by Lacey Black
Samuel clears his throat. “Thank you.”
I back away, even though I’d much rather throw my arms around his shoulders and shimmy up his body like a squirrel. “You’re welcome. Apparently, I’m right next door if you should need anything.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he states, gathering up his belongs and stepping into the room. He stops, though, before he’s completely over the threshold. “I, uh, am right next door too. Obviously. So if you need help, or anything, uh, let me know,” he stammers.
“Thanks, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
He nods, swallows hard, and steps farther into the room. I turn my back to him and head next door. I use my own keycard, gathering up all my crap off the floor as I balance the weight of the door. I’m bent over when I hear a hiss behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I find Samuel still there, staring at me.
Or specifically, my ass.
Warmth spreads through my chest as our eyes connect. His widen just a sliver as he straightens his necktie. “I was just making sure you got into your room safely.” Then, he turns and disappears, the loud echo of his door shutting filling the hallway.
Just making sure I got into my room safe?
By staring at my ass?
Sure, Sammy.
That’s what they all say.
Chapter Five
Samuel
The auditorium is packed by the time we finally get through the ticket line and security. Show, then dinner. The guys all head to the next line, a concession stand that serves over-priced beer, while the girls make a bathroom stop and plan to meet us at our seats. Even though I’m the only single guy here, somehow, it’s assumed I’m with Freedom for the evening. She basically just walked up to me, told me to get her a beer, patted me on the chest, and walked away.
Typical Freedom.
I have two draft beers and a bag of popcorn as I follow behind the guys to our seats. I’m surprised when I find us heading down toward the floor, and even more shocked when I find the ladies waiting for us in the third row. “Damn, these are nice seats,” my brother, Jensen, says as he hands his fiancée, Kathryn, a beer. Marissa and Rhenn also follow behind me.
“Aren’t they? Mom scored big time,” Harper replies, wearing the same smile she’s had since her Las Vegas destination wedding festivities began.
I slip down the aisle, finding Mom and Latham’s parents, Kitty and Bud. They’re chatting animatedly about the show, discussing the bio in the book they purchased on David Copperfield. Reserved, I take the empty seat between my mom and Freedom, who quickly relieves me of one of my drinks. “Oh, you got popcorn too. Good thinkin’, Sammy!”
She reaches for the popcorn, but I hold it up out of her reach. She’s quite a bit shorter than my six-foot frame, so it’s easy to keep the salty treat out of her grasp. What I wasn’t expecting was for her to literally climb onto my lap to get it. Her long skirt pools at her thighs and I catch a glimpse of her bare ankles. Without truly knowing why, I find myself hard. And staring at those fucking ankles like a crazy man who hasn’t seen a woman in decades.
“Freedom?” I whisper, grateful everyone around us seems to be lost in their own conversations.
“Yes?” Her warm breath hits me square in the neck and sends a shiver through my body. My overly heated, too responsive body.
“Why are you on my lap?”
“Why are you keeping the popcorn from me?”
Realizing I’m still holding it up and out of her reach, I lower the tub, setting it between us. Freedom dives right in and doesn’t seem to care at all that she’s still sitting on my lap, practically straddling my erection and munching on popcorn like it’s no big deal. “Oh, you added extra butter salt, didn’t you?” she asks between bites. Usually, I’d be a little grossed out and a whole lot offended if a woman devoured her food, licking her fingers, and moaning in orgasmic food delight, but not this time. This time, I’m aroused. So fucking aroused, and the worst part is my mom is sitting right beside me.
I clear my throat, that fact like a cold bucket of water thrown on my head, and move Freedom off my lap. She doesn’t really say anything, or seem to notice for that matter, and continues licking the butter salt off her fingers and sipping her beer. No, not sipping. Ladies sip. Freedom devours. She consumes, and again, I don’t understand why that image kicks my libido into overdrive.
“So, you don’t like magic,” she says between bites. “Why not? Scared as a young, impressionable child?”
