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I stand still, looking around for her curvy body and light blonde hair in the crowd. When she isn’t back in five minutes, I start to get worried.
I pull out my phone, hitting her name and impatiently listening as it rings and rings and rings. Her voicemail picks up and I let out a curse, my heart racing as I spin in another circle.
Where could she have gone? Why did she just leave without saying anything to me?
My mind flashes back to those girls fawning over me and my stomach sinks.
I jog out of the casino and down the sidewalk to the Luxor. She must have gone back to our room. My gut clenches as I think about her leaving upset. I never want to make her feel anything but happy.
I’m messing all of this up.
We’d been having such a great day. Laughing and getting to know each other. It had felt so natural, but I knew that she was a little self-conscious and was sensitive about her weight. Instead of telling those girls to get lost or to stop touching me, I had put their feelings ahead of my girl’s.
I shouldn’t have worried so much about coming off as rude to them. Not if the other option was hurting my Emma.
I jab my finger against the elevator button a dozen times, willing it to hurry up. I step on with a bunch of other tourists and want to curse at them as we stop at every single floor.
The elevator finally reaches my floor and I sprint down the hall, fumbling with my hotel room key and swinging the door open so hard that it hits the wall.
She’s gone.
We had placed her luggage right inside the door before we went out and it’s not here. My heart is pounding so loud it feels like everyone in the hotel should be able to hear it, even above the noise of the casino.
I still tear through the hotel room, hoping that maybe she’s just putting her things away in our room.
The rest of the suite is empty and I curse, running my hands through my hair as I pace around the living room.
Where could she have gone?
I wrack my brain, trying to figure out the answer to that question. I doubt she would have gone back to her cousin and the bridesmaids, and it doesn’t seem likely that she’s walking around Vegas by herself. Not if she has her luggage with her.
Her hotel room.
We never checked her out of the hotel room. She must still have her key card and went back there.
I’m hitting the button for the elevator before the suite door even clicks shut. I ride down to Emma’s old floor and rush to her door.
I knock, shifting anxiously as I wait for her to answer. When she doesn’t, I knock again.
Still no answer.
Maybe she dropped off her luggage and went out.
She would have known that I’d come looking for her here. She must not want me to find her.
Shit, does that thought hurt.
I knock one last time, praying that she answers the door, but there’s still no response and I don’t hear movement inside.
I’ll just have to go find her.
I head back downstairs and out onto the street, wondering which way she could have gone. The only people she knows here are her cousin and the bridesmaids.
I grab my phone, opening the Instagram app and searching for Taylor and Chloe’s accounts. Sure enough, they’re posting like crazy, showing off how much partying they’re doing in Las Vegas.
Chloe, Taylor, Nikki, and Kaitlyn are grinning at the camera, their arms wrapped around each other. There’s about a million pictures documenting their journey tonight and I click on the last one, feeling relieved when I see that they tagged The Chandelier.
I flag down a cab and hop in, telling them the address and praying the driver steps on it.
