Scotty let go, and for the first time since he’d broken it off, Marlee realized that once upon a time she’d loved him. And he’d always said he loved her more. And there was a time when it wasn’t on autopilot. He’d said it and they’d both believed it.
“Why did you say I was the best thing that ever happened to you?” And now she was crying again. Tears trailed down her cheeks.
He didn’t answer. Only shook his head.
This was the last time, the very last time, she’d ever cry over him. He didn’t deserve her tears. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.
“Sadie, you’ll watch her? Make sure it doesn’t happen again? She’ll probably need another puff in a minute and then her steroid treatment tonight.” Scotty’s voice was rougher than usual.
Scotty didn’t need to brief them. Marlee could manage this on her own.
“We’ve got this,” Eli replied. Sometime in the middle of everything, he’d picked up Lothario and held him in his grip.
“Then I’ll just…” Scotty shook his head and moved to the office, closing the door behind him.
“So… Vegas?” Sadie linked her arm tighter with Marlee’s.
Marlee nodded.
Yes, Vegas was sounding better and better.
Chapter Four
When Eli had woken up that morning, he’d expected to spend the day prepping the four-course meal for Marlee’s wedding. Nowhere, in any of the many recesses of his brain, had he even considered that he’d end the day with his jean-clad ass on a leather bench seat of a hot-pink Lincoln stretch limousine, a crystal champagne flute in his hand, purple lights flashing over his head, and a chihuahua with his leg in a cast passed out on his sneakers. All while they cruised the Vegas Strip and his baby sister chattered away with her three best friends about all the shit he did not need to know.
“Whatever happened to that guy with the goatee?” Becca asked Sadie.
She flinched and shook her head. “It was a no go.”
“’cause he had that whole foot thing she wasn’t into,” Kellie said as though Eli wasn’t sitting there and they weren’t discussing his little sister.
He shivered at the thought of Sadie and a guy with a goatee or any kind of foot thing.
“I’m right here, ladies.” Eli pointed to his chest.
“Jump right on in anytime.” Kellie leaned over the space between their bench seats and faux whispered in his personal space, “You’re just one of the girls this weekend.”
And wasn’t that fun?
“When did that happen with Goatee Guy? I thought you two were trying to make it work?” Marlee was in her element with her girlfriends, all thoughts of Scotty clearly pushed aside for the trip.
But Eli had been there during her asthma attack, had a first-row seat to Scotty jumping right in to help her, and the look in Marlee’s eyes when it registered that what they had was ending. All the declarations from before breakfast about her being over him dissolved like an antacid in a tall glass of bubbly. Marlee had put on a good front, recovered from the slip quickly, Eli gave her that. But he could see Scotty’s damage. And he was pretty sure Scotty saw it, too. Not that he felt bad for the guy—but he’d looked like Lothario must’ve when the bike tire got him.
Eli tossed back the exceptionally expensive champagne in his glass.
He shouldn’t have crashed the girls’ weekend. But at the same time, he didn’t want to end up on a twelve-hour emergency drive to bail them out of trouble when the call came in. Sadie might be a successful attorney these days, Kellie an accountant, Becca a—what the hell did Becca do for work?—but when the four of them all got together, they had a history of not making the best choices.
Case in point? Three years ago, they’d all decided to go zip-lining for their semiannual meet-up and not one of them had considered filling the gas tank before heading up to Idaho Springs. The whole batch of them got stuck on the side of the mountain, and he’d been the one on call to bring Marlee’s Jaguar F-Pace a fresh tank of gasoline. Or—and he still had no idea how this one even happened—two years ago when Marlee and Kellie had managed to handcuff themselves together using Kellie’s then cop-boyfriend’s work-issued handcuffs. Becca had swallowed the key, for reasons still unknown. Eli had ended up sawing off the bracelets with a hacksaw.
Yep, these girls in Sin City required on-site supervision.
Also, the four of them hadn’t given him any choice in his attendance. Marlee had booked his ticket before he’d given the A-OK.
