Page 24 of Ice Ice Maybe
I nodded. “And you didn’t want to be with someone you didn’t recognize anymore.”
“Exactly,” Zena said, a small smile returning to her face. “I have no regrets about dating Mitch for a few months. The old Mitch, I mean. But when someone changes into a person you don’t like or respect, it’s time to say goodbye.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” I said, seeing Zena in a new light.
She shrugged, her usual playful demeanor returning. “Plus, let’s be honest—dating a guy who uses more hair products than I do was bound to cause problems.”
I ran my fingers through my hair dramatically. “Sometimes I can go an entire day without even looking at my hair. I’m sure you’ll find that hard to believe.”
“Such willpower,” she smirked, then her expression softened slightly. “I imagine your divorce wasn’t easy, either.”
I leaned back in my seat, thinking about it. “Oh, you know, it was your typical ‘wife wants to move to Paris’ scenario. Happens all the time.”
“And let me guess, your French begins and ends withouiandcroissant?” Zena asked.
I smirked. “Don’t forgetomelette du fromage. But yeah, between my non-existent French and my love for my job here, Paris felt less like the City of Lights and more like a City of Yikes. But really, I realized we had different ideas about our future. She’d been secretly applying for jobs abroad without telling me. That was myau revoirmoment.”
“I get it,” she said.
“On a more positive note,” I said. “What’s the plan when we get to Vegas? I doubt we’ll be able to check-in to the hotel so early in the day.”
“Oh, we’re way ahead of the game,” Zena said with a smile. “Our rooms were booked for two nights, starting from when the players arrived last night. So we can waltz right in and drop our bags. That leaves us with a glorious eight-hour window before the game tonight. The question is, how should we paint the town red? An early show? A buffet?”
I grinned. “Maybe both?”
We shared a laugh and clinked our mimosa glasses, and I couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was to talk to Zena. There were so many things I admired about her that went well beyond our chemistry and physical attraction. Despite our different backgrounds, conversation flowed effortlessly between us, punctuated by flirty glances. The rest of the flight passed in a blur, and before I knew it, we touched down in Las Vegas.
Fifteen minutes later, we grabbed a taxi outside the airport. The driver navigated the bustling streets of Sin City to Mandalay Bay, a hotel that was chosen because of the proximity to the T-Mobile Arena where the Sea Lions would play the Las Vegas Golden Knights.
After checking into the hotel, we ascended in the elevator to the 40th floor, and that was when a nervous energy began to build in my stomach. The reality of our situation was sinking in.
I was sharing a room with Zena Dalton.
We rolled our suitcases into the room, the soft whirl of the wheels on the carpet filling the silence. Zena immediately made a beeline for the window, and I followed her, drawn like a magnet.
“Wow,” I said, taking in the panoramic view of the Las Vegas Strip. Even during the day, it was impressive.
From our vantage point, the entire Vegas Strip stretched out before us like a glittering toy set. Directly across from us, the black pyramid of Luxor stood out against the desert backdrop, its apex gleaming in the sunlight. Beyond it, the emerald towers of MGM Grand dominated the skyline.
“Look,” Zena pointed, “you can see the roller coaster at New York-New York.” I followed her finger to the twisting red track that snaked around the miniature Manhattan skyline.
My eyes traveled further down the Strip, taking in the ornate facade of Paris Las Vegas, its half-scale Eiffel Tower piercing thesky. I motioned to the High Roller, the massive wheel slowly turning against the sky.
“That’s Vegas for you,” Zena commented, following my gaze. “They built their own giant observation wheel to rival the London Eye. Because why not?”
I nodded, still taking in the spectacle before us. I had never seen Vegas from this angle, or with this childlike excitement, knowing the reason was most likely standing right next to me. But as we stood there, shoulders almost touching, a curious thought crept into my mind. Were we both that captivated by the view, or were we using it as an excuse to delay the inevitable conversation about our sleeping arrangement?
I glanced at Zena out of the corner of my eye. She seemed thoroughly engaged in pointing out landmarks, but there was a slight tension in her posture that hadn’t been there on the plane. I wondered if she was thinking the same thing I was. Either way, I wasn’t ready to find out just yet.
“And there’s Caesar’s Palace,” I noted, recognizing the Roman-inspired architecture. “They filmedThe Hangoverthere.”
Zena nodded, a smile playing on her lips. “Yes, and let’s hope our Vegas adventure is a little less chaotic. The last thing I want is to discover a live tiger in the bathroom.”
We shared a laugh and continued to soak in the view. Then, almost in unison, we finally turned to face the room and the two queen beds that dominated the space.
“So …” Zena said, her eyes flicking between the beds and me.
“So …” I echoed as an awkward silence hung in the air between us, thick with unspoken thoughts.
