Page 107 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

thirty minutes

Lila

I’m caught off guard by Tripp today. Like, everything he says is a surprise. He’s being kind and sweet and supportive. Gone is the gruff, sexist, loner. In front of me is a man with feelings. I think?

How to answer his questions.

“Did I think about it before I slept with you?”

“Yeah. Did you think about it before it happened? I really want to know.” He’s waiting for an answer, maybe a little bit worried about what it will be, but I need to be truthful with him. He deserves that.

“Yes. I thought about being with you every time I saw you at a gathering for the past six or seven years.” I lift my chin and look him in the eye. “That’s all true.”

Tripp sits back and runs a ragged hand through his hair. It makes him look a little boyish and adorable and makes me swoon a little because I know I’ve shocked him.

“Why, Lila, why? I mean, the age difference is large. What would you want with some old guy? I guess I kind of understand being fourteen or fifteen and having a crush on a pro player. But now? You’re young and beautiful and smart and I’m about to stop playing.

I have no plan. I’m just a nearly middle-aged man with no plan. That’s…not hot.”

I laugh out loud at this. “Well, when you put it that way…”

“Seriously, though.” He laughs once and shakes his head in disbelief.

I lift a shoulder. “I’ve always dated older guys. I suppose I was always kind of comparing them to you.”

“That’s just silly. I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

“That’s how teenage girls think. They build this pedestal and put their ideal atop it.”

“How could I possibly be anyone’s ideal?”

“Do you remember when we all went to Niagara Falls together?”

He swallows and looks out the window for a moment. “I was like twenty-five and already in the league. I didn’t want to go, but my mom really wanted everyone there for whatever reason.”

“I was twelve. And I spent, like, half of the trip on top of your shoulders. You kept threatening to throw me down in the falls as a human sacrifice. I’d squeal and laugh, and I just remember loving every minute of the attention.”

“I remember,” he says softly, a small smile appearing. “I obviously didn’t have a thing for a twelve-year-old at that point. It was more like you were precious cargo. I was protective of you because I knew you were something worth protecting. I saw you as a little sister, I guess.”

“It felt that way, like I had someone looking out for me. I loved it. Probably the next year was when things changed for me, when I started crushing on you.”

“I’d like to say for me it was when you turned eighteen,” Tripp says, scratching at his beard. “But it was really probably more when you turned sixteen. I felt like such a pervert, so I just pushed it way down.”

“Probably the root cause of all of your issues to this day.” I wink at him.

“All your fault. Why’d you have to be such a hot teen?”

I can’t help but smile. I definitely do not view myself as hot. I definitely did not consider myself hot then, either. “Well, I’m glad your feelings for me evolved. It would be weird to sleep with your sister.”

“That’s an understatement,” he answers, shuddering theatrically.

We stare at each other for a long moment.

“This will never work, Tripp.”

“Probably not, but let’s give it a try anyway.”

I think I forget to breathe. I just keep looking at him, seeking out any evidence that he’s being insincere.

But he is wide open, and earnest. It breaks my heart a little because I am terrified of messing things up worse than I already have by ruining his life and possibly the life of our child by being a terrible mother.

But…at some point you have to choose. And I feel like this is the one and only time I’ll ever get asked the question…by Tripp. This is it. My one and only chance with him is right now.

“Okay, then.” I deliberately set aside my pen and paper, determined to give him my answer before something changes. “I’ll marry you.”

He looks shocked. Good. I’ve been off balance for the duration of this whole conversation. It’s his turn to be the one to feel unsteady.

“Now?” he asks with wide eyes.

I nod. “Now.”

I’ve changed out of my pajama bottoms and T-shirt into a flirty, white maxi dress.

I even added a turquoise necklace and a pair of cute sandals and tried to make my hair into something a lot less rat’s nesty before heading out in Tripp’s gunmetal gray Porsche 911.

It’s like the only expensive thing he owns, and I love that he’s splurged on at least one special luxury for himself.

I know he’s lived frugally throughout his career, and is serious about his money and investments, which is a great quality in a spouse, but his financial portfolio is the last thing I’m concerned about my future husband.

