by Ryan Michele
What in the hell was my brother thinking?
I was not looking forward to anything but getting the hell out of there and calling my bestie. Carrie would know what to do. At least I was hoping she would because I didn’t have a clue what I was going to do to solve this problem.
The moment I was alone in the privacy of my car, I dialed her.
“What’s up, girlfriend?”
“Dude, I am in a complete freak out panic mode here.”
“Why?”
I let out a sigh and stared at the itinerary sticking out of my purse. One Becky handed me on my way out detailing everything. “My bonehead brother and bridezilla strike again.”
“What did they do now?”
I rubbed my temple feeling a tension headache forming. “So get this. Instead of, you know, a party bus with strippers or something basic for a bachelorette party, they have decided we are going to Vegas for a week. A week … doing challenges! And what are we supposed to bring on this trip, you might ask. My boyfriend, partner, or significant other. I don’t have one of those, and Becky the bitch says I have to have one for the trip.” I sighed heavily. “Maybe you could come pose as my secret lesbian lover. We know everything about each other and would nail every challenge. Not to mention we could have a blast together. It is Vegas, after all.”
Carrie giggled. What there was to giggle about, I had no clue. “First of all, no. No one would believe we were a couple. We’re together all the time. They would have seen us by now. Secondly, I have a plan. I’ve never let you down in the past, so do you trust me when I say I got you covered?”
Did I trust her? What the hell kind of question was that? “Duh. I trust you, but that doesn’t stop the madness of the week I have to endure of this crap show. And what kind of plan are you talking about?”
“Stop stressing over what you can’t control, and have a little faith in me. All I need to know is your room number, the hotel, and what day you arrive. That’s it. I have the perfect guy in mind. He’ll meet you there. It’s going to work out. I promise. Trust me. I’ve got you.” The call disconnected. I stared at the black screen like Carrie’s voice would come back and tell me to stop freaking out. Because I was nervous. This was a terrible idea. Whoever this was wouldn’t know me, and Rebecca would know right off the bat I didn’t have anyone. Though, what choice did I have? Go crawling to my brother and beg him to let me off the hook. No, that wasn’t an option. Nor was asking him for help because he’d tell Rebecca. Screw that one.
I secured my seatbelt and muttered to myself, “Promises, promises.” This was going to work out somehow. Some way. How? No clue, but I’d pull it off. One week. Seven days wasn’t the end of the world. Prepping the guy beforehand with facts about me would help too. It was important to my brother. Therefore, I’d make it work. He would hopefully only get married once.
I pulled out of the parking lot and drove straight home to start packing, considering they only gave us two days to get our affairs together. This included getting time off from work. I didn’t have time to obsess over who this so-called perfect guy Carrie had was. If he was so perfect for me, why hadn’t I ever met him? As my best friend, it was her duty to introduce me to him immediately, not wait until there was a dilemma to throw him at me. I was going to have to revisit that conversation with her later and find out what else she was holding back from me.
I spent the rest of my night drinking my wine and questioning if it was too late to be an only child. I’d never felt more desperate in my life. Was I really going to depend on a total stranger to pull this week off? What if the guy didn’t show? Would I be wandering the streets and casinos trying to find a stranger to hire to be my man for a week? I downed another glass of wine and packed extra underwear. What if the guy was hot? Carrie wouldn’t set me up with a total bum of a guy. She had good taste in men. This could be fun in the end. It might’ve been the wine doing the talking, but I was trying to get excited about the possibility that I could hit it off with this guy.
“Have a little a faith,” Carrie’s words repeated in my head. Faith was all I had. I stuffed my suitcase full and left it open knowing I’d need to throw things inside tomorrow. I was really going to go through with this harebrained plan.
All I could hope for was he wasn’t a dick.
