Page 38 of A Vegas Crush Collection #2

quidditch match?

Talia

“I don’t think I’m going,” I say, arms folded with feet firmly planted.

“Don’t be a baby,” Parker says. “You said yourself you loved the first game.”

“And then I got kidnapped and slapped around by a bunch of goons.” I lift my chin at her and stand my ground.

But Parker gets up in my face, and then she pulls me into an awkward hug, my still-folded arms wedged between us. “I know you keep saying you’re fine, but I don’t think you’re really fine, are you?”

I bury my head in my best friend’s shoulder and cry.

It’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to break down.

I’ve tried to convince myself I was fine, but she’s right; I’m not fine.

She doesn’t ask me to talk about it. She knows what happened.

She knows I’m having horrific nightmares and waking up terrified.

She knows Boris saved me. She knows I pushed him away. There’s no need to rehash it.

Parker just lets me cry for a very long time. Finally, when the tears subside, I pull away.

“I probably look like a blotchy, red mess,” I say, sniffling.

“You do, but it’s okay. You needed that, huh?”

“I think I really did.” I wipe under my eyes to get the last remnants of tears brushed away.

She sighs. And that’s the thing with Parker.

She will rip into me when I’m being a dumbass, but she’ll also come to my rescue to stand by my side.

Literally. And when she sighs like this, I hear her unspoken promise.

You will get through this, and I’m by your side until you do. God, I’m thankful for her.

“Talia, we can’t live our lives in fear, can we?” No. She’s right about that. “Let’s get dressed up and go see a Crush home opener.”

We certainly can. There are two tickets at Will-Call with my name on them waiting to be claimed. Because Boris has made sure to send me messages and gifts daily since our breakup a little over a week ago. The first delivery was a dozen dark pink roses with a handwritten note that said:

Krasotka,

Dark pink roses stand for “appreciation and gratitude” both of which I feel for you. I will be forever grateful I walked into your office that day and found the best puck-money goddess in the world. I miss you.

Boris

His handwriting isn’t the prettiest, but I can tell he has labored over his message, because it’s perfect with no mistakes in the spelling or otherwise. Every day since, a different color of roses has arrived along with a handwritten note in the same disorderly scrawl.

The second delivery was a dozen pure white roses plus a one-year subscription to MeowBox for LuLu. A box of gourmet cat treats and kitty-friendly toys will be delivered each month to LuLu Wentworth, tailored specifically for her. His note though? Even more touching than the gift.

Krasotka,

Two meanings for white roses are “purity and heavenly.” My feelings for you are as “pure” as they come and it feels like “heaven” being with you, so the color white is very fitting I think. But white also reminds me of your sweet LuLu, who I am also missing very much.

Boris

The third delivery contained two dozen red-tipped yellow roses and a fancy subscription box from The Bookworm Box—romance themed—the biggest one they have, of course.

The proceeds from the subscription boxes go to charity, so I know he’s spent a great deal of money.

I can now look forward to special editions signed by my favorite authors to add to my collection each month, but it was his sweet note that made me cry all the tears.

Krasotka,

Yellow roses tipped with red mean “friendship and falling in love.” We started out as friends and I liked you right away.

I knew you were smart and kind and beautiful, but the night you first read to me was when I started to fall in love with you.

I miss you reading to me almost as much as I miss you. Almost…

Boris

Day after day it went on with roses and presents and letters.

I’ve sent a thank-you text for each gift with a picture of the accompanying roses, so he’d know I’d received them.

Even if I haven’t been ready to see him quite yet, I wanted him to know the romantic gifts and his heartfelt notes were accepted and read by me.

But otherwise, we haven’t spoken. My apartment and office are swimming in the scent of roses, and both could pass for florist’s shops.

I have more subscriptions and gift cards than I know what to do with.

The Designer Eyes gift certificate in an obscene amount of money for custom Tiffany the noise getting louder as we approach.

There is a band playing. Like, a marching band.

There are women dressed in show-girl costumes with huge feather-plumed headpieces and teeny-tiny bikini tops.

There are magicians and fire-breathers. It’s like a circus, a crazy menagerie of entertainers that totally sum up what Las Vegas is all about.

Fans mill about, some drinking beer out of plastic Crush cups.

They take pictures with the entertainers.

Parker loves the whole crazy thing, but I’m fixated on the larger-than-life posters of Crush players, displayed brazenly all the way around the arena.

When I see Boris’s poster, my stomach flips.

Parker elbows me to get my attention but follows my gaze. “Ah. I see what’s got your attention. He is such a hottie.”

“He’s pretty hot,” I agree. “But he’s more than that, too.”

“Why do you torture yourself like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like, tossing him to the curb and then staring longingly at his photo as if you’ve lost your best friend?”

“I haven’t lost my best friend. I have you.”

“You know what I mean, Tallie. You’re clearly head over heels for this guy.”

“He said he thinks he loves me.”

“Right after he rescued you from a bunch of underworld dudes. You’d been through a whole ordeal. He probably felt really emotional.”

I give a whole-body sigh, gazing longingly back up at Boris’s poster.

“Boris is a one-woman guy. Like, he wants to fall in love once and that’s it.

And I worry that…I worry I can’t be that for him.

His forever girl. You know? I’m not—he’s just really good and perfect, you know? He deserves someone perfect, too.”

“And you’re not?”

“No.”

“And you think he is?”

“I mean, no one is perfect—“

“Exactly. You’re making shit up so you can justify that you’re scared about what you’re feeling. You found your guy. The guy. And he believes you’re the girl. So why don’t you just admit it, get together, and get on with your lives together?”

I bite my lip, thinking.

Parker adds, “Unless something about the kidnapping is holding you back?”

I look at her sharply. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

I grit my teeth. “I guess I-I know he’s too trusting of people. Maybe not as much now that I’ve pointed out how much money they stole from him, but he acted na?vely—for years—and I guess—I guess I feel that maybe I got hurt because of that na?veté.”