I take my own drink of beer, grimacing a little at the brand I’m not too fond of. “No, nothing like that. Magic is just an illusion. It’s not real.”
“But it’s real fun to watch, even if it’s as fake as Darci Montgomery’s tits.”
Her words register a split second before the beer in my mouth comes back out. Everyone turns to look at me as I try to wipe the wetness from my chin. Thank Christ no one was sitting in the seats in front of us yet, or they’d be wearing piss beer all over the backs of their heads. “Jesus, Freedom.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s true. She claimed she was away to some fancy spa for a long girls’ weekend, but we all know where she was. No one goes to the spa a B-cup and returns a D with pointy nipples. If that doesn’t scream surgically enhanced, I don’t know what does.”
“If you say so,” I mumble, refusing to think about Darci’s breasts. Instead, my mind slithers on over to another pair. Ones that are small, yet perky and would fit perfectly in my palm.
No, Samuel. We are not thinking about Freedom’s breasts.
Oh, yes, we are.
And they’re fucking fabulous.
I inwardly groan just as the stage goes dark. Everyone files into their seats and the show begins, the magician taking the stage. Freedom whistles—you know, one of those eardrum piercing loud noises that makes dogs howl—and claps her hands, spilling her beer. On my pantleg. There’s no time for me to grumble or even brush off the excessive liquid as Mr. Copperfield starts to perform.
Admittedly, his show is fascinating, even if it is all a complete pile of crap. The crowd is enthralled, especially Freedom. The bright lights of the stage seem to reflect in her eyes, lighting up her entire pretty face as much as her smile does. I find myself studying her profile, from her narrow chin to her high cheekbones. She’s wearing minimal makeup, as always, and has her hair pulled up in a high ponytail. She’s wearing at least four necklaces and twice as many bracelets, and on anyone else, it would probably look at little weird. But on Freedom, it looks…normal. Pretty. Sexy, even.
“Las Vegas is the birthplace of sin and love. Might I have one lovely couple come on stage and assist me with my next trick?” David says to the crowd, and just about every hand in the joint flies in the air. “Ahh, yes, you two. Come on up,” he adds, pointing down our row. I realize it’s my sister and future brother-in-law who are being escorted onto the stage for the next part of David’s show.
Freedom lets another whistle fly as our family cheers for Harper and Latham. He has her hand as he helps her navigate the stairs and step onto the stage. “Good evening. You are?”
“I’m Harper and this is my fiancé, Latham,” my sister practically beams at the famous magician.
“Fiancé, huh? You sure you want to marry this guy?” David asks, clearly teasing, but getting a huge rise from the audience.
“I do,” she giggles. Latham, on the other hand, pulls my sister into his side and seems to size up the man in front of him.
“When’s the big day?” Mr. Copperfield asks, as his assistant brings out the tools for his next bit.
“Tomorrow evening,” Latham announces proudly.
“Tomorrow, huh? Still plenty of time to change your mind,” David says, nudging my sister and giving her a wink. “You know, if say, Latham here…disappeared!”
The crowd goes wild at the concept of watching Latham disappear, while the look on his face isn’t so lighthearted. Latham looks a little concerned, in fact, and I admit, it matches my own feelin
gs.
“Latham,” David starts, throwing his arm over Latham’s shoulder and guiding him toward the big box in the middle of the stage. “You’re going to go for a little…ride. But don’t worry, I’ll bring you back!”
The crowd explodes with excitement as Latham steps up to the large, white box in the middle of the stage. Before Latham even knows what’s happening, he’s being blindfolded by the assistant, and shoved inside the box, with lid ready to close. “Give your fiancée a kiss goodbye,” David announces with a laugh.
Then, the lid shuts and Harper is left on the stage with a big white box and a magician who’s about to make her fiancé vanish. “Harper, sweetheart, you’re going to do the honors. Are you ready? We’re going to count to three and with each number, I want you to knock on the box lid. Can you do that?”
She nods, her eyes wide with excitement and even a little fear as she gets ready to make the man she loves disappear. “Are you ready?” he asks.