Quinn
I MAY NOT HAVE LOST ALL MY MARBLES YET, BUT THERE’S A SMALL HOLE IN THE BAG SOMEWHERE
I was running behind. My phone needed charged, and last night I had fallen asleep without plugging it in, leaving me without an alarm clock to blare several times to get my sleepy ass up.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. There wasn’t even any time to grab coffee or something to eat on the way. The airport was too far away. Hence why I set my alarm early to have time for caffeine. Now, I was screwed.
I stumbled into the bathroom feeling a bit dazed and confused, relieving my bladder and brushing my teeth. Not at the same time, but probably should’ve in this time crunch.
The cab taking me to the airport was waiting in my driveway, blowing on the horn and waking up the entire freaking neighborhood. This was not a great start to my day.
I felt disoriented and looked a mess. My only saving grace was my luggage was packed two days ago because if I didn’t show proof it was done Becky was planning to pack it for me. That wasn’t an option. Crawling back into bed and pulling my pillow over my head to forget the world existed was what I needed. Sleep evaded me last night. Too nervous about who Carrie was sending to be my fake boyfriend for the week. Tossing and turning all night, the dark circles under my eyes were doing me no favors.
I should have called my brother and told him my cab was a no-show. That I got picked up by the local aliens and beamed to Mars. Something. Anything, but no, like a good, diligent sister, I dragged my bag to the cab and got in, completely ignoring the man’s scowl. He’d get over it.
The cab dropped me at the airport, and my nerves were wild, my skin prickling. Yes, I was officially panicking. Why didn’t I make up an excuse? A good one like, Sorry, my boss won’t allow me the time off.
This had to be one of the dumbest things I had ever agreed to. I could claim to be sick, but the truth was I was a shit liar. My brother could always get me to crack under pressure. He’d smell the lie coming miles away; even through the damn phone, he would know.
I dragged my luggage along, clutching my boarding pass. This was a disaster waiting to implode. Not only did I not want to spend a week in Vegas with bridezilla and her posse, I had to contend with this mystery man.
Restless and in need of more sleep, I was in no mood for mishaps … or, at least, anymore. Carrie had refused to tell me who my surprise date for the week would be, even after asking her repeatedly. I doubted it was anyone I knew, but with her one could never tell.
After checking in, there was a small bit of time to kill. Luckily, I decided to change my flight to one later than the rest of the wedding party.
It worked for two reasons. One—I didn’t want them to see me alone and think I couldn’t get a date. I knew it was pathetic, but I didn’t want to deal with Rebecca any more than I already needed to. She didn’t need more ammunition to fire at me. The woman got in little jabs with me whenever she was able to do so. Two—I wouldn’t have to ride with any of them. God forbid I had to sit next to one of them whining the entire way.
The line for coffee was only four deep, and I was thrilled to see they had one banana bread muffin left. At this point my stomach would be happy with anything.
There I had a bit of hope my luck was changing. It was as if the heavens were shining down on this one muffin. I could hear a harp playing it looked so damn delicious. I was salivating at the mouth. The one thing I needed to make this day not a complete loss was within reach. Things needed to turn around.
Sometimes I was an emotional eater, grabbing whatever was in reaching distance to soothe the soul. This was an emotional time and, in that moment, I needed that muffin to pair with my coffee. The universe under
stood me and the cosmic need I had to devour this single pastry.
Only there was a problem in the form of a little old lady with tight cut curled hair and glasses. She was reaching for my glorious carbs. My stomach tightened.
My mother taught me to respect my elders, and I had every day of my life. At least up until this point because it was the last muffin in the entire place. My stomach was growling in protest. Fight or flight was kicking in as my body reacted.
I had a split-second choice to make—suffer in hunger pains for the flight because once I had a craving for something nothing else would suffice. Or I could be a jerk and grab the muffin before she got to it.
It played out in slow motion as I watched her hand tremble as it moved toward my muffin, and before I could internalize further, I did something I never thought I would do. Something my mother would be pissed about. Stepping to the side of the woman, I went for that damn muffin. I was going to be stuck spending a week with Rebecca, doing God only knew what and having to put on a smile with someone I disliked because my brother loved her. I deserved the damn muffin.
