Page 29 of Ice Ice Maybe
In the center of it all stood a charming wooden bridge arching over a stream lined with water lilies. Nolan led me there with determination.
“Up you go,” he said, his hands encircling my waist as he lifted me onto the bridge’s railing.
I let out a surprised laugh, steadying myself with a hand on his shoulder. “Nolan! What are you doing? We’re going to get in trouble.”
But he was already pulling out his phone. “Trust me, this is going to be perfect and it will only take a second. Pretend like you like me.”
That won’t be difficult to do.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and moved closer until we were cheek to cheek. “Is this convincing enough for you?”
“Not quite,” Nolan said, holding his camera in the air in front of us and kissing me on the lips. “There. Much better.”
I wholeheartedly agree.
From there, we made our way to the High Roller we saw from our hotel room. As we ascended in the giant observation wheel, the Vegas skyline sprawled before us, a shimmering mirage of glass and steel rising defiantly from the desert floor. At the peak, Nolan pulled out his phone again. He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me closer.
“This one’s for you, Mitch!” he said, capturing the moment our lips met.
I rummaged through my purse for lip gloss as the High Roller returned us to solid ground. “At this rate, I’m going to need to buy stock in a cosmetics company.” I reapplied a fresh coat on my lips. “Who knew fake dating could be so high-maintenance?”
We shared a laugh as we walked down the strip to The Venetian, the cool air a welcome respite from the Vegas heat. As we approached the Grand Canal, I felt a flutter of anticipation in my stomach, not being able to deny the genuine excitement bubbling up inside me.
We settled into a gondola, and I marveled at the surreal beauty surrounding us. The gentle lapping of water against the boat, the ornate bridges arching overhead, and the impossibly blue “sky” painted on the ceiling created an atmosphere of romance that was hard to resist.
“Get ready,” Nolan said, his voice low and playful. “Pucker up.”
As he pulled me close, I felt my heart race one more time. His lips met mine just as our gondolier serenaded us, and for a moment, the world fell away. It was another soft, warm kiss that was far too convincing. When we parted, I found myself slightly breathless.
Nolan’s eyes met mine, a question lurking in their depths. I looked away, afraid of what he might see in my expression. Because I was enjoying this far more than I should have. The easy banter, the thrill of our adventures, how Nolan’s hand felt in mine—it all felt dangerously real. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had this much fun. A small voice in the back of my mind whispered that maybe, not all of this was an act. And for once, I didn’t immediately push that thought away.
As we stepped out of the Venetian, the oppressive heat hit us like a wall again. A digital thermometer on a nearby casino flashed 110°F, seeming to mock us with its cheery neon display.
“Okay, that’s it,” I groaned, fanning myself dramatically. “I’m hot and I’m hungry, something you never want to mess with.”
“Message received.” Nolan wiped the sweat from his brow. “All this fake relationshipping is hard work. Are you still in the mood for a buffet?”
“As long as it has industrial-strength air conditioning,” I said. “I feel like I’m in a toaster oven.”
“I know the perfect place,” Nolan said. “I’ve heard it’s the closest thing to food heaven in Vegas.”
“You’ve convinced me,” I said, already flagging down a taxi.
The cool air of the Cosmopolitan Hotel and Casino hugged us like a dream as we entered, and the Wicked Spoon lived up to its reputation, a sprawling paradise of culinary delights spread before us.
“Oh, my goodness,” I breathed, taking in the array of food stations. “I’ve died and gone to buffet heaven.”
Nolan grinned. “Race you to the prime rib.”
“You’re on, Zamboni boy,” I smirked, grabbing a plate.
We approached the buffet stations with the determination of seasoned Vegas food enthusiasts. Nolan handpicked a generous slice of herb-crusted prime rib, its juices glistening under the warm lights. He couldn’t resist a small portion of seared sea scallops nestled on a bed of creamy risotto, then he added a colorful medley of roasted vegetables drizzled with balsamic glaze, and two warm pieces of bread with butter. Finally, Nolan topped off his plate with an assortment of cheeses.
“Appetizers,” he said with a wink.
My plate wasn’t any less ambitious. I loaded up on succulent Alaskan king crab legs, crispy orange chicken, and vegetable dumplings. I couldn’t pass up the made-to-order pasta station as well, where I watched the chef toss together a small portion of fettuccine Alfredo with sun-dried tomatoes and grilled chicken.
As we set our plates down at our table, Nolan eyed my selections with approval. “Looks like we’ve got quite the feast ahead of us.”