“One,” everyone counts, while Harper knocks on the lid.
“Two.”
“Three!”
When she knocks the third time, David rips open the lid to reveal the empty box in the middle of the stage. The crowd goes wild as they spin the box, showing no holes, no trick doors. My stomach knots as I think about Latham disappearing from the stage. Everyone else seems to be happy he’s gone, clapping along and cheering for the magician. I’ll admit, it’s a cool trick, but at the same time, there’s a logical explanation as to where he went.
No one just disappears.
“Thank you so much, Harper. You can take your seat and we’ll move on with the show,” David says, turning and walking away.
“Uh, but what about Latham?” she asks, a nervousness filling her laugh.
“Oh, you mean the big guy you thought you’d be marrying tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Him.”
“He’s in the box,” David says with a shrug.
“What box?”
David Copperfield points to the big white box that’s still in the middle of the stage. “That box.”
Harper runs over to it, pulls on the lid and reveals a smiling Latham. She throws her arms around his neck and kisses him hard, in front of God and an auditorium full of half-drunks. David claps, helps Latham back out of the box, and points to the stairs at the end of the stage. “Thank you so much, Latham and Harper. Have a wonderful wedding tomorrow,” he says before moving on with the rest of his show.
“That was amazing. I can’t believe he made Latham disappear,” Freedom boasts.
“He didn’t make him disappear. It was an illusion,” I insist, finally taking a few pieces of popcorn.
“Well, he definitely was not in the box the first time he opened it,” she maintains, reaching down and grabbing a handful of my snack. Our hands touch, that familiar electricity coursing through my blood at Mach speed. It’s recognizable, and a total nuisance at the same time. I’ve dealt with it for longer than I’d like to admit.
The show proceeds, Freedom talking off and on throughout. I make a conscious effort not to let our hands touch in the popcorn because it feels like a tsunami in my stomach every time they do. When something big happens on stage, she leans forward, her eyes wide with excitement, as she watches the reveal. Then, she hits me on the arm and explains what just happened, as if I didn’t see it with my own eyes. Truthfully, I missed a few of them because I was so wrapped up in watching her excitement play out.
When the show is finally over, all I can think about is getting back to my hotel room, ordering some room service, and maybe a cold shower. It has to be cold because if it were any other temperature, I’d be tempted to picture a certain brunette on her knees, lips wrapped around my cock, and bangle bracelets jangling in rhythm with my hip thrusts.
And that isn’t going to happen…
There’s no room for those images, I think as I discreetly adjust my rapidly growing erection behind my trousers’ zipper.
“Come on, Sammy, we’re headed to get something to eat.” Freedom says, leaving me in a precarious state.
“I’m not hungry,” I reply, just as my stomach decides to betray me, letting out a loud growl.
“Right,” Harper sings. “We’re going to a club down the street. The concierge recommended it. It’s got specialty burgers and steaks.”
“Come on, brother. Let’s go have a big, juicy steak,” Jensen says, slapping me on the back and pushing me up the aisle.
“I’m not eating steak,” Freedom adds. As if we don’t already know she doesn’t eat meat. She reminds us every time we have a cookout.
I lag behind our group as we fight our way out of the auditorium. Maybe they’ll proceed to their dinner destination without me. Not that I don’t want to join my family for a meal, but I’m still feeling a little off from the flight and I’m not sure I’d be good company. Plus, the constant earthy scent emanating from Freedom’s skin is fucking with me, like always.
“Let’s go,” Latham says when we finally smell the freedom of the night air.
Freedom. See? I can’t even step outside without somehow associating everything with her.
“We’re going back to the hotel for dinner. We’ll see you all tomorrow,” Mom announces, pulling away from our group, along with Latham’s parents.
“Are you sure?” Harper asks.
“Absolutely, You kids go have fun. We’ll meet you tomorrow for brunch in the hotel restaurant,” Kitty adds, walking over to give her son a hug.
“I’ll go with them,” I announce, ready to make a run for it. Just the thought of going to a club has me about ready to break out into hives.
