Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Even my normally sane sister wavered on what I should do. And when I called her yesterday, while we were stopped at a gas station, she still didn’t know. Sammy was still too high off Clive and River; she could only focus on finding out if anything had happened with Chase and me.
Ugh. Sometimes it feels like I’ll be trapped in this web I created forever. Probably because unless you do something about it, you will be.
I need Dolly, and I need her now.
Mustering up the courage to look at Chase again, I meet his sweet blue eyes before asking cautiously, “Would you mind if I put in one of my earbuds and listened to music on the walk back? I don’t want to be rude.”
“Not at all. What are you planning to listen to?” he asks.
“Dolly Parton, of course,” I reply with a breathiness even I can hear.
“You sure love Dolly, huh?”
“More than is healthy sometimes.”
His smile is dreamy. “I’ll have to remember that.”
I hope you do, Chase Dawson. I hope you do. Goodness knows, I remember everything about you.
Of course, the song that starts playing inside my ears, from my Dolly Greatest Hits playlist, is “Marry Me.”
She sings about a boy with sky-blue eyes and a big heart and how he’s going to marry her, and if I were the kind of woman who obsessed over signs, I’d probably feel like this is a sign that Chase and I are some kind of star-crossed lovers destiny is intent on putting together.
But I’m not that woman. I’m just a girl who is walking down the streets of Vegas with the most handsome man she’s ever laid eyes on while Dolly sings about getting married to the man of her dreams, and it doesn’t mean a thing.
Nope. Not a thing at all…
Monday, May 29th
Brooke
I’ve survived twenty-four hours of Vegas with Chase, in the same hotel room, and I didn’t spontaneously combust.
Truthfully, sleeping in a hotel room with my editor should have been considerably more awkward than it was, but I guess two weeks of being on the road together prepared us for this moment.
Last night, after a few hours of drinking sodas at the slots, Chase and I made our way back to our room, tucked ourselves into our individual beds, and went to sleep like a couple of babies.
I think all the hustle of the tour and constant driving across the country had us both exhausted, if I’m honest, and made what could have been a tenuous situation less so.
I know I should have been freaking out, that’s for sure, but against all odds, I finally managed to get a good night of sleep and then some. And I think Chase did too.
When I woke up this morning, he was at the gym, and in an effort to thank his thoughtfulness, I tried to be considerate in my own way, working on the edits he’d emailed me.
And I even managed to get through a whole ten chapters!
I know, I couldn’t believe it either. For once in my life, I’ve had a productive Monday.
Now, Chase is in the shower, and for the first time since we entered this swell little hotel room in the Venetian, my good and normal and non-awkward feelings are starting to wear off.
I can hear the water splashing and splatting as he washes his naked body, and I can smell the aroma of his shampoo steaming through the bathroom door.
Add that to the fact that he’s currently getting ready to take me to a fancy dinner and club—an outing he planned as a surprise for me—and I’m feeling an unjustly bit romantic.
Like, this feels like a date. It not only feels like it, it reads like it.
If I were writing this scene between Clive and River, they’d definitely be having sex when they came back to the hotel room. Definitely.
Stooping above my suitcase to pick out my panties and bra, I hesitate. I’ve got a nice selection ranging from period wear to sexy, and yet, somehow it feels like I have no options at all. If I choose the granny panty variety as a safeguard, but then by some miracle or the universe’s design, this little scene between Chase and me does end in a book-worthy fashion, I’d be embarrassed until the end of time and beyond.
But if I go with the sexy stuff, the sheer lace, high-cut, low-coverage black set I bought on a whim from the internet, and come back here, only to put on my pj’s and climb into our individual beds like last night, I’ll feel like a fool.
Gah. Why does it have to be so complicated?
I’m enjoying my friendship with Chase. Sure, I spend pretty much every moment fantasizing about that friendship turning into a marriage and eventual babies and a whole happily-ever-after scenario for Benji and me, but that’s okay. Life doesn’t have to be all or nothing—and neither does underwear, I suppose.