So, I claimed it.
My fingers curled around the plastic wrapping as it crinkled under my touch. Elation hit me, but instead of celebrating, a cry tore from my lips because the little old lady who looked like a sweet grandma type was anything but. She wielded a bronzed colored cane that must have cement in it or something.
Thwack.
I felt a sharp sting smack my arm as the cane made contact with me. Glancing down, a red welt appeared on my skin.
She actually smacked me with her damn cane. Twice. What the hell?
“Put down my muffin,” she hissed at me, and continued to hem and haw about young folk today not having respect for their elders. She was right, but at this point I didn’t care. She hit me over a muffin. There was no sympathy for her whatsoever.
Her glasses slid down her nose as she gawked at me, flapping her jaws and growing winded. While she shamed me in the middle of the airport, I was hangry. There was this point when a person was hungry to the point of angry. Hence hangry. It really wasn’t a made-up word. No, hangry was a state of being, a truly desperate time when a person should not be held accountable for their emotions or actions.
I didn’t let go and slid my arm back with the muffin in hand.
The sweet smile didn’t do anything for her because she scowled at me. “Sorry. I have low blood sugar.” This was actually true because my hand was shaking. Every time that happened, I needed food.
“I hope you choke on it,” she growled, walking off.
Was I wrong? Possibly, but this was a truly desperate time, therefore I was not going to feel the shame in my most desperate measures.
The cashier gave me a look but didn’t say anything as she rang up my purchase. Karma was already against me today; may as well make it count.
I was going to enjoy every banana baked goodness morsel as if it were the last thing I’d ever put in my mouth. The welt would bruise, and the damn thing had better be worth the trouble.
In the end, though, it didn’t matter. The muffin didn’t taste anywhere as good as it had looked in the case. It was dry and tasted like cardboard. I suppose that was what I got for fighting an old lady for it in the first place.
Karma. She was not my friend. It was racking up something fierce today.
After that the day continued its downward spiral. On the plane, I practically fell on top of the chubby bald guy in the outside seat as I tried to get to my window seat. Instead of him getting up and letting me through like a gentleman, he remained in place. Did he apologize for the inconvenience or uncomfortableness? Nope, he glared at me, but considering it was his foot I tripped on since he didn’t move, I didn’t care he was pissed. He wasn’t good company either, complaining to the stewardess about not having peanuts on the plane. I felt bad for the lady and then remembered the old lady and looked up to the ceiling.
Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I get it.
There was a kid maybe four-years-old in the row behind us who kept kicking the back of bald man’s seat. I had the pleasure of listening to him gripe for most of the flight about parents not taking care of their kids and how he would ban children from flying.
I thought nothing else could go wrong, but sure enough in the ‘it can only happen to Quinn soap opera’ that is my life, all the coffee I drank hit me, and I had to go to the bathroom. There was no holding it. I’d tried.
Sliding past grumpy and getting into the stall, I was hovered over the toilet seat relieving myself when the door flew open. My eyes flew up. On the other side of said door was this freakishly tall man with bulging tattooed biceps. His gaze slid over me, taking me in, and I thought for sure I was going to die of mortification on the spot. My cheeks were flaming, and his husky voice drawled out a gritty, “Sorry.” The man then winked at me.
“Shut the damn door!” I shrieked, which garnered the attention of the flight attendant. Who ended up having to stand at the restroom on guard for me because the damn door was somehow broken. All I wanted to do was turn around and go home. Forget this ever happened. I knew this trip was the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. Each moment proved my theory right.
Suck it up, Quinn. You’re in Vegas.
By the time I made it to the hotel, I knew I must’ve looked crazy. After missing the first bus to the hotel from the airport and almost not getting on the second because it was too full, I was drained.
People were staring at me as I trekked through the opulent lobby taking in the big chandeliers and the fountain on display, rolling my bag behind me. The lobby was bustling with gamblers and travelers. All I wanted was to make it to my room unscathed and take a hot shower to wash away the day. Once that happened, I could start fresh and forget about everything. I had to be here, and I was going to make the best of it.
