far down it goes.
“Rafe—” he starts, voice catching somewhere between disbelief and laughter.
I step in, close enough to feel his warmth. “I know,” I say quietly. “It’s insane. It’s—fuck, it’s everything.”
He stares at me like he’s trying to decide whether I’m serious or just drunk enough to believe in miracles. Maybe it’s both. Maybe that’s the point.
“Tell me not to ask you,” I say, softer. “Tell me this isn’t exactly what it feels like it is.”
Ollie’s breath comes out uneven. The smallest shake of his head. “I can’t tell you that.”
Something in my chest tilts, weightless and sure. “Then come on,” I murmur. “Let’s go see if forever’s open late.”
He hesitates, and I can read everything passing through his expression: his fear, hope, disbelief. But I know I can see his love there, too, right here for me to claim as my own.
