Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“You are a good time. I should bid on you every year,” she says, and the thought of that goes straight to my head, making it crackle with ideas—some I shouldn’t be entertaining. Blame the Lemonade Affair.
“I’ll keep making it worth your while,” I say.
“Oh, I know you will. I’m jealous of every woman you’ve ever had a date with,” she says, and damn, she’s saying things that are making my mind race way too far ahead. But the way she’s having fun, singing along, is all I care about.
When the lead singer finishes their hit song “Blown Away” with an epic strum of his guitar, Maeve turns to me, her face flushed, her eyes bright. “I love that song. I just do.”
“I know,” I say.
She blushes. “I’ve said that before?”
I hold up my thumb and forefinger to show a sliver of space. “A few times. You said it makes you happy.” I have to cup my hand around her ear because it’s loud.
She shivers as I touch her. At least I think she does. And that reaction goes south of the pants border. Good thing it’s dark.
“Well, it still makes me happy. This whole night is making me happy. So whatever you’re doing tonight, Callahan, it’s working.”
A surge of satisfaction spreads warmth through my chest. Mission accomplished. I can’t help the grin that stretches across my face, wide and sure. This is what I set out to do—to make her forget everything else, if only for tonight. Her happiness is my win, and knowing I’m the reason for it makes me feel like I’m on top of the world.
The singer clears his throat, his deep, raspy baritone booming across the theater. “I’ve got a new song for you tonight. Something I’ve been working on for a while. A little number about promises. Promises made, and promises kept.”
Maeve’s eyes widen. “Did you know he was going to premiere a new song?”
As if I have that kind of sway with the band. Still, I play along. “One hundred thousand dollars? Of course it comes with a brand-new tune from your favorite band.”
“Best date ever,” she shouts.
With a drink in her hand and her arms in the air, Maeve cheers as the opening notes fill the theater. Then he leads into the song, and the lyrics hit me like an arrow to the heart: Remember that promise we made? When I was little and thought I’d marry you? Now that we’re all grown up, I know just what I wanna do…
The words strike me, like a brilliant idea. Like a goddamn roadmap for the best night ever. For a second, or maybe more, I’m back in time to a night I don’t like to dwell on. To a night that made me feel things I shouldn’t really feel. But thanks to a Lemonade Affair and a brand-new song, I’m not holding back. I’m remembering a promise made at a wedding two years ago.
Maeve doesn’t need a husband. But she needs a big adventure.
“Remember how we haven’t planned our Big Adventure yet? Well, I’ve got an idea…”
12
ARE FLAMINGOS SULTRY?
Maeve
Never let it be said that I back down from a dare. And no one can, because a couple of hours later, I’ve got a marriage license in my hand, a daisy tucked behind my ear, and a white satin cami underneath Asher’s vest—now mine. Well, a bride’s got to wear white, so we grabbed one from an all-night lingerie shop. Because of course Vegas has a twenty-four-hour lingerie shop.
“It’s my bridal flair,” I declare, then glance at Asher, my eyes widening as a thought suddenly hits me. “What are you going to wear?”
Or maybe I shout it. It’s possible those Lemonade Affairs were stronger than I’d realized. It’s also possible I had more of them than I’d thought. Hard to say at this point in the night. All I know is everything feels warm and fizzy, inside and out. The lights are festive, the neon is blindingly bright, and the energy pulses through me as the car zips us back from the Clark County Marriage License Bureau to our hotel, where we booked a wedding in its little chapel.
“We have to get him a tuxedo!” I shout to the Lyft driver.
The driver chuckles. “Let me know if you want to stop at an all-night tux shop. We have those too.”
Asher sets a calming hand on my arm. “Let me point out the obvious—you’re not wearing a dress.”
“Oh! I bet they’ll have something at the chapel,” I say confidently, then turn to my best friend. “They have clothes to rent usually. One time, we were all at Elodie’s Chocolates, and the owner told us about when she got married in Vegas. At the same place! She said she rented a burgundy dress at the chapel they used, and her hubs got a velvet jacket, and they walked down the aisle to ‘It Had to Be You,’ and…”