Marlee leaned over and refilled his glass of bubbly. “Don’t you look reflective.”
“Thinking of all the times I’ve had to bail out your asses over the years.” Thank fuck they only got together twice a year. Well, three times this year since Marlee had the whole wedding shindig going on.
“You love us.” Marlee maneuvered herself to sit next to him.
Even though Marlee was from old money in Denver, her parents had believed attending public school for a few years would be good for her. Show her that it’s not all about a bank account. That’s how she’d met her friends. They’d spent their teenage years getting into trouble together, and he’d bet her parents rethought that stance on public school more than once throughout those years. But by that time, it’d been too late.
“What would you do without us keeping you on your toes?” Marlee asked.
“I would read a book, Mar.” He took the most masculine sip of fizzy booze that he could manage. “Maybe take up golf.”
She flinched. Golf was Scotty’s game.
Shit.
“I would’ve hated the golf, so you saved me from that.” He tried for recovery.
“At least there’s good champagne.” She held up the cloth napkin–wrapped bottle, little rivulets of condensation soaking the black label underneath her manicured thumb.
Eli really would’ve preferred a beer. Or a couple fingers of whiskey. But Marlee didn’t skimp, and he was personally affronted by anyone who would let good Dom Pérignon go to waste.
His phone buzzed beside him.
Jase.
Eli glanced over the message. His buddy Jase had an engagement party coming up next week. Since his fiancée was out with her girls, Jase wanted to know if Eli could hang out at their other buddy’s—Brek’s—bar that night. Yes, Eli wanted to. He sagged in the seat, tilted his head toward the ceiling of the car, and stared at the purple lights above. He’d made his Vegas bed when he shoved his duffle bag into the overhead compartment and sat his ass in one of the first-class seats Marlee had splurged on for all of them.
He tossed back the rest of his champagne and held it out to Marlee for a refill.
She didn’t hesitate.
“You know what we should do?” Sadie asked. “We should play the game we made up that time in Cabo. Remember?”
“The dare game.” Becca squealed. “I forgot about that. Let’s do it.”
“This game sounds like it’s going to end with one, or all, of us making regrettable decisions.” Eli balanced the flute of champagne on his knee.
“Of course, it will.” Becca topped off her champagne. “That’s the point. Marlee needs to loosen up after the day she’s had.”
“And we literally packed up all of her possessions in less than two hours,” Kellie chimed in. “So, I think, we all need a bit of fun.”
“That wasn’t all of my possessions,” Marlee said with a huff.
“Enough of them that we deserve some unwind time,” Kellie amended.
“Okay, so”—Marlee flashed a pair of jazz hands—“I’ve been thinking. Since Scotty is out of the picture, I need to get my life back together. Step one, come to Vegas.”
“Step two, play the dare game.” Becca lifted her cup.
“What’s step three?” Eli asked, more than a little afraid of the answer.
“Step three is to be determined.” Marlee nodded like she was totally in charge of her life.
Becca poured more champagne, listing a bit to the righ
t. “I like getting Marlee’s life back together. We should get her life back together every few months.”
“Who’s going to go first?” Sadie’s gaze shifted between all of them, landing on Eli. “Boys first.”
“I don’t even know how to play the game.” And he would bet he was better off for it.
Becca’s cheeks were already a tad drunk-flushed. “It’s easy. You just dare one of us to do something. Then we do it.”
Well, that was a stupid game.
“It’s like truth or dare, but no truth questions.” Marlee leaned in, poking him with her elbow. “Unless you want truth questions instead. It’s been awhile since we played. We can make new rules.”
“I dare any of you?” Eli asked. “Anything I want?”
“And when that person is done, they dare someone else.” Becca dug through the limo’s minibar.
This game might actually work out okay if he played it right. “I dare all of you to leave me at the hotel with a six-pack of beer and free cable while you spend the next few hours at the spa.” The Broncos were playing. He could still catch the game. And the girls could have their fun at a spa—they’d spent a large portion of the flight detailing all they wanted to get done there. Win. Win. Win. And no one had to hit the craps table.
