Pike: Yeah, sure.
Killian: Any plans tonight?
I’m in the midst of texting Killian back when a small hand slides over my shoulder. I don’t bother turning around, instead I say, “Not interested in any cigarettes.” It would be the second time I’ve been asked by a cigarette girl if I’m interested in something.
“Really? Because a cigarette would tie into the vibe you have over here, in the dark, by yourself.”
Why do I know that voice?
Sweet, with a hint of sultry.
I set my mobile on the bar top and slowly turn in my seat to find a familiar pair of grey eyes.
Hell.
Arlo Turner’s sister.
I give her a smooth once-over, taking in her barely-there dress, which accentuates her perky tits, flat stomach, and curvy hips. There’s no doubt in my mind, her brother would not approve.
“Get a good fill?” she asks, calling me out for my perusal.
Tilting my head to the side, I ask, “Carol, right?”
Her eyes narrow. “Cora.”
I hold back my chuckle, but my smirk peeks through. “Right, Coraline.”
“Only my brother calls me that.” She props a hand on her hip.
“And does your brother know you’re in Vegas wearing that?” I nod toward her dress, which is split down the middle, showing off more skin than a one-piece bathing suit.
“What I do is none of my brother’s business.”
“Good to know.” I glance at her dress again, taking in her cleavage. Not too much, just enough.
Just enough to keep my attention.
Coraline Turner has kept my attention since the moment I laid eyes on her, but because she’s the sister of the English department’s distinguished and uptight leader at Forest Heights, I’ve put her in the back of my mind. Trust me when I say, there’s no way in hell Arlo would ever approve of anything between the two of us.
He’s not a big fan of mine.
Probably because during my interview, I schooled him on his American history. Being from Great Britain, he didn’t think it was possible for me to teach American curriculum. Little did he know, I’m a fucking master at all things history, and I showed off in my interview, leaving him furious and Principal Dewitt charmed, which was all I needed.
“Are you going to invite me to sit down?”
“Are you looking for an invitation?” I ask, bringing my pint to my lips.
“I wouldn’t be over here if I wasn’t.”
With my foot, I push away the chair next to me. “Then take a seat, Coraline.”
I have just enough pints in me—and just enough irritation from running into my pa on the golf course—that I don’t mind playing around with a gorgeous girl in a green dress—even if she’s attached to Turner. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, and all that.
She studies me for a few breaths before she slips into the seat and faces me. She places her arm on the bar top and crosses one tanned leg over the other. “Didn’t think I would find you in Las Vegas,” she says.
“Yeah, neither did I, but here I am.” I lift up my pint and take a sip. When I set my drink down, she picks it up and takes a sip herself. I’m impressed for a second before she grimaces and sets the glass back down, sliding it toward me.
She blots her mouth with a black cocktail napkin from the bar. “Keiko said you were here for a golf tournament?”
I glance over Cora’s shoulder. “Keiko is here?”
“She is. So are Stella and Greer.”
“Girls’ trip?”
“Something like that,” she answers casually while avoiding eye contact.
Interesting. Seems like there’s more to the story than she’s letting on, and since I don’t want to talk about why I’m here . . .
“Something like that?” I ask. “I’ve only lived in America for a short time, but correct me if I’m wrong, when someone says girls’ trip, there’s normally a string of woohoos following closely behind.”
“You’re right, but you don’t really give off the vibe that you receive a flamboyant woohoo very well.”
I shrug. “I’ll take a woohoo. Give me your best one.”
She glances around and then asks, “Right here?”
I slowly nod. “Let it rip. It’s a girls’ trip after all, right?” I lift a questioning eyebrow in her direction.
“It is,” she says. She sits taller, tips her chin up and says, “Girls’ trip, woohoo.”
It’s a feeble attempt at best.