Not a thing.
He said nothing until I couldn't take any more nothing.
"Dan is my ex-husband," I said in a rush, without even a hitch to my step as we continued our trek past the M&M Store. "We were married for an entire two weeks before…"
How did one say,He served me with divorce papers?I mean, it didn't quite have a nice ring to it, did it now?
"Before we ended it," I said instead.
That sounded much more reasonable.
I mean, I did have to sign the divorce papers, too, so I was involved.
Sloan slowed, and he looked at me as we walked. Which was dangerous; he might walk into a pole or something. But he also played football, so he probably had excellent spatial awareness.
He held his hand out between us. I took it. He squeezed it.
While the mechanics of the motions were nothing special, there was something keenly sweet about the gesture.
"Then I'm glad we got you out of there," he said, loud enough to be heard over the general noise of Vegas at night.
My heart glitched the tiniest of beats at his words.
He didn't ask questions. Didn't push to know more.
That was…that was…well, dammit, that was nice.
It was nice to have someone not question every part of my history or try to project it into my future.
The crowds got intense outside the M&M Store with a celebrity sighting. It wasn't a Sloan sighting—though I would bet had anyone realized who he was, it would've only added to the chaos.
We did our best to scuttle through on our hunt for food that wasn't candy-coated chocolate pellets.
We had nearly—by mere inches—made it through the throng outside the store when I got distracted by the guy who looked exactly like the lead from the new blockbusterTarzan and Janemovie.
While the celebrity wasn't Cher, Sloan and I still ended up in the mosh pit of fans.
"Sloan? Sloan Stevens!?" someone called. Sloan glanced in that direction and in only a matter of seconds, I promptly got shoved out of the way.
Sloan did reach for me, but he was too late. Which was how I found myself tangled in a gaggle of arms and legs. I deftly dodged the lady in pink stripes, nearly going down. For cripes’ sake, there was no escape. The heel on my right boot caught the edge of the sidewalk and snapped.
With that, I clenched my back teeth, mentally cursing my lack of balance; it was easier than cursing about everyone on earth moving forward successfully with their lives while I stayed stuck walking in circles.
Stuck in all the ways. Currently unable to escape a celebrity sighting and pissed about the boots. Oddly choked up that this would be my last outing with this footwear. It probably had nothing to do with the boots, but still… damn. I loved them. Maybe I could salvage?—
The crowd swarmed around me… Nope. There was no going back for the heel.
The whole scenario was more nerve wracking than the time I tried bangs three summers ago and then attempted to grow them long without barrettes. I might dream of being a pop princess, but I was still a girl who couldn't pull off bangs. That lesson was well and truly learned.
An elbow nearly clocked me in the temple. I scooted out of the way, ducking to maneuver out of the crowd. Maybe if I went down, I could crawl out. Stop, drop, and roll. Or was that only for fires?
If I dropped, I might not get the chance to roll. I could end up trampled, and that'd be worse than losing the boots, and Sloan wouldn't get his dinner.
But I'd lost him in the fray. There was no Sloan around now.
I tried to get on my tippy toes to see him, but no dice. Drat, this wasn't fun. I should've ordered my singular lemon drop martini, enjoyed it, gone back to the condo, and ordered a pizza.
Honestly, I would forego a martini and settle for one of the kitschy yardstick margaritas.
