He’s probably trying to telepathically tell me to stay the hell away from Dale. Or he just woke up angry.
“See you later!” I say, ushering my sister towards the door.
As soon as they’re gone, I stroll out and head down the strip in the opposite direction.
I look up, and my eyes widen. Obviously, I noticed its size yesterday, but I was a bit jet-lagged and unable to fully appreciate it.
Vegas is huge, loud, and bright. Music blasts, and casinos jingle from their slot machines and endless payouts. I take it back. The food isn’t too big; it’s to scale.
The unforgiving sun beats down on my skin, prickling every inch on show—which, with denim shorts and a Metallica tank top, is a lot of skin to burn. It’s too bloody hot for this Brit.
I continue on the path with no purpose other than to take everything in. I wonder how many people come to Vegas and never stop for a second to absorb the enormity of it. It’s fast-paced, neon lights, drinking, sex, and gambling. But that’s not it.
There are the people. The wonderfully batshit people.
In front of me is a group of four girls, probably around Emma and Felicity’s age.
“I’ve had to tell all of my exes,” the tall one with pink hair and almost non-existent shorts says.
They’re talking about how one of them caught an STI from an ex. I didn’t catch what she had. She’s had the treatment now.
People talk about this kind of stuff in the middle of the street!
I’ll remember to have the wrap-up talk with the boys. Emma and Felicity, too.
Slowing my pace, I allow them to get away. They’re boring me now, and I’ve had enough of hearing about the health of other people’s vaginas.
A couple walks past me. The woman is tense with her arms folded, the man facing her and clearly trying to fix whatever he fucked up.
She throws her arms up in the air. “There’s nothing you can—”
And that’s all I hear because they’re powerwalking. I almost want to run so I can listen, but I would probably get punched. Or arrested. What did he do? Cheat?
Vegas is awesome.
Ahead of me on the other side of the street, two people are dancing to nothing and absolutely loving life.
I tilt my head up and, well, burn my face a little, but I’m enjoying the calm. When the sun goes down, there is a lot of noise. Right now, besides a street argument, a dance, and STI, it’s fairly peaceful. In comparison, anyway.
Dale will probably be at the pool now. He mentioned going in the morning because I’m busy in the afternoon, and we settled on maybe meeting in the evening. We didn’t make solid plans, so he might not even show. I could go back and spend time with him—a holiday fling sounds fun—but I’m not going to get the chance to come back anytime soon, so I want to see more of Vegas.
Up ahead is the Eiffel Tower. It’s so cute, it’s like the real one’s baby. I wonder if the French hate it. Same with everything in my Italian hotel, I suppose. The Colosseum is cute. Not the same. Nothing will ever beat the original, not even with flashing lights and a whole lot of sin.
I walk into the hotel and through the lobby, wanting a closer look at faux France. I’ve never been to France; I don’t think Disneyland Paris counts as doing it right. The Eiffel Tower is cool, but out of its natural surroundings, it doesn’t look very authentic.
There are a lot of couples nearby who don’t seem to care. They take selfies in front of it as if they are right there in Paris.
One dead giveaway is the suffocating heat.
I snap a pic and turn back, heading out onto the strip. After an hour, I’m almost dying of heatstroke, and I have about three hundred pictures of Vegas on my phone.
The room is obviously empty when I get back. Emma and Felicity are gambling with the guys. So, I change into my swimwear and head down to the pool. You can’t beat cocktails—even virgin ones—by the pool. I still have a little while before the spa.
I pick a sun lounger and order a mocktail, which is basically just juice but makes me feel more sophisticated than a Coke would. With my drink in my hand and a spot in the shade, I get comfortable and lie back.
“Mornin’, Wren,” Dale says in his strong Southern American accent. He’s wearing a T-shirt that says in bold letters Nashville, so I assume he’s from Tennessee.
Or he’s really into the TV show.
“Morning,” I reply.
He cocks his blonde eyebrow at my drink as he sits down. “You made it. Hey, what’s in there?”
“Nothing fun.”
“Have you been for a swim yet?”
“No, I just got here.”
He smiles. “I could listen to your accent all day.”
I wish I could say the same, but I’m having difficulty understanding some of the drawl. Not that it isn’t hot on him.
“You would get bored. I can talk.”
“We could always do things that don’t require talkin’.”
Laughing quietly, I turn on my side so I can watch him. He might not hold his own as well as I’d like in a conversation but, damn, he’s gorgeous.
“How drunk are you planning on getting me?”
“Ah, your one-night stand.” He reaches over and strokes the back of my hand. “What if I want you to remember it?”
“Then, you’d better be killer in the sack.”
With a deep chuckle, he replies, “I’ve never had sex with a drunk girl.”
I mean, although it’s a good rule to have, there are circumstances when it’s okay. Like if you both plan it and get equally drunk.
I sigh, raising my eyes to the sky. “All right. I’ll just have to admire that six-pack from afar.”
“I have to say, sweetness, I’m a little offended that you have to be drunk to sleep with me.”
“I don’t have to be.”
