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She totally misses the sexual innuendo and grabs his hand and pulls him in the direction she thinks will take us to the giant wheel.
“We’re not walking all over Vegas at ten thirty at night, Chloe. We’ll take a car,” York grumbles, trying to keep up with the two of them.
“Is Pope coming back here?” I ask Marks.
“After press, yeah.”
“Don’t you think we should wait for him?” I ask wanting nothing more than to do just that.
“Could be an hour, and I’m not thinking Chloe will last that long,” he says, tapping out a text. “I sent him a message to let us know when he was ten minutes out and that Chloe Shaw wanted to ride the giant wheel —the High Roller— with Danny. Let’s roll.”
We end up walking the one-point-two miles and stopping at three different refreshment carts to get drinks and snacks.
“I can’t believe they sell wine on the street here,” Chloe says, sloshing the red liquid from the plastic cup and onto the sidewalk.
“I can’t believe you didn’t want a frozen chocolate-covered banana,” Danny says, taking a bite of the one he bought for her.
“You think I don’t know that you want to watch me eat that banana to fuel some sexual fantasy you have about my mouth and phallic objects, Danny Aiken?”
He nearly chokes on the bite he took, and we all laugh.
“And why didn’t we get a car? I have money, you know. I could have paid.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re the one who can’t stand still long enough to hail a cab,” York points out.
She raises her hands in the air. “It just feels so good to walk around and not worry about anything. I should move to Vegas. Go to school during the day and pole dance at night in one of the fancier clubs, where you’re not expected to grind on some asshole’s lap for a twenty.”
“There’s no chance in hell that’s happening,” Danny tells her.
“Why not? I’m a liberated woman, you know.”
“That you are.” I laugh as I link arms with her to stop her from passing by the very reason we’ve walked a mile.
When I turn us and point, she looks at it in awe. “That’s huge.”
“Biggest Ferris wheel in the world.” York holds up her phone and shows her what Google says about the High Roller.
“Long line. You sure you want to wait here?”
“You bet your bippy I do, Danny boy. I’m gonna ride that beast, just like I rode the plane.”
“By just like, you mean, drunk?” I joke.
She grins. “Exactly.”
We wait in line for what feels like ever—maybe because Chloe now has her head resting on my shoulder or maybe because I’m anxious to have the conversation I need to have with John Paul, whose heat factor just rose from Texas to Vegas hot. Major league hot.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I glance over at York. “Do you think we should head back, go to bed, come back tomorrow?”
She smirks. “No way in hell.”
I don’t like that smirk, mainly because it makes me feel like she’s in my head, doing her detective work without permission—again.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Don’t you think it’s rude that we’re not going to be there when he gets back?”
“Oh my God, it’s me. I’m the rude one.” Chloe pouts, sounding like she might cry.