“No way! You’re definitely coming with us,” Harper insists, latching onto my forearm with her little sister claws.
“But Mom…”
“I’ll be fine. I’m having dinner with the Douglases and then will be turning in to my room. No need to worry about me. Please, go with your siblings and enjoy yourself.” Mom gives me a smile, but retracts away from the group, letting me know there’s no room left for discussion.
Sighing, I turn toward my siblings. They’re all smiling widely. “We’re going to have fun, Samuel,” Marissa insists, Rhenn wrapping his arm around her shoulder and guiding her toward the club.
Fun.
Right.
I fall into step with the rest and walk the two blocks to the club. The lower floor is a restaurant and bar, while the top two floors are for dancing. Latham gives our name to the hostess, thanks to our hotel concierge for making the reservation, and we are led to a big round booth in back. Music from the floors above filters down, but not in the can’t-talk way. Instead, it seems to add to the dark ambiance and comfortable experience.
“This place is great,” Harper beams, taking her menu from the hostess.
“I can’t wait to get upstairs,” Latham croons over the music. Her eyes light up with excitement and I have to look away. They’re clearly sharing a private moment, and I don’t want to be subjected to it.
Our waiter arrives, delivering glasses of water and a smile he offers right to Freedom. My gut tightens when she returns the gesture, and I have no clue why. Freedom isn’t mine, and if this guy wants to flirt with her, so be it. Yet, at the same time, that thought makes me want to rip off his arm and beat him to death with it.
It’s confusing as hell.
Latham orders a round of Patrón for our group while we browse the menu. The ladies are all excited, ready to let go and have fun in Vegas, while all I can think about is how we’re going to all get safely home and how often they clean the club bathrooms. No way am I taking a shot of anything, let alone Patrón.
“No thanks.” I wave my hand as the shot glasses are passed out.
“You have to,” Jensen states, pushing my hand away and setting the little glass in front of me.
“I do not. I’m not five.”
“We’re celebrating!” Harper bellows.
“We haven’t eaten yet. It’ll go straight to our
heads,” I argue, refusing to even glance at the tiny glass of temptation.
“Exactly,” Latham replies, raising his hand.
“Please,” Harper whines. Yes, whines. That over-the-top fake voice that some use to get their way. She used it all the time when we were little, so no surprise she’d pull it out now for this special occasion.
I push the glass to Rhenn, who’s sitting next to me. “You do my shot.”
“Hell no, my friend. You’re in this with us,” he deflects, pushing it back my way.
Suddenly, I feel her hand creep across my thigh. I jump so hard I hit my knee on the bottom of the table, making everyone around me jump. “Shoot, sorry,” I mumble, refusing to glance to the vixen beside me. The one who’s digging her nails into my thigh hard…and harder…and, “Ouch!”
She just smiles sweetly at me, fluttering her long lashes like it’s her job. “Sammy, please take the shot.”
My heart jumps around in my chest as I stare at the only woman to make me want to put liquid death into my body. Yes, death. One time, a long, long time ago, I almost died from alcohol consumption, but if you ever tell anyone, I’ll deny it until my last breath.
Realizing it’s a futile point, I sigh my resignation and reach for the glass. “Fine. One shot.”
“Yay!” Marissa and Harper both cheer as they raise their glasses with the rest of us.
“To Harper and Latham and a long, happy marriage,” Jensen toasts.
“Cheers!” we salute, bringing our glasses to our lips.
Cool liquid hits my lips and throat as I toss the alcohol back. The first thing I notice is the smell. It’s smooth, just like the taste, yet I know they’re both deceiving. The contents of my glass are about to hit me like a sucker punch to the gut, especially on a mostly empty stomach. I set my glass down on the tabletop as warmth spreads through my blood. It could be from the liquor. It could be from the hand. Yes, Freedom’s hand that still rests on my thigh. No, she’s not digging her nails into my flesh, but she hasn’t moved it yet either.
For some reason, I don’t say a word.