“Well, what are we waitin’ for?” He smirks. “You wantin’ another one of those? I’m headin’ to the bar.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
I watch him walk away. Nope, definitely wouldn’t have to be drunk.
Dale and I chill by the pool for two hours, swimming and sunbathing, before I have to meet Emma and Felicity. No one gets naked. I’m not exactly jumping for joy over that.
Chapter 8
Wren
I’m on my own again tonight. Emma, Felicity, and I spent three hours in the spa, got our nails done, and had dinner and drinks before returning to our room. Now, they’re going out, and I’m sitting on my bed with popcorn and a movie.
Two hours later, and I could throw up a cinema’s worth of corn. However, I’ve now officially watched Dirty Dancing over a hundred times. What a life.
It’s almost one in the morning, and I’m not tired at all. I think it’s morning in England.
Someone knocks on my door obnoxiously loudly. I could be asleep in here… but Dale might be in the bar again. And I was going to sneak out.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and hop down onto the floor. Why are the beds in America so much higher? As far as I’ve seen, the people here are the same height as the people back home.
When I tug open the door, my frown deepens. “What the…?”
Brody smirks. “Is that any way to greet a visitor?”
“Why aren’t you off drunk somewhere?”
The smirk widens. “I’m drunk here.” Reaching around his back, he produces a box of eight beers.
“You brought me beer?”
He walks past me, so I close the door and spin on my heels to face him.
Like, what the hell is going on?
“There are eight here, Wren. I’m drinking with you.”
“I’m sorry, can you repeat that? It sounded like you’re staying.”
He sits on my bed and kicks his legs up. “I’m not dropping beer off and leaving you to it, and I’m not waiting for you to go and join the Southern dick for cocktails.”
“His name is Dale.”
“Whatever. Do you want a drin
k?”
Obviously. I cautiously walk over to him. He’s not usually this nice. Is he trying to catch me out? Does he have a cop outside, waiting to arrest me when I take the first sip?
Sitting on the bed, I stretch my arm out. Brody pops the lid off a bottle with his teeth and places it in my hand.
I’d cause a fuss about my beer being in his mouth, but it’s really not the time. The man has saved me from a night of Pepsi.
“Where is everyone else?” I ask. I guarantee they don’t know that he’s here.
He takes a large swig of beer. “In a club.”
“And where do they think you are?”
His lips curl around the neck of the bottle as he sips again. “They think I’m in a girl’s room.”
“Ahh. So, you’re not lying, technically.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think Luke would be too happy with me hanging out in his little sister’s room.”
Then, why are you here?
“You’re braver in Vegas.”
Brody finishes the beer and grabs another one. With a shrug, he says, “Someone needs to stop you from being dumb.”
“I’ll drink to that!”
Eight beers later, we’re drunk. Well, he was already, and I can handle wine and cocktails but not beer. No, sir. Beer makes for a very tipsy Wren.
“Alcohol really makes you bearable,” I tell Brody.
His lopsided smile widens. “Same, Wren.”
“Oh no, I’m cool all the time. You’re just too busy screwing everyone you can to realise how awesome I am.”
“Is that so?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You might look like every guy’s wet dream, Wren, but you’re still my best friend’s annoying little sister.”
I don’t know if I’m flattered or insulted. With the buzz I have going on, I don’t even care.
“First, how dare you call me annoying. Second, I’m not little anymore. Third, the wet dream thing is kind of gross.”
“Please. I bet you’re turned on, knowing I’ve wanked over you.”
What the fuck?
“Brody!” I choke. My face feels like it’s been thrown in a fire. “Tell me you’re joking.” He’s done that over me?
He shrugs lazily. “You’ve never gotten yourself off while thinking about me?”
“The only thing I’ve gotten from thinking about you is nausea.”
He shakes his head. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Why is he telling me this?
I’m Luke’s annoying little sister. He said so himself, like, ten seconds ago. He’s tanked. I wish I were as wasted as him.
I can’t believe he’s ever thought of me like that.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” he asks. “Are you embarrassed?”
“I’m not embarrassed.”
“Then, what is it?”
“If what you’re saying is true, I still don’t believe it. You’ve always been such an arsehole to me.”
He snorts. “You’re intelligent, Wren. Figure it out.”
“You’re not picky? Any hole’s a goal? I’m off-limits because of Luke?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Want to get out of here? We’re out of beer.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, swinging my legs over the bed and standing up.
I feel good, though a little fuzzy.
“A bar.”
“You’re taking me to a bar?”
“Luke can never know. In fact, none of them can.” He folds his arms.
“I have no intention of telling my brother or sister. If they had their way, I’d be confined to this hotel at night until we fly home.” Not that it would suck to stay in this massive hotel with all its restaurants, shops, and entertainment, but I want to experience Vegas.
“Good, because he’d have my balls.”
“That’s supposed to discourage me?”
“Do you want to go out or not?”
I fold my arms, too. “You have to take me out.”
“Have to?”
“Unless you want to explain to my brother why we’re both drunk and in my hotel room together?”
