by T. K. Leigh
I push out an aggravated breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. As much as I hate the idea of staying in Vegas another night and having to waste even more vacation time, it doesn’t seem like there’s an option.
“Guaranteed seats.”
“Give me your boarding pass and I’ll get you rebooked.”
I grab my phone and find my boarding pass, then hand it to her.
“Thanks. Be right back.”
I watch as she scurries back to the front desk. She’s come a long way from the little girl who was too scared to approach Hannah and me when her family first moved into the neighborhood. Now, Izzy’s a typical New Yorker. Confident. Assured. And always gets her way.
After a few minutes, she returns and hands me my phone along with a new airline printout. “Here you go. You’re all set.”
“Thanks,” I say, surprised at her efficiency. If she weren’t here, I would have sucked it up and hung around the airport in the hopes of getting on the red-eye. But now that we’re flying out tomorrow, there’s another problem.
“Umm… Izzy, we can’t go back to the same hotel, not unless we want to get roped into day 317 of the never-ending bachelorette party.”
A sly smile builds on her lips. “Don’t worry. I’ve got that covered, too.”
Chapter Five
“Where the hell are we?” I ask as our Uber driver slows to a stop in front of a gated driveway on the outskirts of Vegas. “David Copperfield’s house?”
“No.” Izzy rolls her eyes. “But my sources say he lives around here somewhere.”
“Sources? What sources? I’m your source for all things celebrity.”
“Maybe there are some things about me you don’t know.” She passes me a devious grin before opening the door, stepping onto the street. A little bewildered, I take a minute to collect my things. When she said she had a friend who was more than happy to let us stay the night, I didn’t expect to pull up in front of a piece of property that looks like it belongs in Bel Air.
A knock on the window rips my attention away from the impressive entrance and I snap my eyes to Izzy as she opens my door.
“Are you coming? Or do you want to call Bernadette and see if you can crash with her tonight? Maybe stay up and do a makeover, then go to some Pure Romance party.”
“I wouldn’t mind going to a Pure Romance party.” I scoot out of the car. “I’m all for women exploring their sexuality. But I’d pass on the Bernadette makeover,” I say as I head toward where our driver stands, holding the handle of my suitcase for me. “With the amount of makeup she’d cake on my face and the revealing outfit she’d stuff me in, I’d come out of there looking like a blowup doll.” Smiling, I take my bag from the driver as he eyes me up and down, discreetly adjusting the waist of his pants.
The Vegas sun beating down on us, I follow Izzy toward the front gate, watching as she enters a code into a box. I can’t help but feel like she hasn’t been forthcoming about who we’re staying with. Granted, I’m not as close to her as I once was, but she would have mentioned knowing someone who owned a palace in Vegas, wouldn’t she?
“Are you coming?” she asks when the gate opens and she continues up the elaborate drive.
“I suppose…,” I respond in a drawn-out voice, taking slow steps toward her as I absorb my surroundings. The driveway is made of pavers, the brick matching that of the flowerbeds lining it, which are filled with succulents. Palm trees shade the path, as well as offer privacy to the occupants.
As we round the corner, the house finally coming into view, my jaw drops. I knew we were in a wealthy neighborhood, but I didn’t expect this. The sprawling two-story house looks like a snapshot from a home design magazine, a rare peek into how the rich and famous of Las Vegas live and play.
I glance at Izzy, my curiosity increasing with every step. She knew the exact house we were going to, told the driver to stop when he was about to pass it. That means she’s been here before.
“Iz?” I say as we approach the short flight of steps leading to the front door.
She stops, flashing her eyes to mine, a single brow raised.
“Who lives here?”
“Just an old friend from my undergrad days.” She avoids my inquisitive stare, smoothing a lock of nearly jet-black hair behind her ear, her olive-toned skin becoming flushed.
“A…friend? Does this ‘friend’ happen to be of the male persuasion?”
