The Lucky Ones

by Cross, Cassie

  Which is definitely not where we have reservations.

  “Aren’t we staying at Caesar’s?” I ask dumbly, basically to anyone in this car who will answer my question.

  “No, ma’am,” the driver replies. “Your reservations are actually here, courtesy of Miss McLane.”

  I rub the bridge of my nose. I should’ve known Skye would try to work some kind of magic here. I look over at Jordan to…I don’t know, apologize or something, but he doesn’t look nearly as annoyed as someone who likes plans as much as he does should.

  “Did you know about this?”

  He shrugs helplessly. “A little?”

  The car comes to a stop under the portico, and the driver gets our bags out of the trunk before he tells me and Jordan that he’ll be picking us up late Sunday morning.

  “Sunday morning…I thought we were just here for one night?” I honestly don’t know whether to be irritated or excited by this turn of events. My brain is leaning toward irritated, but the rest of me is definitely excited. Traitor. “Was that you or Skye?”

  “Both of us,” he replies, picking up his bag and mine. “Fun and relaxation, remember? C’mon, there’s more.”

  * * *

  The more, it turns out, is a grand lake view suite. One full side of it is nothing but windows, overlooking the strip and the fountains. There’s a living area, a dining room, two bedrooms—thank god Skye wasn’t obvious enough to get us only one—a wet bar, and more. I could probably fit my whole apartment in my ensuite bathroom.

  My best friend is a movie star, so it’s not like I haven’t stayed in amazing places before, but when you’re presented with something like this out of nowhere, it seems even better somehow.

  I text Skye a thank you, because I know she would kill me if I interrupted this weekend to call her. I also make it known that I’m not sure whether I should want to hug her or strangle her.

  She tells me I can do both so long as I have a good time this weekend.

  Not having a good time seems impossible.

  When the concierge leaves Jordan and I to our own devices, I look over at him accusingly. “So, you and Skye did this? You two were in cahoots? You cahooted?”

  He laughs. “Don’t let River hear you say that.”

  I roll my eyes. “Jordan.”

  “Okay, yes, we were in cahoots. We’re just two people who wanted you to take a break and we figured the only way we could do it was to trick you into it by tying it with something work-related.”

  Hearing it presented to me like this gives me a whole new outlook on the kind of life I’ve been living. That my friends thought they had to trick me into a mini vacation is pretty sad, but what’s even sadder is that they’re right.

  Under any other circumstances, I probably wouldn’t have come willingly.

  Now her insistence on packing my clothes makes more sense. She wanted to make sure I came here with everything I needed.

  “I think I had a meeting on my calendar for tomorrow afternoon,” I say. And wow, how pathetic.

  “You didn’t, I checked. No more thinking about work. And to make sure that you don’t, there’s a masseuse coming to give you a massage in five minutes.”

  After the initial shock wears off, I realize that in order to make it through this weekend, I’m just gonna have to expect the unexpected and go with the flow.

  “And then what?”

  He smiles, probably happy that I’m not fighting him. “And then dinner.”

  “Where?”

  He winks. “That’s a surprise.”

  “What should I wear?”

  “You’ll find out after the massage.”

  Okay, maybe I can’t do this go with the flow thing. “Jordan, what—”

  “Trust me,” he says. This long, meaningful look passes between us.

  “Always,” I whisper.

  He takes a step into my personal space and clasps my hand in his. He’s so close I have to crane my neck to look at him. “Enjoy your massage,” he says, giving my hand a squeeze. “I’ll meet you in the lobby when you’re done.” He lets go of my hand, his touch lingering as long as it can before distance breaks it.

  The lobby is an incredibly large general area in a place like this. “Where in the lobby?”

  He gives me a soft smile when he stops at the door. “You’ll know when you’re down there.”

  Chapter Four

  The masseuse is a very small woman named Ingrid who has the upper-body strength of a weightlifter. She’s a true master of her craft, because she locates my most tense areas like a heat-seeking missile, and works them out with ease that has me melting into the table that was set up in Jordan’s bedroom. There’s some kind of scent combo going on here—a mix of candles and oils, I think—that’s making me kind of loopy in a good way.

  I want to ask Ingrid if I can take her home with me.

  She works on me for an hour, then leaves with a generous tip. I get in the shower feeling better than I have in years, and when I’m all dried off and wrapped in a fluffy towel, I walk out into the bedroom to a dress bag draped across the bed.

