Page 42 of Parker

“I can only hope,” I say under my breath.

Rick steps behind his table, and Skylar coos over her little brother, telling him to go find some ice for the swelling.

As for me? This morning, the girl I liked had a date with the smug douche bag I’d just met and instantly hated.

Now? The girl I like just punched that same guy, and she has plans to go on a date—er, um—afield tripwith me in a few hours.

I should go play the slots because right now, I’m the luckiest guy in Vegas.

Chapter 6

Parker

I said “yes” to Rick to piss off Quinn, but I have no idea why I said “yes” to Quinn.

Liar, liar, pants on fire…yes, you do.

His emerald eyes (that used to be pond scum green) distract me when they sparkle. And they sparkle all the damn time here. That’s the thing about Vegas—everythingsparkles,everything’sdusted with a little bit of magic,everything’spossible. You make decisions you’d never make anywhere else on earth. You say, “Sure,” when you’d be far better off saying, “No, thanks.”

It’s that very same “Sure,” that has me walking down a hotel corridor toward Quinn’s hotel room an hour after the convention ends for the day.

Dressed in brown boots, straight-legged jeans, and a cream-colored, cable-knit, cowl-neck sweater, I hope I don’t look fancy. The vibe I’m aiming for is casual, but neat. That’s why my hair’s up in a no-nonsense ponytail, I’m not wearing jewelry, and my makeup is minimal.

I knock on Quinn’s door at five p.m. sharp, and he opens it before I can knock twice, stepping out into the hallway in boots, jeans, and a T-shirt.

Boots and jeans. Both of us.

We’re dressed like genuine Skagwegians, and it makes me smile.

“Back to our Alaskan duds tonight, huh?”

He smiles at me as we walk back toward the elevator. “I’ve been wearing dress pants and a button-up shirt for two days straight. I deserve a night off.”

“Amen,” I say, stepping into the packed elevator when it arrives.

When we turn around, we’re shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, and so close to the doors, my breath mists the metal when I exhale.

“Should I schedule an Uber?” whispers Quinn.

“Taxis are easy to find downstairs.”

“Did you eat yet?” I feel his breath against the shell of my ear and grazing the soft, tender skin on the side of my neck. It’s distracting. It’s nice. “Park?”

“Um…nope, but there are, like, thirty restaurants at the Mandalay Bay so I thought I’d grab something after the aquarium.” When he doesn’t say anything, I glance up to find him looking down at me, eyebrows raised in an unspoken question. “Yeah. You’re welcome to join me.”

His eyes are warm, and his smile is pleased. “Sounds good.”

You know what I like about this version of Quinn Morgan? He’s not talking loudly and making a spectacle. He’s not embarrassing me, acting like a lunatic Golden Retriever tonight, jumping up on strangers with dirty paws and slobbering all over everyone. I prefer this calmer, more mature side of him. Where is it when we run into each other in Skagway? Because I sure haven’t seen much ofthisQuinn Morgan there.

“Hey,” he says, “Not that it’s any of my business, but I noticed that Rick Jones had a fist-sized apple around his eye this afternoon.”

“Yep. Sure did. And you can bet he deserved it.”

“I figured. Gonna be a nice shiner by tomorrow.”

“Good. It’ll serve as a warning to other girls.”

“You ever need my help, Park, just let me know. I’ve got your back.”

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