“Yes.” She holds her head high, but still doesn’t look directly at me.
“Call me crazy—”
“You certainly are.”
“But I get the feeling there’s more to the story than this guy…” I wave my hand around at our surroundings, everything pristine and glamorous, “being just a ‘friend’.”
Her eyes finally meet mine, a flash of indecision filling them. I can physically feel her turmoil, like she wants to tell someone whatever this is, but is scared of the potential backlash. Izzy has a habit of taking everyone’s feelings into account with every decision.
I rest my hand on her arm. “What is it? You can tell me anything.”
“I know that. But this…” She shakes her head, conflicted, pulling her lip between her teeth. When she looks at me again, a hint of shame covers her expression. Her shoulders fall. “It’s Asher York.”
I remain motionless as the name rings out between us. “Asher York as in Jessie York’s older brother?”
She blows out a nervous laugh. “It’s not exactly a common name, is it?”
“Asher York, the handsome, struggling musician?”
“Yup.”
“The Asher York with a singing voice that makes you forget your name?”
“That’s the one.”
“The Asher York who looks like a fucking Adonis with a guitar strapped to him?”
“Yes, Chloe. That Asher York,” she admits, her voice growing louder, her face blushing even more as the tension momentarily lightens.
“The Asher York who would have been your brother-in-law if you hadn’t smartened up and called off your engagement to Jessie?”
Her expression falls and she slowly nods. “Exactly.”
I stare at her, unsure how to react to this. She still didn’t admit anything’s going on between them, but she doesn’t have to. I can see it in her eyes as she silently pleads with me not to make a big deal out of this. And I won’t.
I never liked Jessie to begin with. He was arrogant, pompous, and conceited. They dated in college. Got engaged young. I pretended to be happy for her. She’s my friend, after all. Deep down, I questioned whether it would last, considering they were both so young…too young to decide to get married. Thankfully, she realized that before it was too late, thanks to Jessie not being able to keep his dick in his pants.
“Well…” I take in my surroundings, my voice brightening. “It looks like Asher’s not a struggling musician anymore, is he?”
“Oh, this isn’t his place. He’s just kind of…staying here.”
“Like, house sitting?”
“Not exactly. He, uh…”
Before she can finish her sentence, the door swings open and we both snap our heads to the entryway. I almost can’t believe my eyes when they fall on Asher York leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed in front of his chest, his biceps stretching the fabric of his shirt, a wicked smile on his full lips as he admires Izzy.
This is not the same Asher York I remember from all those years ago. He’s more mature, more muscular, more…experienced. There are hints of the man I saw a handful of times during some of Izzy’s pre-wedding festivities, but his short, dark hair is now longer, the strong jawline sporting a sexy five o’clock shadow. It’s only been six or seven years, but he seems like a different person. Then again, he could probably say the same about me.
“When I told you it was okay for you both to crash here, I meant inside the house. Not on the front stoop,” he jokes, his eyes never leaving Izzy.
“Hey, Ash.” A blush blooms on her cheeks,
her lips kicking up into a brilliant smile. Then she looks away, nervously pushing her hair behind her ear. “Thanks for this.”
“It’s nothing, Iz. You know that.” His words are laden with a sincerity I feel deep in my core. “I was thrilled to hear your voice, considering I thought you’d be 35,000 feet in the air by now.”
“I guess the universe had different plans.”
“I guess so.”
Izzy peers up at him through thick lashes, her chest rising and falling in a quicker pattern. Something about the way Asher holds her gaze makes me think he doesn’t want to look away. Then he glances in my direction, clearing his throat.
“Chloe. Good to see you again. I like the hair. It suits you.”
I pass him a wry smile. “Thanks for letting us stay here.”
“Anytime. I’d never turn away a friend in need.” He steps back, gesturing for us to enter the house.
I lean into Izzy. “Hear that? He’ll never turn away a friend in need, Iz.” I waggle my eyebrows at her as we walk into the magnificent foyer complete with high ceilings and modern chandelier hanging overhead.