He blinks heavily. “You’re blackmailing me?”
“Please. If I were going to blackmail you, it would be for something better than going to a bar.”
Smirking, he shakes his head, amusement clear in his eyes. “I’m not sure what to think about this new side to you.”
“This isn’t a new side to me, Brody. You just don’t know me.”
He’s quiet for a second, thinking about my words. We might have grown up together, but we don’t really know each other. Our parents got close when they met in the playground, and Brody and Luke could probably finish each other’s sentence—they know each other that well. Brody and I are practically strangers.
“You’re right. Maybe we should change that,” he says.
“My favourite colour is blue, I’m scared of spiders that are big enough to eat your face, I have no idea what I’m going to do now that I’ve finished school, I don’t like people who lie, and my first relationship was a disaster.” Or Niall was a disaster. Wanker.
“I knew the colour thing. And your ex wore Nickelback T-shirts, so of course that didn’t last.”
Laughing, I turn to face him.
He’s smirking at me. At least it’s not his usual scowl.
“Don’t even think about trying it on with me in this bar,” I warn.
“I wouldn’t dare.”
Snorting, I walk past him and mutter, “Pussy.”
I don’t turn around, but I can practically hear him rolling his eyes at me.
“What would you do if Luke walked out of the lift right now?” I ask as we wait for it to travel up to our level.
“Knock you out and pretend that I got a call saying you fainted.”
“That’s a little dark, Brody.”
He shrugs. “You asked.”
“You would knock me out?”
“Why the fuck are we talking about this, Wren?” Shaking his head, he stares a hole into the doors of the lift, waiting for them to open.
“Excuse me for making conversation.”
“You’re making me crazy. That’s it.”
“Well, that’s just a bonus.”
He mutters something under his breath. I don’t hear what because the lift dings. Brody stomps in first and jabs his finger into the L button.
I step inside and grin wide at him. The miserable shit needs to lighten up a bit.
“We’re going to have so much fun,” I tell him.
His lips force a sarcastic smile like he doesn’t believe me one bit.
Challenge accepted.
Chapter 9
Brody
I roughly rub my face. Sleep didn’t come until closer to four in the morning because of Wren.
The little fucker can’t see that that Southern guy is only after one thing. She’s putting herself in danger, drinking underage and meeting up with someone she doesn’t know. He told her he’s nineteen, but he could be in his late twenties for all she fucking knows. He got served, which means he either has a fake ID or he’s older than he said.
Foreign country, alone, eighteen, strange guy. Do the fucking math, Wren.
So, last night, I brought her beer and took her out.
Yes, bad idea, I know.
Unfortunately, I can’t lie to myself. I had more fun in that dingy bar than I’d had in a flashy club with the others.
Tonight, she’s not going to be alone in her room again. Yeah, we’re having a replay—only this time, she won’t get any time alone beforehand.
After dinner and a show, we’re supposed to go out without her again. She plans to watch a movie and order ice cream on room service. I’m not falling for that bullshit. If I hadn’t turned up, she definitely would have gone out.
Tonight, I’m leaving the others straightaway, not giving Wren any time to get in trouble. Tomorrow, Emma and Felicity will have to do something with her. Then, the pool-
bar prick will be gone, and things can return to normal.
I shower and get dressed. We’re meeting in the restaurant for breakfast before going on a hot air balloon ride. It was a late addition to our schedule and something that Wren can do, too.
I don’t like leaving her. This feeling is new, and I don’t hate it.
Opening my door at the same time as Wren, I frown at the scowl on her face. “What’s up with you?”
“I’m hungry. Your sister and my sister are being ridiculous.”
Folding my arms, I let my door slam shut behind me. “What have they done?”
“They’re curling their hair. Both of them. We’re about to go up in a balloon ride. Who does that? They’re intelligent… or they’re supposed to be. Do they not think it will be windy?” she rants, her scowl more prominent the more she speaks.
Waving my hand towards the lift, I reply, “Okay, let’s get you fed.”
“I’ve always liked you the most. No Luke or Mase yet?”
I shrug as we begin to walk towards the lift. “They might be down already.”
Wren jams her finger into the call button.
“You looking forward to your movie night?” I ask her, raising my eyebrow.
The lift doors slide open.
She walks in first. “I’ll be a good girl.”
“Why don’t I believe that?”
I follow her in and press L on the wall.
“Mummy issues?”
“I don’t have mummy issues.”
“Trust issues?”
I raise my eyes to the ceiling. “Or those.”
“Why do you care so much what I do?”
Letting my eyes drop to her, I hold back the urge to stop the fucking lift. “You think I don’t care if some guy takes advantage of you?”
“That’s a bit dramatic. What if I want to sleep with Dale?”
“Do you?”
The lift stops, and it’s only then that I realise we’re not alone. Wren smirks, sensing my unease. There is an elderly couple in the corner, watching us.
I grab Wren’s arm and quickly tug her out of the lift. It’s not easy to do since she’s doubled over, laughing.
“You’re not funny,” I growl.
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