“No.” Marlee dropped the bottle of champagne in the silver bucket beside the minibar. “Since I’m the jilted bride, I reserve the right to veto any and all dares.”
“It’s true,” Sadie said over a sip of Dom. “I think we wrote that in the rules when we first played.”
“You”—Eli pointed a finger at her—“lie.”
“Maybe, but we haven’t added the truth portion of the game.” Sadie shrugged.
“New rule. Since Eli’s dare was rejected by Marlee, he has to answer a question.” Becca was having way too much fun making up rules to a nonexistent game.
“I have one.” Sadie winked at him. “What’s your beef with relationships?”
They were going to play all their cards right up front then.
“I don’t have any beef with relationships.” Question answered. Onward.
“That’s not true. You have to tell the truth.” Sadie shook her head slowly.
“You have to tell the truth or we all get a question,” Becca said, a bundle of cheer and made-up rules.
“I’ll go next,” Kellie said. “Why aren’t you ever in relationships if you don’t have any beef with them?”
“I already answered my question.” He poured himself another glass. Looked like he’d need it. “No more questions.”
“We all get a question,” Marlee announced. “Marlee’s trip, Marlee’s rules.”
“I don’t like this game.” Eli leveled a glare at his sister, hoping maybe blood would run thicker than champagne and she would take his side on this.
“Don’t look at me, bud.” Sadie pinched her lips into a thin smile. She was enjoying this way too much.
Marlee rolled her eyes and made a sour face. “There has to be some benefit to all the crap that happened today.”
They wanted to know why he didn’t do the commitment thing? He didn’t do relationships because he didn’t do long term. He didn’t do long term because he didn’t want anyone to rely on him. He’d done that dance and had the permanent bruises stomped onto his feet to prove it. He didn’t have any desire for a repeat. Things worked out better when it was just number one and number one alone. He did what he wanted. Came and went when he wanted. And no one was there to tell him he should do things differently.
With four pairs of eyes trained on him, he decided to go with the easiest dodge he could find. “I’ve just never met anyone worth the effort.”
Partially true. Not a lie. But also not the entire truth.
“Okay, my question next,” Marlee announced. “If you had to shag one of us, which one would it be and why? Sadie is excluded from the scenario, for obvious reasons.”
Eli met Marlee’s gaze, a fire sparking in her eyes. It may have only been a question, but it sure as hell felt like a dare. “All of you. Can’t pick just one, it wouldn’t be fair.”
Sadie snorted.
“Eli is the worst at this game,” Becca huffed. “New rule, let’s move on.”
Let’s move on was a rule? How was that a rule?
“I’ll go next. Since he picked me to shag.” Kellie rubbed her hands together like she was about to have a lot of fun with this one.
“I picked all of you.” Eli leaned back against the leather seat as they pulled up to the Bellagio, the champagne bubbling through his bloodstream.
“But we know you meant me.” Kellie leaned forward to pat his leg. “I’m going to dare Marlee.”
Kellie didn’t get further than that before the limo reached the bell station.
A bellman opened the door to let them escape the confines of the dare-ridden limousine. And not a moment too soon.
“Ms. Medford?” he asked.
“That’s me.” Marlee lifted a sleepy Lothario, tucking him in her handbag. His head stuck out over the top as she slid from the vehicle. “I’m the perpetual Ms. Medford.”
“Welcome to the Bellagio.” The bellman held his hand out to help her steady herself on those insane platform heels. “The penthouse is ready for you and your guests.”
Marlee had reserved the penthouse for them?
Of course, she had. She was Marlee.
“Kellie?” Marlee asked once they were all out of the limo and headed inside the marble lobby. “Let’s get this party started.” She turned to her friend. “Present your dare.”
Those were usually famous last words, but he was there to ensure, this time, they wouldn’t be.
Kellie held up her cell phone. “It’s almost amateur hour at the strip joint near Fremont Street.”
“I’m not hearing a dare in that.” Marlee blinked with an innocence he knew was utter bullshit.