“Oh, hush. It’s not like that.”
I grin. “You want it to be like that, though, right?”
Chewing on her lower lip, she shrugs. “Maybe.”
“All right, Asher,” I say when Izzy and I step into the kitchen after getting a brief tour of the luxurious house and changing into our bathing suits. “Whose house is this?” I turn around slowly, craning my head back, my voice seeming to echo against the tile in the cavernous space. “Izzy said you’re not house sitting, so what are you doing in a place like this?”
“Don’t think I can afford it myself?” He looks up from forming a mixture of ground beef and onions into patties.
“Last I heard, you were playing bars in LA, trying to make it big.”
“Maybe I’ve made it big.”
“Have you?” I place my hands on the large island, leaning toward him, my lips pressed into a tight line. If he’d made it big, I would have heard.
He considers my question for a moment, then shrugs. “Not yet, but I’m one step closer.”
“What do you mean?” I look from him to Izzy, an amused expression on her face. I notice her eyes shift ever so slightly and I follow her line of sight, my gaze falling on a glass case in the living room.
I walk toward it, my brow furrowing when I see six Grammy awards enclosed within. Squinting, I read the gold plate, then whirl around, my expression wide.
“You’re in Fallen Grace?” I can’t hide the disbelief in my voice.
Fallen Grace is this decade’s most popular boy band, five twenty-something-year-old guys from London who girls scream and fawn over everywhere they go. I would have noticed Asher York standing amongst their numbers. I notice everything about everyone.
He shakes his head, laughing. “Certainly not. They’re not really my style.”
“Then what—”
“They hired me to work on their new album with them, and to help with their engagement here in Vegas.”
“If they’re not your style, why are you working with them?”
“They’re going for a more mature sound…less pop, more rock.”
I absorb what he’s saying, my mouth agape as I shake my head. “How the hell did you even land this job?”
“Dumb luck,” he laughs. “About six months ago, I had a gig with my band in Hollywood when one of the guys came by. He grabbed one of our download codes, listened to the tracks, then played it for the rest of the band. After doing a bit of research, they found out I wrote all the songs. Their manager called to see if I was interested in helping on their next album.”
“So you’re… What? Writing their songs for them?”
“More or less. Some of them write their own stuff, too, but I’m helping fill in the gaps and produce the record.” He smiles, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes as he stares into space, his expression thoughtful. “Before I got their call, I was months behind on my rent and facing eviction. I was ready to throw in the towel, tell my parents they were right and I should never have left my teaching job. It goes to show that sometimes good things happen when we least expect it.”
He looks from me to Izzy, admiring all five feet, seven inches of her slender physique, which is now on display in just a black bikini and sheer coverup. She pulled her dark locks into a messy bun, a pair of oversized sunglasses pushed up onto her forehead.
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down in a hard swallow before he returns his attention to the burgers, his hands shaking slightly. It’s adorable how nervous she makes him. That’s all any woman wants. To know she affects a man in such a way as to completely fluster him.
“So…” He clears his throat. “What can I get you to drink? Beer? Wine? Cocktail? You name it, and it’s yours, unless you ask for something strange. I may not have all the ingredients. But considering the parties the guys throw here, I’m pretty well-stocked.”
I lean toward Izzy, whispering into her ear. “He certainly is, isn’t he?”
She slaps me away, hushing me. “I’m happy with a beer.” She looks toward the rear wall that consists of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the pool area. “It’s a beer kind of day.”
“A woman after my own heart,” he comments with a wink, causing the blush on her cheeks to build even more. Then he lifts his eyes to mine. “Chloe?”
“Beer’s fine with me, too.”
With a nod, he turns toward the refrigerator and opens it, taking out two Coronas, popping the top off them. “Lime?”
“Yes,” we answer simultaneously.
