Page 8 of Hot Mess Wedding

What the hell am I supposed to do here?

This woman, who might as well have been made for me, has all but landed in my lap.

For all my talk about how a woman like this isn’t made for a man like me, I’m tempted to grab hold of her with both hands and not ever let her go.

But I can’t fucking do that.

Because first, I have Micah’s bullshit to take care of.

All I can do is sit here and soak up every second with her for the hour we have. Because as soon as we land, I’m going to have to let her go.

She’s still chattering away as our plane descends into Vegas. I’d open the little window to show her the strip as we fly past, but I don’t want her to get rattled again. Though that single margarita seems to have calmed her down a surprising amount. So much so that by the time we’re taxiing on the runway, she seems almost loopy.

“Is anyone meeting you at the airport?” I ask.

“No. Why?”

“You just seem like maybe that margarita went straight to your head. I don’t want you to be in any danger.”

“It was probably the drink plus the Xanax I took before we boarded.” She giggles.

Fuck. “You drank after you had a Xanax?”

“Yes. It didn’t seem like it was working, and I didn’t want to take a second pill because I’ve never had them before. My doctor just prescribed them for this trip.”

No wonder she seems loopy. Mixing booze and Xanax is a bad idea, especially if you’re not used to either of them. It was only one drink, so she’s going to be fine. But there’s fine and then there’s getting off a plane in a strange city and getting safely to her hotel.

Basically, there’s no way I’m letting her wander around Vegas on her own.

The plane finally comes to a stop at our gate and the bell rings.

Cleary looks up at me. “Why is everyone standing up?”

“We’re here, lil’ darlin’.”

She pulls up the window shade. “Oh my gosh we’re on the ground!”

“We are.”

By the time we get off the plane, she’s upright, but even more loopy than before. I grab her before she gets into a line to board another flight.

“Let’s share a cab,” I suggest, taking her carry on from her and grabbing her hand. I don’t have the patience to wait for an Uber.

She blinks up at me. “Why? Are you staying at The Brazilian, too?”

Well, fuck.

I actually am.

There goes my hope of dropping her off at her hotel and walking away once she’s safely tucked away in her room for the night.

“Yep,” I admit, grimly.

The Brazilian is the newest, over the top addition to the Strip. I’ve never been, obviously, since it opened just a few months ago, but it’s gotten all kinds of press lately. Leave it to Micah to fuck up his life on the biggest stage possible.

As soon as I get Cleary into a cab, she slides up next to me, practically plastering her body to mine.

Her eyes are already starting to close when she murmurs, “Don’t you think it’s strange that they named a casino after a bikini wax?”

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