“I’m sure he does,” I answer while picking up another piece of pretzel.
“You know, I’ve always found you attractive.” She draws her finger over my thigh. “I mean, more than attractive. The moment I first saw you, I thought you were incredibly sexy, and I had to meet you.”
“Yeah?” I say, liking this conversation. Totally felt the same about her.
She nods. “Yeah, but now that I know you don’t get along with my brother . . .” She pauses and I wait for the other shoe to drop, but it never does. Instead, she says, “That just makes you exponentially hotter. Like forbidden fruit.” Her hand crawls up my thigh.
Yup, this is an easy decision for me.
There’s no doubt that I’ll be spending the night with this woman.
We both want it.
I just hope she’s a believer in the motto “Whatever happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”
Chapter Four
CORA
“Be cool, Cora . . . be cool,” I say into the mirror as I touch up my makeup.
My eyes are glossy. Thank you, tequila shots.
My neck is red. Thank you, tequila shots.
And my brain is fuzzy, but still able to comprehend. Thank you, giant soft pretzel, for combatting tequila shots.
And I’m more than ready to take Pike back to his hotel room and do all the naughty things. I want him to strip me out of this scarf, pull me down on his bed, and let him have his way with me.
But Pike has other ideas.
That’s why I excused myself to the restroom to make sure I’m decent enough to be seen around town. It’s one thing to be hunkered in a dark corner, it’s a whole other realm when you’re flashed under the Las Vegas lights.
I finish touching up my lipstick and stick it in my purse, the purse that Daniel the feeble-armed waiter brought over to me. I didn’t bother asking him why he was delivering my purse, but just accepted it.
And now that I think about it . . . where did that purse come from?
My phone buzzes in my clutch and I pull it out to see if it’s Arlo bothering me, but when I see Greer’s name, I swipe the screen to read the text.
Greer: Uh, I’m going to assume you’re okay? You kind of just left us there. We thought giving you your clutch would make you look at the phone and the texts we sent you.
Huh, there are others?
Not bothering to look at them, I text Greer back.
Cora: Good, just hanging with Pike. We’re going to go to the casino. Come with us.
Greer: We’re on Keiko patrol. She passed out, woke back up, and demanded ice cream. It’s a two-person job. Why don’t you come get ice cream with us?
Cora: Ice cream or penis? Hmmm . . . think I’ll go with the penis. Remember the goal?
Greer: Oh, so things are going that well?
Cora: We’re headed in the right direction.
Greer: Okay, so . . . I guess that’s it for the girls’ trip?
Guilt pulses through me. Man, I ditched them. I didn’t expect to do that, at least not this early.
Cora: I’m sorry. I feel awful.
Greer: Don’t. We’re all going to call our men when we get back to the hotel room. Please just be safe.
Cora: What are you going to tell Arlo?
Greer: Don’t worry about him. I got you covered. Have fun and . . . get some penis!
Cora: All the penis! I’m getting all of the penis.
Greer: Gobble, gobble.
Cora: OMG, don’t say shit like that.
Greer: LOL, being in a relationship has messed me up. I don’t know how to properly respond to single-people endeavors.
Cora: You’re forgiven this time. See you later. XOXO
I stuff my phone into my purse, look at myself one more time in the mirror, and take a deep breath.
You got this.
Get all the penis, Cora . . . all of it.
Gobble, gobble.
Snorts
I push through the bathroom door and look up just in time to catch Pike leaning against the wall, one foot propped up while his thumbs are casually hooked in his pockets. He’s not staring at his phone, he’s not checking out all the scantily clad girls that walk by. His eyes are fixed on the bathroom door, and when they connect with mine, as he pushes off the wall and walks toward me, my insides twist and turn with excitement.
“Good to go?”
“You tell me.” I hold out my hands and do a little turn for him.
He wets his lips and places his hand on the small of my back, his heated palm connecting with my bare skin. Leaning in to speak in my ear, he says, “You look fucking good to me.” A year ago, this wouldn’t have been me. I was not this confident in myself. But my new incredible friends—who left their other halves to be with me this weekend—and the psychologists’ appointments Arlo attended with me, have helped strip away the negative narration inside my brain about my self-worth. And now? With the most handsome man in the room eye-fucking me? You look fucking good to me. Worth every cent.