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I realize as we pass through the crowd that among the groups of women, there are others dressed similar to me, bachelorettes decked out in skimpy white cocktail dresses and sequined rompers wearing sashes and tiaras. Large groups of women here celebrating with brides-to-be.
Maybe it’s because he feels sorry for me, a bachelorette with one friend at her party, or maybe they’re the only seats left in the theater, but he points to a small table and two chairs at the center of the stage in the front row.
“See?” I beam at Jess. She looks less enthusiastic.
I glance around. The throngs of women there to celebrate their impending weddings hits me hard. That, and the bottle of champagne I drank. I’m suddenly feeling the need for fresh air. A waitress walks by with a tray and I wave to get her attention.
“I’ll be with you in a minute, hun.”
“Actually, I was wondering if there is a place to get fresh air.” I wave my hand in front of my face, fanning myself. “Too much champagne.”
The waitress’s response is quick, she’s probably afraid the longer I stand here the higher the chances she’ll be cleaning up vomit off the floor. It’s not even late but we’re in Vegas, she’s probably used to people drinking and partying all day. “Back through the lobby, last door on the left, there’s a staircase.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t shut the door, it’ll lock!” she calls from behind me.
The staircase is easy to find and once I’m outside, taking in fresh, non-circulated casino air, I take a deep breath. Heeding the waitress’s advice, I keep my body positioned between the open door and the frame. Vegas is lit up around me, twinkling lights reminding me of the camera flashes at my fashion show, the elation I felt when I walked the runway behind my designs, and for a moment, I’m at peace. Then I ruin all the good feelings by pulling out my phone to look at Alec’s post again.
Do I miss him or do I miss the thought that he was the one? That I had invested over two years of my life into a man that I thought was going to be my husband to find out that he didn’t feel the same way? That starting over scares me more than being with the wrong person?
“Brecken. What kind of a name is that?” I mutter. That’s all I can come up with. Making fun of her name that is actually kind of adorable.
“I should congratulate the happy couple.” I tap on the comment bubble and start typing.
“TWO MONTHS!! WTF!!!” I say as I type it out.
From somewhere in front of me someone clears their throat.
Caught off guard, my phone slips out of my hand and I lunge forward in an attempt to catch it. With my body no longer being used as a door stop, the metal door slams closed behind me. The ominous sound of an automatic lock clicking into place doesn’t stop me from checking the handle anyway. Yup, locked. Oh shit. The waitress said not to close the door. But then I remember the throat clearing and my attention is drawn behind me. A man has stepped from the dark corners of the rooftop toward the door where the single overhead bulb illuminates him just enough to display his large frame.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He reaches out a hand. My brain isn’t receiving messages as to what for because it’s too distracted by the cords of muscle that make up this man’s forearm. The light brown hair and the prominent vein that runs the length of said arm are the ultimate accessories to his god-like forearms. It’s a body part that shouldn’t make me flustered, but I’ve never seen forearms like his before. Surely this is some illusion, a trick of light or a flex pose made possible by the weight of my phone, a mere five ounces. That’s the reason he’s got his arm outstretched. “I thought you were talking to someone. I wanted you to know you weren’t alone up here.”
“I was talking to myself,” I say, finally accepting my phone. “Not in a weird way. I was processing out loud. I do that sometimes. Okay, a lot.”
His response is a deep chuckle, which draws my attention upward to his face.
How have I not even looked at his face? Oh, that’s right, I was too busy drooling over the forearm porn he was providing me with. My eyes roam up his body. And in case anyone’s wondering, he’s no Popeye. His forearms are perfectly proportionate to the rest of his muscular frame. He definitely works out. Maybe even plays a sport. Back to his face. It’s good. Better than good. Square jaw, defined nose, enough scruff on his chin to tell the world he’s got plenty of testosterone pumping through his veins. Thick, sandy brown hair that’s long enough to have a slight wave in it. I can’t tell what color his eyes are in the dim light, but when he smiles, they fill with humor and a dimple appears in his left cheek.
I know that because he’s smiling at me right now.
“It’s my birthday,” I announce out of nowhere. He’s probably thrilled that he’s stuck out here with an excellent conversationalist like myself.
“Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.” The goofy smile that forms on my face is surprising. Why is this guy making me feel giddy? Maybe it’s the champagne.
I realize that I’m a little too excited about being trapped on a rooftop with a stranger. A man with muscles like that could easily overpower me, yet there’s nothing about this man’s demeanor that makes me feel that way. In fact, it’s the opposite. The way he stands with his hands buried in his front pockets, casual and sweet. I’d expect a guy that looks like him to be cocky and self-possessed. My eyes drop to his crotch, then quickly away. Why did I just do that? I was thinking about being cocky and that made me think of…my eyes lower again to the bulge in his jeans. The alcohol running through my veins apparently gives them free rein to ogle men’s crotches.
“Did I just lock us out here?” I motion to the shut door behind me.
“Nah. I’ve got a key.”
“Oh.” I nod. That should be a relief, yet I’m suddenly disappointed that we aren’t stuck out here together. That this isn’t some fated romantic encounter destined for me on my birthday.
“So, we won’t need to lie in each other’s arms to stay warm when the desert temps fall later tonight?”
When I realize what I just said, my cheeks burn with embarrassment, or maybe that’s the champagne gone to my head. And this guy’s sexy smile has gone straight to my lady parts.
