Chapter 5 Grace Newman

It's Not, and It Can't Be, But It Feels Like It Is

Three and a Half Months Before the Wedding

The week drags, but Nana mentioned a symposium coming up in Vegas for hospitality in the beverage and restaurant industry. My uncle was going to attend, but they decided to send me instead.

And as it happens, Spencer is in Vegas visiting his brothers since the Vegas Aces—the team two of his brothers play for and the other is the head coach of—have Wild Card weekend off.

Spencer mentioned maybe we could get together while we're in town at the same time, and I know it was just him being friendly since he's going to marry my sister, but that chat we had the other day makes me think maybe he's not actually going to marry my sister.

I've spent the last few days making sure everything is lined up so I can attend this symposium. That means I have Heidi, my part-time assistant, on double duty.

Heidi attends a small college not far from here. She's a senior studying communications, and she's organized and smart. She started working with us when she was looking for an internship last year, but she was such an asset that I offered her a position helping on the weekends with weddings. And at this point, she's done so many of them with me that I have full confidence she can easily run one without me there. Between Nana and my dad, they'll be fine.

It does feel good to know that three people are necessary to fill the role I've taken on at the winery. I have a lot of pride in what I do, and I'm working hard to prove to my grandmother that I'm the one who deserves to run this place once my dad retires. He's sixty-three, and I get the feeling he's getting closer and closer to wanting to just enjoy life without the responsibilities here tying him down.

I head toward the airport Thursday morning for my late morning flight, and I land in Vegas three and a half hours later. I take an Uber to my hotel, and on the way there, I text Spencer.

Me: Just got into town. Waving!

His reply comes quickly.

Spencer: Waving back. Do you have dinner plans?

Me: No, I don't. I'm on my way to the MGM to check in and get settled and have no plans beyond that.

Spencer: Then consider yourself booked. How does Mediterranean sound? There's a place at MGM I want to try.

I have no idea what Mediterranean is. But if he wants to try a place, and he's asking me, then yes. I am all in…because he's my friend . He didn't just ask me on a date, even if it sort of feels like he did.

He didn't.

Me: Sounds great!

I don't feel like I packed enough clothes for this.

I check in and get to my room, and I pick through the meager clothes I brought with me. I settle on a pair of black pants and a cute white top with my sneakers since it's a long walk through this hotel. It'll have to do for my not-a-date-sort-of-feels-like-a-date dinner with Spencer.

I head down to the restaurant a little early, and I wander through the casino as I make my way there. The symposium starts early tomorrow morning, but it feels like I could waste a little bit of time having some fun here tonight ahead of the business that starts tomorrow .

He's already standing out front when I show up five minutes early. He's ridiculously hot in his black button-down shirt with the long sleeves pushed up a little, and my eyes fall to his forearms. What is it about a man's forearms with the sleeves pushed up that's just…hot?

His arms are strong and powerful since he uses them to catch footballs and lead his team to victory.

He paired his black shirt with dark gray pants, and somehow the effect is casual and sexy at the same time.

I mean…not sexy. I'm not thinking my sister's fiancé is sexy.

His blue eyes flick up to mine, and when he spots me, a small smile plays at his lips. I feel awkward as I approach him. Do we hug? We just saw each other a few days ago, and we're just friends, and when the hell did I get so awkward around him?

"Newman," he greets me as I get a little closer, calling me by just my last name.

"Hey, Nash," I say softly.

He takes a step toward the restaurant just as I take a step closer to give him the hug I want to give him, and I lose the moment. Thankfully he doesn't see me nearly make a fool of myself as I start to reach for him, and I clear my throat and battle away the embarrassment as I follow him toward the host stand. The guy standing by the doorway saw, though, and he's laughing at me.

I shoot him a glare as Spencer gives his name to the hostess. He holds out a hand for me to go first, and I feel his hand on my lower back to guide me into position as the line leader just behind our hostess.

His hand. My back.

I know it's nothing. It means nothing. It's just a gentlemanly thing some guys do, and he was just offering to let me walk first.

If he's engaged to my sister, then there's no way he'd ever have any sort of interest in me. And not just because he's a stand-up kind of guy who would never cheat on a woman—but because if she's the type of woman he proposed to, then I'm the type of woman he could never fall for. We're just too different.

I remind myself of that fact. I force myself to acknowledge it. He's just being kind. I'm the girl who didn't have any dinner plans, and he's the guy who stepped in to make sure I wouldn't have to eat alone in my hotel room.

We both peruse the menu, and even though it's quiet at our table, it doesn't feel awkward.

"Want to split a bottle of the red?" he asks.

I nod. "What are you ordering?" I'm not really a charred octopus kind of person, but I've also never tried it.

"The salmon, I think. You?"

"I was looking at the chicken kebabs."

"Can I try yours?" he asks.

"Only if I can try yours."

He chuckles. "Of course."

We place our orders, and after we hand our menus over, I ask, "So where do you stay when you come to town?"

"Usually with my brother Lincoln, and sometimes with my brother Grayson. Sometimes I get a hotel. It depends what everyone has going on," he says.

"Not your dad?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Dad and my youngest brother, Asher, are in a two-bedroom place, and I'd have to sleep on the couch. And Dad and Asher can be…a lot sometimes."

