Knot So Lucky （Destination Love, #1）
Trilina Pucci
synopsis
Me: Ask me what happens in Vegas…
Samantha: What happens in Vegas?
Me: Let me tell you.
What happens is that you get
“make out with strangers and pee in a parking lot” drunk.
TIE THE KNOT WITH A GUY YOU JUST MET.
Then allegedly participate in depraved group activities with him and his friends in the honeymoon suite of a five-star hotel.
But that’s not even the worst part.
Because after an epic walk of shame, you find out he’s some insanely famous bad-boy quarterback who’s in the midst of cleaning up his act.
So now, you have to pretend to like him…sober…until you can skip town with an annulment and a shirt that reads, “I’d hit that.”
Except for bam—tiny hiccup. His personality cancels out his hot AF face.
And let’s not mention how you definitely took a trip to pound town with his friends.
So, yeah. That’s what happens in Vegas.
You get Knot so Lucky even when you think you hit the jackpot.
playlist
Last Night （Beer Fear）—Lucy Spraggan
Raise Your Glass—P!nk
Brightside—The Killers
I Want You To Want Me—Cheap Trick
Cool For The Summer （Sped up） Nightcore）—Demi Lovato, Speed Radio
Misery Business—Paramore
Paper Rings—Taylor Swift
Chemical—Post Malone
Waking Up In Vegas—Katy Perry
SunKissing—Hailee Steinfeld
1-800-Bad-Bxtch—Saucy Santana
Pieces Of Me—Ashlee Simpson
Oh My Gawd—Diplo （feat. Nicki Minaj & K4mo）
Karma—Taylor Swift
Nonsense （Remix）—Sabrina Carpenter, Coi Leray
Get Low—Lil Jon
dedication
Here’s to live, laugh, coming our way through a bad bish summer.
dear reader,
I wrote this book with the intention of giving an “every woman” experience. That means the heroine isn’t described. I did this on purpose. To allow anyone reading the chance to picture themselves or someone who looks like them. I strived to keep her as vague as possible. So enjoy, because this one’s for you and you and you and YOU!
Xoxoxo, Trilina
prologue
“About last night.”
eleanor
Samantha: ELLE!!!! WHERE ARE YOU? WTF WAS THAT ON YOUR INSTA LAST NIGHT?
Samantha: Eleanor. I’m serious. It looked like you were at a chapel in Vegas.
Samantha: Tell me I’m wrong.
Samantha: Oh. My. God. I will strangle you when I see you if you don’t answer me stat.
Me: …
Me: …
Samantha: Eleanor Margaret Thomas. I can see the bubbles.
Me: All caps…seriously? My head hurts, and you’re yelling? Have some respect for the hangover.
Me: You’re a menace. Why couldn’t I have been an only child?
Samantha: SHUT UP. We’re texting. And how am I supposed to know you have a hangover?
Me: Because I’m in Vegas. Duh.
Me: Stop being stupid on purpose. Also, how dare you call me by my full name.
Me: There is trauma in my initials. One monogrammed hand towel, and suddenly I’m calling for help.
Samantha: You’ll need an EMT if you don’t answer my questions.
Me: Fine… Jesus Nagatha Christie… Fuck. So yeah, about last night…
one
“Marrying some rando you just fucked is like a rite of passage in Vegas.”
eleanor
She’s yelling. My older sister, Samantha, is actually yelling at me.
I don’t think she’s done that since we were kids.
Admittedly, I just texted her that I got piss drunk in Las Vegas and married a total stranger. So, yeah, this sudden call and her head-splitting tone aren’t exactly a shocker. But still, I didn’t anticipate how mad she’d be.
Because it’s loud, mad. Her voice is slicing my brain open. She’s too loud for the delicate balance I’m barely holding on to. That balance between wanting to puke my guts up or just giving up and finding a bench to sleep this hangover off, hobo-style.
I pull my cell away from my ear as I navigate through people with fanny packs and cheap tropical shirts. All of them milling about in the middle of the busy casino floor like forgotten Sims players.
“Excuse me,” I breathe to some random dude holding a three-foot-tall drink before— Oh. My. God.
My eyes blink quickly, my mouth falling open as I try to ignore the glance I just got of myself in the reflective side of the slot machine.
“Excuse what?” my sister rants, thinking I’m talking to her. “Excuse you for making the single stupidest decision of your life?”
“Give me a break. Marrying some rando you just fucked is like a rite of passage in Vegas. There are movies made about it. I’m not the first, and I won’t be the last. But holy shit…Sami. If you could see what I see right now—”
I can’t even finish my sentence because I’m chuckling. Jesus Christ. I look like a clown who’s been fucked three ways from Sunday. My shoulder meets my ear, sandwiching my phone and also freeing my hand so I can lick the pad of my finger and attempt to rub the black spread of mascara from underneath my eyes.
“Listen to me. I’m a mess—I’ve been walking through this whole-ass casino in a white bodycon button-front dress short enough to show off my liver. And most of the buttons in the middle are missing. Don’t ask. I’m having to hold it closed, otherwise, my entire stomach will show—I’m a poster child for that Katy Perry song ‘Waking Up in Vegas.’”
She doesn’t let me finish, cutting me off.
“Be serious, Eleanor. For the love of god, why are you making jokes?”
I roll my eyes as last night’s faux red bottom heels click a bit faster on the shiny floors.
“Sami, stop overreacting. It’s not that serious because—”
She still doesn’t shut the fuck up.
“How did this happen? Please tell me this wasn’t your idea.” Her voice switches to panic. “Wait, were you drugged? Oh my god.”
“Are you crazy?” I laugh.
“Are you?” she huffs. “You married some guy you just met in Las Vegas. What do you expect me to think?”
“Not that I’m involved in some secret scheme to drug girls into marriage. Because we all know guys are just desperate to get to the altar. Stop watching those crime shows, weirdo.”
I can’t help but laugh because she’s about to go from lecture to holy shit, from big sister to a co-conspirator, in about two seconds when I say what’s sitting on the tip of my tongue.
“Whatever,” she breathes.
So I hit her with the real tea.
“Plus, it’ll be fine because he’s not just some guy, Sami… He’s Crew Matthews—the quarterback for the fucking Las Vegas Raiders.”
This bomb is particularly hilarious for two reasons: one, our father is a die-hard 49ers fan, so my pussy committed treason last night, and two, my sister is in a poly relationship, and one of her boyfriends is a Hall of Fame quarterback.
“I mean, what are the chances? This is wild, right?” I add, grinning ear to ear over the ridiculousness of the whole situation.
I hold my breath, waiting for her to explode. I can already picture her face. Shock and awe plastered all over it.