He retrieves a couple lime slices from a bowl on the island, sticks them into the neck of the bottle, then slides the beers toward us. We get to work pushing the lime past the neck, plugging the bottle with our thumbs, and flipping it so the lime sinks toward the bottom.
“Here’s to making the most out of a canceled flight.” Izzy raises her beer.
I mirror her movements. “I’d much rather be here than stuck at the airport.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Asher agrees, bringing his beer toward ours. We clink bottles, then tilt them back, taking a sip.
“Is there anything we can help with?” Izzy asks.
“I have it all under control. You ladies are guests here. Just relax and enjoy yourselves. Come on.”
He grabs the plate of burgers and starts toward the open French doors. We follow him, emerging onto the back patio area, the aroma of burning charcoal filling the air.
“Lincoln!” Asher calls out as he strides toward the grill off to the left, leaving the plate on a table beside it. “Get off your phone and be social.”
I scan the pool area, following Asher’s line of sight. A tall man with dark hair holds up a finger, not looking in our direction as he walks toward a fence beyond the pool, leaning his arms against it as he admires the view of the Vegas skyline from this vantage point on the outskirts of the city. It is quite impressive. I can only imagine how incredible the view must be at night. As much as I hate Vegas, I can certainly appreciate the beauty of it, especially from afar.
“He’ll be done soon, I hope.”
“Who’s he?” I don’t actively follow Fallen Grace, but I don’t recall any of them being named Lincoln.
“Lincoln Moore,” Asher answers, placing the burgers onto the grill. It instantly sizzles. “We went to college together. In fact, he was a workaholic back then, too, constantly studying. He was one of those guys who lived according to the motto ‘work hard, play hard’.”
“I like to think that now it’s ‘work hard, play even harder’.”
When I hear that deep rumble, every muscle in my body tenses, my breath leaving me. It couldn’t be, could it?
I slowly turn around, momentarily disoriented as I stare into those green eyes once more. Izzy pinches my side, just as surprised as me.
“Chloe, Izzy…,” Asher begins, oblivious to the tension. “This is my friend, Lincoln.”
I stare, seeing him differently now that I know his name. It suits him. Strong, yet flirty.
“Lincoln, this is Izzy and—”
“Dick Girl.”
“Dick Girl?” Asher looks between us, confused. “Do you two know each other?”
Lincoln subtly nods. “We’ve had the…pleasure.” The way that word leaves his tongue has my nerve endings stirring. “Or perhaps I should say I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing her sharp tongue.”
“Yes.” I offer him a flirtatious smile, extending my hand toward him. “It’s nice to see you again, to formally meet you, Lincoln.”
He takes my hand in his, raising it to his lips, his pupils dilating as he feathers his mouth against my skin. The touch is subtle, yet it has my stomach doing backflips.
“Likewise, Chloe.” He passes me a devilish grin, then lowers my hand. “I didn’t think we’d see each other again.”
“Either did I.”
“Funny how that keeps happening, isn’t it? How we keep…bumping into each other. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think someone, something wants us to keep seeing each other.”
I lift my beer to my mouth. “I’m beginning to think I should buy a lottery ticket.”
Chapter Six
“Careful. Careful,” I caution, biting my lower lip, my breathing ragged, wracked with nerves. “No, not there.” My voice is frantic as I meet Lincoln’s fervid eyes, his concentration so intense I fear it may be our undoing.
“This isn’t my first rodeo,” he reminds me.
“I figured as much, but you have to watch what you’re doing or it won’t end well.” My words come out husky, my body taut with anticipation. “One wrong move and it’ll all come tumbling down.”
“I’ve got this,” he insists through clenched jaws, his nostrils flaring.
Licking his lips, he pauses, the pressure so thick I could almost burst. My chest heaves, the seconds seeming to stretch as I watch his every move. He inches closer and closer and I brace myself, my hands forming into fists, the past several hours, hell…days, culminating in this moment.