  I can’t help but laugh. This is the kind of thing that happens to someone in one of those cheesy Christmas movies that I watch with Skye every December, not someone like me. I don’t get whisked off by a handsome man for long weekends with dinners in designer dresses.

  Well, now I guess I do.

  With the kind of reverence that I would reserve for a priceless relic, I unzip the bag and pull out a black charmeuse dress with a plunging neckline that gathers around the back of the neck, a cinched waist, and an asymmetrical hemline. The fabric feels like heaven. For the first time in a year or more I anxiously reach for my makeup bag and the large-barreled curling iron that Skye insisted I bring.

  She’s sneaky.

  I manage a quick but effective smoky eye, and gather my hair up in loose curls at the top of my head, wanting to show off that neckline. I finish the look off with a pair of simple diamond studs that Skye left for me and a pair of nude heels with crystals decorating the straps.

  I snap a pic of myself in the floor-length mirror because I want to remember it, and also because I know Skye will want to see.

  For a long time, I stare at my reflection, not really recognizing the person I see. She’s beautiful, she’s someone who looks completely de-stressed and happy. Light. She’s someone I haven’t seen in a really long time because I’ve stuffed her inside of a dark office and worked her to death to distract her from the man she’s head-over-heels in love with.

  This girl? She’s gonna have fun tonight.

  I tuck my phone, a lipstick, and a compact in the small clutch that was on the bed next to the dress bag, and head out to the lobby with butterflies in my stomach.

  I feel like I’m on my way to a date with the man of my dreams, only it’s not actually a date. It’s a dinner during a weekend that was meant to relax and distract me. I can’t let my mind or my heart run away with silly ideas.

  * * *

  I know I’ve done well with the whole look when I manage to turn quite a few heads on my way down to the hotel lobby. If I can manage to be a head turner in a sea of head turners, I figure I’m doing something right. A whole bunch of butterflies swarm my stomach, beating against my heart and my ribcage in anticipation of seeing Jordan.

  Correction: in anticipation of Jordan seeing me. Right now I look like such a far cry from the Kendall he knows that I can’t wait to see how he reacts to this version of me he hasn’t seen in a long, long time.

  Of course, I’m also pretty stoked about seeing what he’s wearing. He’ll probably be in a suit, and that man knows how to wear a suit.

  He told me that I’d know where to find him, and after a few minutes of thinking about it, I knew where he’d be. We’d come to Vegas for a convention a few years ago, and came here one day during a break in the schedule. We explored a little, but I was absolutely taken with the autumn display in the conservatory. He snapped a picture of
me cracking up laughing next to the display of bears digging into a honey jar. He printed it out and has it on his desk in his office.

  He says it’s his favorite picture of me, probably because I look like a complete goober. I’m certain it’ll be used in some kind of blackmail against me in the future.

  I head over to the conservatory, and sure enough, there he is. He’s in this amazing black suit that fits him so well it looks like it must be custom tailored. He’s wearing a red tie, and has his hands shoved in his pockets, looking like an freaking model.

  I take a couple steps closer, and he turns and looks in my direction, like he senses my presence. He looks absolutely stunned for a second, then his gaze settles on me and there’s barely concealed want in his eyes.

  It sends a rush right through me. This dress is magic.

  It’s cheesy, I know, but in that moment it’s just him and me, and the rest of the world falls away.

  Jordan’s the only one who’s ever been able to make me feel this way. It started from the moment I met him years ago, and these feelings I have for him have been following me around ever since. I’ve tried to date them away with men who couldn’t even remotely compare to him. It wasn’t a fair fight. And now here he is, looking at me like this, and I want to believe that Skye is right. I want to believe that he feels the same way about me. Moments like this one make me think it’s a possibility, but as soon as I start to get lost in it, the reality of our situation comes crashing down.

  There’s so much on the line that could be ruined if things didn’t work out.

  He smiles, and all those doubts melt away.

  “Wow,” he says, running the palm of his hand down the length of my arm. I don’t even know if he realizes that he’s done it, and the touch leaves goosebumps in its wake. His eyes drift down to take me in, lingering on the skin revealed by the plunging neckline.

  He reaches out to me again, like he wants to touch me everywhere at once and doesn’t know where to start.

  “Ken,” he breathes. “You’re beautiful.”

  “I feel beautiful,” I tell him, because he’s one of my best friends and he makes me feel beautiful. Especially when he looks at me like this. “This dress is perfect, Skye has amazing taste.”