Kellie cleared her throat. “I dare you take a turn on the pole.”
“Fun.” Marlee did a shoulder lift and sauntered toward the concierge.
Well. Fuck.
Chapter Five
Marlee never would’ve thought dancing with a pole could be so freeing. And yet, she was having the best time with her girlfriends—and Eli. Of course, Lothario was there, too. Given the amount they’d had to drink, the dog was the official designated sober one.
They’d moved on to the next jaunt of their evening of fun, and it involved tattoos.
The tattoo parlor near the strip joint Kellie had discovered specialized in both permanent and henna tats. Also, adult toys and an impressive variety of condoms, it seemed. Who freaking knew there were so many kinds of protection? After the girls had all had a turn on the pole, Becca’s dare landed them right there in the tattoo shop.
“It says if you use a little lemon juice and salt, it’ll come right off.” Marlee searched through the Google app on her phone to find out how Eli might remove the henna facial tattoo before it wore down on its own after approximately four weeks.
Not that he’d asked her to look it up for him, but she’d seen the expression on the un-inked half of his face when he looked into the mirror after the tattoo artist was done. Red henna ink made its way across one side of his forehead, along his jaw, and down his chin in a tribal pattern.
That expression? The one on Eli’s face when he saw the handiwork in the mirror? Yeah, not a look of joy.
Then again, Eli rarely had a look of joy. He was a man with a practiced look of indifference. Like, if he were a bouncer, he would have always had his bouncer face on. You either knew exactly where you stood with Eli or had no idea at all.
She thumbed through the other ideas the Internet presented for henna removal. “You can also try rubbing alcohol, but that’s hell on your pores, so avoid that.”
When she’d been a teenager, she’d had a bout of acne that the prescription stuff wasn’t touching, so she’d tried rubbing alcohol. It’d stripped the hell out of her skin. She’d sworn nev
er to do that again. Always go straight for the laser treatments. Don’t mess with the creams.
“No rubbing alcohol, got it.” Eli spun the display rack of condoms so that the plastic packages rattled together. He chugged a swig from the beer bottle in his other hand. “I’ll save the alcohol for my liver.”
On their way to the tattoo parlor, they’d hit up one of the convenience stores to keep the alcohol flowing, hence the beer in Eli’s fist and the vodka shooters tucked in Marlee’s cleavage. Everyone was getting matching real tattoos—a little heart right below one of their ankle bones. Everyone but Eli, who had said no to the real deal and ended up with the regrettable henna covering half of his face instead.
The whole thing was Becca’s dare, but the heart was Marlee’s idea. The henna facial tattoo was Sadie’s.
The heart tattoo meant a lot to Marlee. The official third step of Marlee’s new life plan. If there was anything she’d learned in the past twenty-four hours, it was that she couldn’t rely on a man for happily ever after. There was no great love story for her, but her friends would always be there for her. They were her happily ever after. They would have to be her great love story.
“We’ll save the rubbing alcohol as a last resort.” Marlee tucked the phone in her bra. “The pores on your face are actually really delicate.”
“My pores are delicate?” Eli leaned against the counter. Taunting. Sexy.
Blah. No.
Finding Eli sexy had no place in getting her life back in order. Besides, nothing about Eli was delicate, and she absolutely couldn’t think of him as sexy, even if he was. Her hormones were just all jacked up from the jilting. This was simply a touch of the cliché best-friend’s-brother infatuation.
The fact that the face ink was ridiculously hot on Eli was merely a universal truth. Undisputable. It had nothing to do with Marlee’s desire to rebel. Not. A. Thing.
Marlee shook off the inventory of his hotness scale.
“Not just your pores are delicate, everyone’s are,” she said. There, that sounded normal. Not like she’d been checking him out…or thinking about how he was there, and she was there, and he was standing right next to a whole tower of safe sex, and she had vodka in her bra, and that sounded like a lot of fun.
Take It Off the Menu: A sizzling, accidentally married rom com! (Mile High Matched, Book 3) (A Mile High Matched Novel) Page 4