"Are you with Lincoln this trip?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "I'm staying at the Aria."

Our server brings our bottle of wine and pours us each a glass, and we clink glasses without a toast.

"Do you gamble?" I ask after I take a sip.

"Sometimes. I like blackjack. It's one of the few games there's an actual strategy to. Have you ever been to Vegas?" he asks. I shake my head, and his brows rise. "You haven't?"

"Nope. How many times have you been here?" I ask.

"Oh, I have no idea. Dozens. Between playing here against the Aces and visiting family now that they're here, plus the occasional trip for fun before they moved here." He shrugs.

"What is there to do in Vegas? I always hear how great it is, but I've never gotten to experience it for myself." I'm not sure why I ask. It's not like he's going to take me on a tour of the town .

"Depends what you're into. Nightlife, shows, food, gambling." He shrugs. "I can take you on a mini tour while you're here, if you want."

"Are you a nightlife kind of guy?" I ask—mostly teasingly.

"I can bust a move on the dance floor if that's what you're asking. After a few drinks, anyway."

I laugh and hold up my glass of wine. "Then get to drinking, my friend."

He chuckles, but he does take a sip of his wine, and is he really going to take me to a Vegas nightclub tonight?

Apparently, the answer to that is yes.

We finish our meals—and our bottle—and as the bottle empties, the laughter and conversation at our table gets louder and more boisterous. The awkwardness feels like it's stripped away as I let go of all the inner turmoil and just enjoy a meal with the man sitting across from me.

And once we've paid and the bottle is empty, he leads me through the casino and stops at a blackjack table.

"I thought you were taking me to a nightclub," I say, narrowing my eyes at him as he pulls out a chair and motions for me to sit.

He laughs. "It's only nine. The club doesn't even open for another ninety minutes." He takes the chair beside me and tosses some money onto the table, and I follow suit.

The dealer pushes some chips toward us, and Spencer stacks four and puts them on a little spot in front of him.

I do the same as I lean in toward him. "How much is each chip?"

"Five bucks. So you're betting twenty on this hand."

I nod, and I wait for the dealer to shell out our cards as I try not to think about what I could spend twenty dollars on. I'm not hurting for money, exactly, but I'm also not used to blowing it like this. I get what I need when I need it, and I don't have a ton of expenses since I live at the vineyard.

I'm dealt a seven, and Spencer gets a queen. My next card is a ten, and Spencer gets a nine.

The dealer busts with a twenty-three, so we both win .

I rake in my winnings, feeling pretty damn good but also thinking I should cash in and keep my extra twenty dollars.

We both win some then lose some, and the next hour flies by as a server brings us wine, and I find myself passing the threshold of tipsy land.

I cash in when I'm back to even, and I stand behind Spencer and watch him as he starts to win. He high-fives me with each win, and when he triples his original investment, he calls it quits. We head toward the cashier to trade in our chips for cash, and then we head toward the nightclub.

"That was fun," I say as we walk, and then, because I'm me, I trip on absolutely nothing at all, and Spencer moves quickly to catch me.

I find myself holding onto his arms, my chest heaving as he clutches me. Our eyes meet, and a heated moment passes between us.

"You okay?" he asks.

I nod as I straighten and step back out of his arms despite every single urge telling me to stay right there, to move in closer, to cling to him. "I'm fine. Just a klutz." I offer an embarrassed smile as we keep walking.

"No, you aren't," he says softly, his tone slightly defensive of me for insulting myself.

We arrive outside the nightclub, which has a line of people waiting to get in wrapped around the corner, and I start walking toward the back of the line.

"Where are you going?" Spencer asks me.

"To get in line." I say it almost like a question, and he chuckles.

"No need for that." He walks up to the bouncer and says something, and the bouncer nods and pulls aside a rope for the two of us to walk right in.

"Who even are you?" I wonder as we head into the loud club.

"Spencer Nash. NFL superstar. Nightclubber extraordinaire." He grins, and he detours toward the bar. Once the bartender hands over his beer and my vodka soda, I let go of my own self-consciousness as Spencer leans in closer to me. "Want to dance?"

I nod, and he leads me to the dance floor, where bodies all around us are grinding. We stand out as we sway to the music, bouncing together with a respectable distance between us since we're just friends, but there's a lot of people out here. Someone bumps into me, sending me directly into Spencer's chest.

His hard, solid chest.

Lucky for me, Spencer is recognized as the person who bumped me turns around to apologize, and thus begins the frenzy of people wanting selfies with the popular football player.

I'm sort of edged out of the way all together, and I step back awkwardly to let him have his moment. I'll just stand back here and drink my vodka as I wait for the crowd to disperse.

Maybe he's more like Amelia than I thought. Maybe he likes this attention.

And as soon as I have the thought, I hear a voice close to my ear. "Have you had enough?"

I glance over at him, and he's looking at me in earnest, like he's ready to get the hell out of here.

"Let's go."

He grins, grabs my hand, and navigates through the crushing crowd of people. He drops my hand once we're out of the club, and I push away the thought that I sort of wanted him to hold onto mine for another minute.

I also push away the feelings of guilt that slide right in beside it.