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“I’m going to take Emma back to her hotel room so she can lie down,” I tell them, turning before they can say anything else, and dragging Emma with me.
My fingers tangle with hers as we weave in and out of the crowds. Once we’re a few blocks away from them, I slow.
“Are you really not feeling well? Or were you just trying to get away from them? Because if you’re not ok, I can grab you some medicine or Gatorade or whatever and take you back to the hotel. But if you’re alright, then let me finish showing you Las Vegas.”
She bites her bottom lip, debating in that beautiful head of hers what to say.
“I’m alright,” she says and I grin.
“Then let’s go.”
We stop by some little restaurant and talk, getting to know each other better as we each eat a burger and fries. We wash them down with milkshakes and I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in years as we debate the best milkshake flavor.
I like how she treats me like an average person. I’ve had a lot of people kissing my ass over the years and having a regular conversation feels incredible.
I buy her another appletini and we walk along the streets, taking in the New York-New York Hotel, Excalibur, and other casino signs. We hit up The Venetian and I take her on a gondola ride like I wanted to earlier. We spend the whole ride giggling, pretending to rock the boat as we both cling to each other.
We’re both flushed and breathless as we climb out of the gondola and I tip the attendant.
“I mean, Taylor wasn’t always like that,” she says as we meander through the casino toward the front doors.
“No?” I ask, loving how she’s opening up to me.
“No. Maybe it’s the wedding planning. From the way she talks, it sounds really intense. Maybe it’s just stress,” she suggests and I love that she’s still trying to see the best in people, even people who have treated her like crap.
“Maybe,” I agree, but I doubt it.
“I can see why couples just elope here, honestly.”
Those words stop me and I realize that I could marry Emma. Right here and now. And what better weekend to do so than on Valentine’s Day?
The idea hits me like a lightning bolt.
“What now?” Emma asks as we step back out onto the sidewalk, looking more beautiful than anyone should be allowed.
“Let’s get married,” I blurt out.
That was not how I imagined myself proposing, but I don’t regret saying the words. I’ve been thinking a lot about my next five, ten, fifteen years, and since I met Emma, I realize that she’s now in every one of my dreams. I want to marry her. I want to have kids with her and grow old with her.
Just the idea feels so right. I can feel it in my gut and I always trust my gut.
“What? Really?” Emma asks, looking half-excited and half-terrified.
“Yeah, really,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
I can’t resist her anymore and I lean down, closing the gap between us, as my lips land on hers.
She makes some wild, mewling sound in her throat that drives me crazy and I angle our heads, kissing her harder and praying she moans like that again.
My hands go to her hair and I twist my fingers in the thick blonde locks. I tug gently on the strands and Emma groans, spurring me on. I tug again, harder this time, tilting her head up more, and slipping my tongue past her lips to tangle with hers.
She tastes like honey and sugar and it’s the best thing that I’ve ever tasted. I’m already addicted to her taste and this time it’s me moaning into her mouth.
“You taste like candy,” I murmur against her lips before I eagerly dive back in.
Her little fingers are grabbing my shirt, holding me to her.
As if I would ever try to escape.