Money is not a worry for the granddaughter of a billionaire.

I doubt it ever will be a worry, either.

Having a partner I can trust with my life and our future child’s life is much more top of mind.

These are just some of my deep thoughts as he drives us into the city to get married, my stomach twisty with nerves on top of the tiny little baby already in there.

Tripp drums his fingers on the side of the steering wheel whenever we stop at a light or in traffic, so I’m guessing his nerves are probably twisty in his stomach, too.

The chapel we’ve picked for our nuptials is your standard Las Vegas quickie wedding venue, so nothing surprising there.

But as we step inside, Tripp freezes in mid step.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see he needs a minute, or maybe more than a minute, or maybe he doesn’t want to do this at all because he’s changed his mind.

“Cold feet?” I ask.

“No.” He squeezes my hand, reassuring me instantly. “It’s just that you look beautiful, and I look like I just came off the basketball court. Give me thirty minutes to grab something more appropriate to wear?”

“Thirty minutes?” He needs thirty minutes before he can marry me. He thinks I’m beautiful because he keeps saying it. He’s leaving me here in this wedding chapel alone for thirty minutes.

“Yeah. Is that okay? I’ll be fast.” He takes both of my hands in his and leans forward to kiss me.

His lips are soft and firm at the same time, and I love the feel of them pressing against mine so soothingly.

Also, I’m pretty sure I’m losing my freaking mind right here in The Little Chapel of the West.

“Don’t leave me at the altar.” It’s meant to be a joke, but I feel the uncomfortable twinge of a panic attack coming on. What if he doesn’t come back? What will I do then?

“No, never. I’ll be right back, promise.” He gives me a wink and then walks out the door.

Ohh-kay, then.

I go to sit in the alcove outside of the actual chapel and wait for Tripp to come back and marry me. Every minute feels like an hour. This is so stupid, so crazy, it can’t be real. How will I tell my family about this? About the baby. About Tripp. And what will Grant and Laura think of me?

Ugh.

Plus, I’m trapping him. I’m being trapped.

Tripp doesn’t love me. I seduced him—that was it.

Forget that he says he harbored an illicit crush on me when I was underage.

Forget that we’ve known each other a long time.

He doesn’t want marriage and kids. He doesn’t even want a woman like me.

He’s a traditionalist. Will that doom our marriage? Will we even stay married?

I squeeze my eyes closed and rub my temples, praying I can shut off the insane rant going on in my head right now. I slow my breathing down and try to infuse myself with calmness. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

It does work. And after a time of controlled breathing, I am mostly returned to my normal levels of crazy while waiting for Tripp…to come back and marry me.

Good. God.

Still, when Tripp steps back into the chapel about thirty minutes later, as promised, my breath nearly leaves my body.

He’s so handsome, in khakis and a blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up to bare his muscular forearms and tats.

His hair is kind of a mess, but his blue eyes are piercing, enough to make heat pool low in my belly.

I sort of forget everything in the moment—everything but his handsome face, his intoxicating eyes, his perfect lips.

Tripp is a true specimen of masculinity and in no way have these recent developments dampened my desire for him.

After filling out our paperwork, we wait in the back of the chapel and watch couples get married.

Some are drunk and probably not coherent.

Some are sweet and clearly in love. Some are obnoxious and clearly not.

I’m just nervous, my knee bouncing up and down until Tripp puts his hand there to steady me.

When it’s our turn, we go to the front of the room to stand before Count Dracula, fangs and all.

He has red eyes and white skin. It’s a very convincing costume.

He runs us through our vows, which are actually quite heartfelt, with words about partnership and friendship embedded.

And I feel steadier for hearing them. We can be friends, Tripp and I.

We can at least do that together, for the good of our child.

Somehow, as the nerves dissipate, the reality of this weird setting gives me a case of the giggles.

It’s all so ridiculous. There’s an Elvis impersonator waiting in the wings.

I’m fairly certain there was a drag version of Cher in here when we arrived.

This is the most Vegas-esque of Vegas weddings.

I look over at Tripp, who is smirking as if he can read my mind. He reaches out and takes my hand and I just keep giggling until my eyes start watering, tears streaming down my face.