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“I like perfect,” I murmured. “I like imperfect too. I like wild and reckless moments that you never forget.”
“I don’t know. You’re the one who used to live here. What’s something spontaneous to do in Vegas?” A man walking by answered for Jasper. “Get married.” I scoffed. “We can’t get married.” “Why not?” the guy asked, still walking, his arms raised. “Yeah,” Jasper said. “Why not?”
A cuddler. Of course I’d marry a woman who cuddled. I loathed cuddling.
Her gaze was the color of sapphires. The cobalt of dawn. The azure of the hottest flame. I’d gotten lost in that blue last night. First beside the Bellagio fountain.
