Page 4

4

CONNOR

I try one last time at the airline desk.

“Look, I just need two seats. First class, economy, I don’t care. Hell, strap us to the wing if you have to. Just get us to Vegas tonight.”

The agent gives me a tight, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, sir. The next available flight is in eleven days.”

“ Eleven days? ” I echo, like she just told me I’ve got a terminal case of screwed.

She nods. “Or twelve, if you want a direct one.”

I blink.

Desperate, I slowly reach into my wallet, pull out a stack of twenties, and slide them across the counter.

“Does this change your answer?”

She blinks at the money. “Are you bribing me?”

“No,” I lie. “I’m motivationally encouraging you.”

“I can’t accept that.”

I push it closer. “Sure you can. Just imagine it’s a… really generous tip.”

She sighs and pushes it back. “Sir, you can’t tip your way onto a full flight.”

I lean in. “What if I cry? Would that help?”

She just stares at me.

I sigh and drag myself away before airport security gets involved, heading back to a smirking Allie.

Her smug, infuriating grin is like karma in lip gloss, destroying my entire goddamn day.

She tilts her head. “Did you seriously try to bribe the gate agent?”

“It was sixty bucks,” I mutter. “I was panicking.”

She snorts. “Wow. Big spender. No wonder she turned you down.”

I scowl and keep walking.

She practically skips behind me, way too pleased with herself. “I also heard you tell her to strap us to the wing.”

I glare at her. “It was a reasonable suggestion.”

Allie scoffs. “You’re delusional if you think I’m clinging to a wing with you for five hours. I’d rather walk to Vegas.”

I mutter under my breath, “You wouldn’t last ten minutes without me on the wing.”

She gasps. “I hope that rental car has a trunk. Because that’s where you’re riding.”

I throw her a murderous look. The rage inside me is at maximum capacity.

My team is gone. My flight is gone.

Hell, even Gram and her flask are gone.

I’m seconds away from making a scene in this airport.

I take a deep breath, flex my hands, and exhale through my nose like I’m in anger management therapy.

This is fine. I can handle this.

We’ll get a rental car and drive to Vegas.

I’ll ignore the fact that Allie kissed me like a goddamn fever dream at Ford and Harper’s reception.

Simple and easy, right?

Wrong.

Because nothing about this day is simple or easy.

* * *

I walk up to the rental car counter, jaw tight, praying for a miracle.

“Reservation for Byrns,” I say, trying to sound like a man who hasn’t lost all control of his life.

The woman behind the counter types a few things, then frowns.

My stomach sinks. “What?”

She hesitates. “Unfortunately, we’re running low on inventory due to the spring break surge. We had to make a substitution.”

“What kind of substitution?”

She brightens. “It’s compact, fuel-efficient, and very popular with bachelorette parties.”

I narrow my eyes. “Why do I feel like I’m about to be insulted by a vehicle?”

She slides the keys across the counter with a far-too-cheerful smile. “Enjoy your ride, Mr. Byrns.”

When I step outside and see what I’m supposed to drive, I nearly black out from pure fury.

A pink. VW. Bug. Convertible.

I blink rapidly like the hideous thing is a mirage.

But it doesn’t disappear.

It’s real.

Worse, it’s waiting for me.

I stare at it, willing it to morph into something cool, sleek, and roomy.

I turn to the rental agent. "You’re fucking with me?"

The woman just shrugs. "It’s the only car left."

I inhale sharply, fighting the urge to snap. My pulse is already throbbing against my temples.

I am a six-foot-two, two-hundred-pound professional hockey player, and they want me to drive a goddamn Barbie Dream Car?

Absolutely the fuck not.

But before I can say another word, Allie releases a squeal of pure joy. "This is perfect," she chirps, practically skipping to the car.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Of course it’s perfect—for her . She’s five-foot-two with curves that bring me to my knees.

But this thing? This absurd, bubblegum death trap? It was made for her, not for me .

I’m going to need a priest, a drink, and possibly therapy.

My hands curl into fists. “I’m not driving that… thing.”

She grabs the keys, twirling them around her finger. "No problem. I’ll drive."

I scowl. "Not happening."

Her grin gets wider. "Scared I’ll wreck it?"

"Yes."

She smirks. "Scared I’ll kill us both?"

"Yes."

She shrugs, stepping toward the driver’s side. "I’m a good driver.”

I saw the way she tore through traffic when I followed her to the B&B.

She absolutely is not fucking driving.

Before she can open the door, I snatch the keys from her hand. "Oh, hell no," I growl.

She gasps, fake-offended. "Excuse me? I can drive.”

I stare at her. "I’ve seen you parallel park, Allie."

Her smile doesn’t waver. "What’s your point?"

"My point is, I value my fucking life."

"Aww," she coos, patting my chest like I’m an upset toddler. "Look at my big, tough hockey player about to drive a Barbie car."

I swear to God.

As annoyed as I am, I still notice the way my heart pounds when she says “my.”

God, I want to be hers so fucking bad.

I rip the driver’s side door open and drop into the seat.

Instant regret.

The steering wheel is practically in my lap. My knees are jammed into the dash.

I can’t move.

"Fuck," I mutter, adjusting the seat.

Allie snorts as she gets in the poor excuse for a car, covering her mouth with her hand. "You okay there, big guy?"

I grip the steering wheel like I might rip it off the column.

Just drive, Connor.

I start the car. The engine literally purrs like a damn kitten.

Allie gasps like she just found a lost puppy. “Oh my God. She purrs.” She claps her hands in delight. “I’m naming her petal.”

My head snaps toward her. “ You’re what? ”

She beams. “Petal. It suits her. Soft, sweet, kind of a bad bitch.”

I blink slowly, praying for strength. “I’m not driving a car named Petal.”

She pats my shoulder. “You already are, sweetheart.”

I close my eyes.

I’m in hell.

This car.

Allie touching me and calling me sweetheart.

It’s too much.

She hums happily, adjusting the sun visor. “This is fun.”

I give her a look. “Say one more word, and I’m leaving you on the side of the highway.”

Her smirk doesn’t waver. “Wow. Big talk for a guy driving a pink bug named Petal.”

I shove the car into drive, my fingers tightening around the wheel.

The goddamn sun is blazing down, turning the convertible into a fucking oven. I can already feel sweat trickling down my back.

Allie laughs softly beside me, leaning back like she’s on a joyride.

This is going to be the longest fucking drive of my life.