The clerk behind the desk looked at me then my ID. Back to me again. “Are you sure your name is Quinn Landis? You look … different.” Her nose scrunched up at my haggard travel-worn appearance. Surely in her line of work, she’d seen people tired from traveling hundreds of miles. While I was no beauty queen, I didn’t think I looked that bad. Did I? Maybe the makeup free, hair in a bun on top of my head wasn’t the best choice for a day on a plane. I was going for the I’m-in-a-hurry-but-I’m-not-a-hobo-look.
I squared my shoulders and smoothed my hand over my dark hair, trying to tame the loose hairs that fell. “Yes,” I hissed. “I’m just not wearing makeup. Thank you so very much.” I was starting to sweat. If this day was any indication of how the rest of the trip was going to go, I was royally fucked. That was when I heard his voice before I saw him, my bad day going into the shitter.
“Quinn?” I turned my head in the direction of one of the smoothest voices I had ever known. One I’d recognize anywhere.
Conner Davenport.
Sweet baby Jesus in the manger he was hot. Hotter than hot. I hadn’t seen him in years, and man did he grow up. Dark wavy hair that was simply meant for running one’s fingers through. The bluest eyes I had ever gazed into reminding me of the sky above. Perfect smile, straight teeth, and those kissable lips I’d had many dreams about over the years.
More importantly, though, what was he doing here? He wasn’t in the bridal party. Did something happen and Conner was standing in for someone else?
“Conner?” I cleared my throat and looked around for a hidden camera somewhere. It would be my luck for someone to jump out and yell SIKE! This had to be some kind of joke. The cosmos didn’t hate me this much. At least I hoped not.
“Looks like I caught you just in time, buttercup. It’s you and me. This week, you’re all mine.” His voice melted over me like butter on a hot roll. Then there was that perfect smile paired with the most gorgeous set of sky blue eyes. Eyes that were gazing at me like I was the sun. I trembled at the very thought of being his for a week. What was I supposed to say to that? This was Conner, Carrie’s brother, and my brother’s best friend.
Wha
t would my brother say?
Rebecca would hate the very idea of it, and that was enough to have me considering that maybe this could work. Maybe Lady Luck was taking pity on me and stacking the odds in my favor for once.
Or playing a terrible trick that would have all the cards falling into dust.
Quinn
LEAD ME NOT INTO TEMPTATION… OH WHO AM I KIDDING, FOLLOW ME; I KNOW A SHORT CUT
Conner stared at me like he was waiting for me to do or say something. Except, I stood frozen in place, my breaths caught in my throat.
I hadn’t yet decided if I wanted to choke Carrie to death or kiss her face for sending her older brother to my rescue. There were so many ways this could go.
It could be a dream come true or my worst nightmare.
How many scenarios had I imagined myself with Conner over the years? Too many to count, but this was something I hadn’t thought about when Carrie asked me if I trusted her. Never in a million years would I have guessed she would send him to be my date. And better yet, how did she get him to agree so easily and on such short notice at that? I had so many questions for my bestie the next time we spoke. Which would be soon.
“Have a little faith,” I heard her voice in my head. I was going to kill her, I decided.
“Ma’am, your signature,” the hotel desk clerk prompted, but I was lost, staring at Conner.
Conner grinned even bigger and slid up to the counter next to me. “Allow me.” He plucked the pen from the holder and signed for the room. The clerk placed the room cards in his hand, and Conner passed them off to me.
Conner then proceeded to grab my bags. Finally, after the rough day I had endured, I felt calm, like maybe things would be okay. I had known Conner Davenport most of my life. If there was a man I could depend on outside of my father or my brother, it was him. At least it always had been. Somehow the worry seemed to melt away, and the day seemed a bit brighter. All the terrible mishaps leading to him somehow faded away. That was Conner. He had that effect on the people around him or, at least, on me.