His mouth opened and closed a couple times, as if he was about to say something and then the sound wouldn’t come out. Finally, he was able to speak and managed to get close enough to whisper. “We’re going to Vegas for a couple of days and getting married. You don’t have more than this one bag to bring with you?”

“I’m all set,” was my only response. To be honest, I had a dress, one change of clothes, and something to sleep in. I figured if I needed anything else, I could get it there and leave it where I found it, along with all the memories of my impending sad, sad nuptials.

“You’re a very interesting girl,” he commented as we both tucked into the car. I noted that he thought of me as a ‘girl’ not a ‘woman’. Figures. It felt like one more hit to my already fragile ego. Oddly enough, those hits stopped feeling so bad though. It was as if I’d gone numb somewhere along the line. Maybe it was when Carlos inadvertently put things into perspective for me. Not that it mattered. I had a plan, and I was going to stick to it. I’d be married for a few years to a man who didn’t give a rat’s ass whether I was alive or dead.

During that time, I’d write a ton of books, they would all be a giant success, and maybe I’d even get a movie deal. Hell, maybe I could use my success as a reason to file for divorce. I’d have to move to be closer to the film production, or some other nonsense and we just couldn’t make it through the time away from one another. It sounded plausible, right?

“Have you ever been to Vegas before?” Tucker asked when we were nearing the airport. I turned to him, taking in his overall appearance for the first time. He had put forth a little effort. His face was clean shaven, suit was actually pressed and laundered, and his hair was slicked back in a tidy style. His brown locks were kept short all over, and while the top was slightly longer, and looked better as a tousled bed-head look, in my opinion, it too had been tamed for the occasion.

I didn’t answer his question though and instead, hoisted my bag into my lap. Next to him, I looked like a bum. I’d worn comfortable jeans that were super soft because they’d worn so thin due to wash and wear cycles. Sandals graced my feet, and they were nearly flat, which meant I looked even shorter than when I wore tennis shoes, and definitely smaller than when I was in heels. My t-shirt was an old Dodgers shirt I stole from one of my friend’s brothers when we were in high school. It was incredibly comfy and also a reminder that the men I crushed on never reciprocated those feelings.

Jesus, I needed to get out of this sad sack mentality, I just wasn’t sure how to manage it. Once we parked, I took a picture of where the car was, because it never failed, I always forgot where I parked in parking structures or airport long-term. Tucker laughed.