I stand behind her chair, with my hands on the back rest. She may not be mine . . . yet, but I’ll be damned if someone is going to try and win her over. In between hands, she leans back, and I use this opportunity to get closer. I ask her what she wants, needs and I take the roll as her errand boy to make sure she’s happy. She’s kicking ass in Vegas and I want her to enjoy herself.
When she finally quits, she’s turned the two hundred into a couple thousand and change. I show her where to cash out and she tries to give me all her earnings. My hand folds over the top of hers and I shake my head.
“You won this. It’s yours.”
“It’s like I almost beat you at a round of golf.” Leah tucks her winnings into her purse.
She’s right. Good thing I won when it really mattered.
I take her hand and lead her out of the hotel. We walk down the long pathway until we’re on the strip and heading toward the Venetian to take a gondola ride.
“I can’t believe I’ve never been here before,” she says, gazing up at the different hotels.
“It’s fun but can be draining. There’s the always on mentality so it’s hard to unwind sometimes.”
“One of my friends from college got married here.”
“It’s common,” I tell her. “There are chapels everywhere. You just walk in and boom.”
“That’s crazy.”
When we get to the Venetian, we find out the gondolas are closed for maintenance. Really? How in the hell am I supposed to impress this woman if I can’t do romantic shit? Leah must sense my frustration because she weaves her fingers through mine.
“I saw a frozen cocktail stand. Let’s go get drinks and walk around.” As angry as I am, I follow her, all the while trying to come up with another plan. Dinner will be romantic, but I wanted her entire day to be something to remember.
Leah knows exactly where the drink stand is. She orders one of those really long bottled drinks, ends up buying a fuzzy hat off a street vendor, poses for a picture with every character we come across, drops money into every street performer’s buckets and drags me into every single store that has something in the window she wants. By the end of the day, she’s bought nothing, eaten very little and seems to be on a sugar high.
“I want a cheeseburger,” she blurts out as we exit the New Yorker hotel. She was insistent we go on the roller coaster. I was concerned that she might throw up, but she’s a tough one.
“Good thing we have dinner reservations. Come on, let’s head back.” I hail a cab to get back to the hotel faster. When we get inside the hotel, I hold onto her firmly, to keep her from heading to the casino.
“Don’t trust me, huh?”
“No, I really want to see you in that dress and take you to dinner.”
“Me too,” she says right before we enter the elevator.
Along with us, there’s a crowd and we’re forced—because it’s such a hardship—to stand next to each other. I don’t know if she’s doing this on purpose, but her fingers are grazing mine, her body is turned toward me, and her hand is pressed against my leg. I love every single second of it.
“I’m going to take a quick shower,” Leah says when we step off the elevator. “I won’t wash my hair, so it won’t take me long to get ready.”
“We just have to walk across the street for dinner, so no rush.”
As soon as we step into the room, she veers toward the bathroom. Only, she leaves the door open and insists I stand in the hall and talk to her.
“Did you have fun today?”
“I had the best time. This was really a great date.”
“It’s not over yet,” I remind her.
She laughs. “I’m still not sleeping with you. I may be a little tipsy, but my mind is sharp.”
“No, I know. I was just talking about dinner. Know what I think would be hilarious?” I look down at the carpet and wonder if I should blurt out my thought or make something up.
“What’s that?”
“I think we should get married.”
The water shuts off and everything is silent. I took my shot. I have nothing to lose. The worse she can say is no and I laugh it off.
Leah steps out of the shower with nothing but her towel on and I wish like hell she would get over the no sex thing because I really want to be with her.
“You’re crazy.”
I shrug. “Honestly, I just said it to piss off your brother. He’s so protective of you, it’s maddening.”
She tilts her head to the side and appraises me. “My parents would flip.”
“We could do it just for show. Give everyone in the PGA something to talk about, and honestly, if I post one picture on my social media, maybe I won’t be harassed as much.”