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“Yeah?” He picks up his water and takes a drink.
“Started fixing up the house and plan to spend as much time as I can there.”
“Got family there still?” he asks.
“Yeah, I do.”
13
Thursday
“Well, shit,” Chloe says as we walk into our room at the Marriott in Vegas. “Aren’t we all fancy now?”
Looking around the spacious hotel suite, I have to agree. The furnishings are all contemporary with sleek lines and rich fabrics.
“So, this is what being indulgent feels like,” York says.
“It’s like sophistication and indulgence made a baby, and that baby was a hotel room.” Chloe continues walking around, and York and I exchange amused glances.
Chloe has admitted she doesn’t drink, but she certainly did at the airport. She and I have never flown, but unlike me, who was excited, she was very nervous. Therefore, shots.
She opens the curtains, and we all stand at the wall of windows, taking in the panoramic view of the glittering city skyline, with its towering skyscrapers and neon-lit streets stretching out as far as the eye can see. It’s breathtaking.
“Well, hello, Vegas. We’re in you,” she whispers her greeting to the city, which is kind of adorable.
To stop myself from looking at York, knowing we’d both start laughing, I turn and look around. In one corner, a sleek workstation, equipped with all the amenities you need to stay connected during your stay—high-speed internet, a spacious desk, and a comfortable chair.
I cross the living area to the bedroom. Two plush queen-size beds are covered with crisp linens and plump pillows.
Chloe rests her chin on my shoulder and yawns in my ear, then sighs, “That looks so comfy.”
And it does.
“There’s no sleeping. Pope’s game starts at seven, and the stadium is about twenty minutes away. It’s five now,” York says as she starts peeling off clothes, walking into the bathroom. “I call shower first. Chloe, you’re next.”
“Why am I last?” I ask.
“You’re going to take the longest time,” she calls out to me.
“How do you figure?” I ask.
“You have two and a half days where you don’t have to hurry.”
Chloe dives headfirst into the bed so she can rest her eyes, and that gives York and me a few minutes to chat while she showers—or more accurately, me to freak out because, again, I haven’t had the time to do so.
“York,” I begin.
She cuts me off immediately. “We’re not doing this. You’re sticking with the plan.”
“It’s not a plan. It’s playing Russian roulette with three?—”
“We’ve overtalked this, you’ve overthought this, and there’s no other option. Now, turn it off and get ready to have some fun.”
Dressed in jeans and my Walton Wolves long-sleeved tee tied at the side, I start to put on my ball cap.
“Do not mess with perfection.” Chloe, who’s currently suffering the beginning of a hangover, snatches it out of my hand.
“She’s not wrong, Whit. You look like a freaking supermodel.”
