Knot So Lucky (Destination Love, #1)(5)
The minute we drove up in the rental car, we both knew this had to be a mistake. And after meeting the smarmy check-in manager in the claustrophobia-inducing lobby, we were further validated.
I blink twice more, staring over at a green half-filled pool before my head turns. My eyes locked on Millie’s profile.
“This doesn’t look like the pictures.”
She bites her lip, her brows almost touching her forehead.
“That’s an understatement.”
“Millie Rock…this place—” My duffel lifts in the air as I swing my arm, motioning toward the fucking Bates Motel. “This is not a hotel with an H. It’s a motel with a fucking M for murder. I’m pretty sure, based on the smell, there’s a fucking dead body in one of these rooms.”
“Yeah,” she breathes out as she turns to look at me, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I should message the girl I booked it with. This can’t be right—”
My eyes pop open as I cut her off. “You booked through a travel agent? Amazing. Call them. They can fix this.”
A car horn honks, drawing my attention to the street, the one we’re literally standing next to on the sidewalk that’s littered with last night’s bottles and old cigarettes.
A guy leans out his car’s window and yells, “Ten bucks,” as he makes lewd gestures with his tongue.
“Okay,” I press, looking back at her, and add with sarcasm, “Call like, right now. As much as getting eaten out by a guy with no teeth sounds like the perfect Vegas adventure…I’m gonna pass on catching dry rot. Plus, a tenny seems steep for his sample skill set.” I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “Can we get the fuck out of here, please?”
She winces, then shakes her head.
“Why are you doing that? Millie, why is your face doing that?”
She lets out a whoosh of breath before she rushes her words out in a long, rambled stream of consciousness.
“It’s Fourth of July weekend. We’re never finding a room. Everything was booked weeks ago when I called…even this place. I was stoked when we got this room. And I can’t call her because she’s not an agent. I met her on TikTok. She’s more like a travel blogger, kind of. Basically, she made a video that was like hotels to stay at based on your astrological sign… You know I’m a Sagittarius, and we love adventure, so I thought off the Strip would be fun. And the pictures I saw online looked nostalgic, not hazardous—”
Oh. My. God.
I’m already looking down at my phone for available hotel rooms as she adds, “When’s the last time you had a tetanus shot?”
My eyes search the screen, coming up empty left, right, and center. Fuck. But still, I lift my head, a grin on my face.
“You sure you don’t want to take Hey Mr. DJ up on his offer to stay with him and the other groupies?” I breathe out, staring back at her, a row of red sold-out labels littering my phone screen.
“Umm, pass. Plus, where would you go? My blow-job skills aren’t that impressive. There’s no way I am carrying the weight for both of us. I’m more of a pretend blow job while I actually jerk you off kind of girl.”
I laugh. Fair point.
“Well then.” I shrug. “We better hope the guy who runs this place doesn’t have a creepy guy who stabs us in the shower. Because it’s us, possible murder, and the cockroaches tonight. Which one of our signs is best suited for that?”
She chuckles and winks as she wiggles the hotel key card between her fingers.
“Yours. Geminis are basically sociopaths.”
The lock clicks just before the door swings open, and Millie and I let out matching whooshes of breath.
Our eyes meet, and we nod at the same time as I say, “We should start drinking again.”
Bass. Deep vibrating bass shakes my fucking soul as my head whips side to side. I’m tipsy and sweaty, dancing on top of a speaker in the balmy summer Vegas weather.
It’s exactly how I pictured this weekend, which is a perfect upgrade of the day.
People are singing at the top of their lungs, bodies moving in rhythm, some too close because there’s no room and others because the night’s taken an even better turn for them.
“Elle,” Millie screams up at me, motioning to the bar.
I smile and nod as I squat to a seat and slide off the speaker.
“Shots?” she yells again.
So, I yell back, “Fuck yes.”
We make our way, arm in arm, laughing and talking too loud toward the bar at the far end of the outdoor area. Our bodies are still warm from the last time we were here downing shots. But that’s the fun of Vegas. Getting drunk and in the best kind of trouble.
I’m fanning myself as Millie bellies up to the wooden top, leaning halfway over and calling the bartender’s attention. The music’s lower over here, so I can hear her better.
“Are we hanging with Tito or his friend Jacky D?” she throws out, looking back at me, smiling brightly.
I chuckle. “Tito’s. Jack makes me feisty. You know that.”
Millie shrugs, but as her shoulders relax, I watch her eyes widen. My brows draw together, lips parting as I’m about to ask her what’s wrong, but my words catch in my throat because a deep masculine voice rumbles quietly in my ear, exploding goose bumps up my neck.