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“You know, I did see that they have it here. And for free!”
He laughed at that, but didn’t look away from me, searching my face as though he was trying to figure out how I felt—which was exactly what I was doing.
Is this what you want? Didi whispered, her voice quiet.
And I was pretty sure it was. I knew Russell. I trusted him. And this seemed like the next step on a path that had just led me to more and more wonderful things. This was my epic night, after all. I was in my one-night, magical story—and this was just the next chapter. I felt an excited little thrill flutter somewhere inside my chest.
“I mean, I do love HBO. And hot showers.” I met his eyes and nodded. “I think that sounds… like something we should do.”
Russell smiled wide—it practically took over his whole face. “Yeah?”
I nodded, then took a breath. “I’ve never… um… stayed at a hotel with someone before.” I felt heat creeping into my cheeks. It was embarrassing to have to admit this, but didn’t we need to talk about it? Also—what if that changed something?
“Oh.” Russell smoothed my wet hair back gently.
“Not that I haven’t wanted to! I’ve just been… looking for the right one. Five stars, all the amenities.” He smiled at that, and I made myself ask the question I was pretty sure I already knew the answer to. “Um… have you?”
Russell nodded, and I tried to figure out if I was disappointed or relieved. Somehow, it was a little bit of both. “I have,” he said, then took a breath and looked right into my eyes. “But now I wish I hadn’t. I wish I would have waited for this hotel. For right now.” He ran his hand down my arm, picked up my hand, and kissed it. “I should have waited for Darcy Milligan.”
I smiled at that—at the way he sounded saying my name. “I know this is kind of crazy,” I said as I placed my hands on his face, looking into his eyes. “But it just feels right, doesn’t it? Like… everything’s been leading to this. Since that first moment.” I smiled at him, feeling like my heart was cracked open, exposed—but I wasn’t scared. Because I knew I could trust him. Like I could see him, and he could see me, and there was nothing to be afraid of. This was what Wylie Sanders and everyone else had been singing about all these years. And here, in a moonlit pool in Nevada, I finally got it.
“Maybe I’ve always been waiting for you,” I said, cupping his cheek in my hand. “For Russell Henrion.”
He took a step back, something I couldn’t read passing over his face. “Look, Darcy,” he said. Then he took a big breath. “There’s actually something that I need to talk to you about. I’m—”
“Hey!”
All of a sudden, there was a flashlight beam pointing at us, and I drew in a sharp breath, squinting against the light that was blinding me. Russell stepped in front of me, which I was glad about, because there was an irritated-looking man in a security uniform glaring at us.
“Pool’s closed.”
“Ah,” Russell said, nodding. “Right. Sorry. We’ll get out.”
“We’ve had some noise complaints,” he said as he pointed his flashlight around.
I was suddenly very aware that I was in my underwear in front of a strange man, in a pool I wasn’t supposed to be in.
“You’re hotel guests?”
“Yeah,” Russell said easily. “Guess we didn’t see the time that the pool closed. We’ll be on our way.”
The guard’s flashlight landed on the loungers and I watched as it moved around, every time landing on something that just seemed more suspicious. My bag, Russell’s backpack, our clothes. I felt my heart sink. Actual hotel guests would have brought bathing suits, and changed into them in the rooms. Actual hotel guests would have towels, and wouldn’t be swimming in their underwear. Suddenly, my big idea seemed incredibly stupid. All at once, I was getting to see the flip side of why not.
I looked at Russell—he looked as freaked out as I felt. “I…,” I started.
“Out of the pool,” the security guy said, already reaching to talk into the walkie attached to his shoulder. “Now.”
CHAPTER 7 Sunday
8:50 P.M.
Everything was awful.
We were standing in the office that was just behind the front desk, in the lobby, under bright fluorescent lights.
I had pulled my tank top and jean shorts on when we’d been ordered out of the pool. But we didn’t have anything to dry off with—it turns out, security guards don’t carry spare towels around with them. So my hair was dripping down my back, my tank top was sticking to me, and I had just learned the hard way that it is very uncomfortable to put on dry clothes over wet underwear. The AC in the hotel was also blasting, and I was shivering as I stood there, shifting my weight from foot to foot, watching goose bumps pop up on my arms.
Russell looked equally uncomfortable—and possibly more so, since he’d had to put on jeans. His black T-shirt was damp in patches, and in his haste, he’d put it on inside out—I could see the tag that read Tom Ford.
