Page 28 of Ride By Your Side

“If you’re still good with it, then I definitely say we head there next.”

“Then Vegas it is.” I nod, especially since, right now, I’d be willing to do just about anything for her. Plus, given how big of an asshole I just was, I’d say she more than deserves it now.

I know I went overboard, and I shouldn’t have mentioned Pete at all, but lately, I can’t help but feel more and more protective over her. I’d truly do just about anything to keep her safe and happy—even if that means sacrificing my own feelings. God, what is this woman doing to me?

17

Veronica

“Youcan’tbeserious,Vee,” Miles says, sitting back in his seat with his head falling against the headrest.

“Of course I’m serious,” I assure him, unbuckling my seatbelt to turn toward him. “We need to have fun and celebrate tonight.”

“And I have to dress up to do that?” he asks, clearly skeptical.

“Come on. I packed a bunch of nice dresses for my honeymoon and I haven’t gotten to wear any of them.” I pout, pushing out my bottom lip for good measure.

“Yeah, because you’re not going out with your fiancé, and for good reason.”

“And we should celebrate that. Please,” I add, linking my fingers together and holding my hands under my chin, pouting out my bottom lip even more. “I mean, you already drove all the way here. We should at least see what they have, right?” I ask, nodding toward the thrift shop I found on google just outside of Vegas.

With no need for fancy clothes, he packed accordingly, only filling his bag with the basics: worn jeans, comfortable shorts, and plain T-shirts. While I’ve enjoyed wearing my sundresses and shorts, I’m eager to switch things up tonight. Getting him to dress up with me has been priority number one throughout our drive today.

“Fine. But I’m not buying anything ridiculous, so don’t even try to get me into some Elvis costume or anything stupid like that,” he warns, pointing a finger in my direction before hopping out of the car. Pushing my door open, I scurry to catch up.

With his long legs, he’s already walking through the door, and as I reach him—almost as if by fate, a few shiny Elvis costumes are right there at the very front.

“Don’t even say it,” he threatens as I press my lips together to suppress the giggle that desperately wants to break free. However, with how hard it was to get him just to agree to come with me today, I figure it best not to press it—at least not too much.

“You know,” I finally say, unable to keep it in, “I happen to think you’d make a freaking sexy Elvis, but if you don’t want to be the man, the myth, and the legend tonight, then I suppose I won’t force you.”

“Good, because I wouldn't do it anyway. You may have gotten me to do a lot of weird shit on this vacation that I wouldn’t normally do, but this is where I draw the line. So pick wisely,” he warns as he folds his arms. “So, how fancy are we talking, anyway?”

“Well, since it’s a billion degrees here, I won’t make you wear a suit or anything crazy like that, but I would like to go a little nicer than a pair of jeans,” I suggest, immediately heading toward a rack of men’s shirts. The colorful patterns and textures draw my attention as I pan through the small circle, taking a moment to really take in what I’m looking at.

“Well, I’ll tell you right now: don’t even think about picking something sparkly or flashy.”

I roll my eyes, letting my fingers fall away from the shiny, metallic silver shirt I’d paused on. Sure, it would be a fun choice for Vegas, but even I can admit it’s not exactly Miles’ style. If I had to define his look, it would definitely fall under “motorcycle chic.” Most of his shirts are simple, but they fit him like a glove, perfectly accentuating his sculpted chest and the muscles he’s no doubt earned from long hours at his shop.

The funny thing is, his jeans are always incredibly stylish, with holes and distressing in all the right places. But I highly doubt he bought any of his clothes in that condition; it’s all from daily wear and tear.

I’m the complete opposite. I have a very particular girlish style and closet that I’ve spent years working on and cultivating. I’m obsessed with anything feminine and girly, and I love the use of fun patterns and colors. While looking around this place for myself would be a dream come true, it’s him I’m here for today.

“What about this?” I ask, pulling out a short-sleeved black button-up shirt that has silver lines running down it.

He shrugs, a noncommittal gesture that speaks volumes. “I guess it’s not horrible.”

“Not horrible? I’m not sure that’s the vibe I’m going for here,” I mutter as I move toward the next rack of shirts and begin to shuffle through them.

“Sorry, this just isn’t my thing. I’m pretty sure the majority of my clothes come from Bob’s Clothes Barn or the Target in Willow Creek. I’m not exactly well-versed in picking out anything fancy.”

“While I think that shirt would have looked amazing on you, I want something that will wow us, or at least have you saying more than just ‘it’s not horrible,’” I tell him as I pull out a coupleof different tops for him to try before heading over to the racks with pants.

I’m a woman on a mission, and I’m not leaving until I’ve made Miles the best-looking man in Vegas tonight. Then again, I’m starting to think that won’t be too hard as I steal a glance at him. His blond hair may be a mess from the wind and him constantly running his fingers through it, but I can’t help but think that this guy could easily grace the cover of GQ as one wayward strand falls perfectly in front of his eyes. The man is effortlessly handsome, and I’m not sure he even knows it.

Maybe I shouldn’t be trying so hard, especially when I’m already having a hard time keeping my eyes off him, but I can’t stop now, especially since I was the one who made this a big deal in the first place. Maybe Miles is onto something, and I shouldn’t always be coming up with these outlandish and crazy plans.

Standing in front of the mirror, I snap a quick selfie and begin typing a message to send to Blair.

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