  He lets out this amused laugh. “I picked out the dress.”

  “You did?”

  He takes another look at the plunging neckline, and that raw desire from earlier is back. Okay, maybe he did pick out this dress.

  “Yeah,” he says, voice rough. He takes my hand and leads me in a little twirl so he can get a good look at the back. The pad of his thumb runs across my knuckles before he places his hand on the small of my back, skin touching skin.

  “We need to get out of here before I drag you back upstairs.”

  He says it under his breath, like I’m not meant to hear it. But as he walks me out, his hand slung low on my back, the words ring in my ear, full of promise.

  Maybe this is a date after all.

  To hell with colossal disappointment.

  * * *

  The car service takes us across the street to Paris, Las Vegas.

  “I feel silly for not walking,” I tell him as he helps me out of the car.

  “It’s gonna be a long night,” he says, his voice full of promise. “Rest your feet while you can.”

  He slides his fingers through mine and holds tight as we walk inside the hotel, and doesn’t let go.

  We wind up at a romantic table in a quiet corner of the restaurant, with floor to ceiling windows and a view overlooking the fountains at the Bellagio.

  “How long ago did you have to make this reservation?” I ask.

  He straightens his tie, looking a little bashful. “Well, there are a few benefits to the knowing a famous person thing,” he explains. “And she may have name dropped to get us this table.”

  I laugh. “So did you guys plan this trip together?”

  “It was mostly me. The room upgrade was a surprise; we were initially in a regular one. Skye gave me your dress size, and of course used her name to get us this reservation.”

  “Do I get to keep the dress?”

  That lust creeps back into his eyes as he gazes over at me. “I think it would be a crime if you didn’t.”

  My cheeks grow hot as I look down at my lap. “Thank you for all this,” I say, sipping on a glass of the red Jordan ordered. “It’s a lot, and it’s wonderful.”

  He leans in close to me. “Yeah, well. I know throwing a lot of things at you in a short amount of time is the only way to get that beautiful brain of yours offline so that you don’t overthink things and you can just enjoy yourself.”

  I hadn’t ever thought of it like that, but it’s definitely true. The massage immediately after arriving, Jordan taking off and telling me that he was going to be waiting for me. If I’d had all the time in the world to overthink things, I never would’ve even made it to the point of putting on this dress. If I’d been able to get out of it, I would’ve figured out a way to.

  And now I’m here in this lovely dress with this gorgeous man in a restaurant I’ve wanted to go to for years, with this…possibility swirling all around us.

  And I want more.

  Jordan and I talk about everything and nothing at all as we share an appetizer of sea scallops and poached leeks. I share the delectable lamb I ordered with him, he feeds me a bite of filet over candlelight as the Bellagio’s fountains dance in the background. There’s a moment after dinner, when the dishes have been cleared and there’s a piece of chocolate cake between us where I have a bit of frosting on my lip. He looks at it like he wants to kiss it off, and drifts towards me like he’s gonna make that happen. His eyes are half-lidded and soft, and his gaze meets mine for a few seconds before traveling back down to my lips.

  A server collision breaks the spell, and the moment fizzles as plates shatter in the background.

  I lick the frosting away, and I’ve never seen such disappointment on Jordan’s face.

  We talk about Paris, about wanting to go one day. It leads us into a conversation about our top destinations. Mine is Bali, his is Greece. He promises to take me one day. I’m not gonna hold him to it, because I think the wine is getting to us. Or…maybe not. I don’t know. There’s a part of me that wants to take him aside and ask him what’s going on, to put a name to this thing between us, this thing that seems to have come all the way out of its shell tonight.

  But I like not having answers. Answers ruin things, answers crush your dreams, and I want this night to go on a little longer.

  After he pays the check, we hold hands on our way back to the car. We pass a lounge with live music carrying out into the lobby, some big band standards played by a capable band. It’s mostly just ambient music for the people walking by, but Jordan pulls me aside and wraps one arm around my waist, cradling me against his body. His fingertips skim along the exposed skin on my back, making every nerve in my body feel electric.

  I sling my arms around his neck and play with the hair on the nape of his neck. I’ve always wanted to do it, so tonight I’m taking my chance.

  I’m toeing a dangerous line, but I can’t be bothered to care right now. Jordan’s warm breath is on my neck, his stubble scratching deliciously across my cheek, the faint ghost of his lips skim my shoulder.

  I want to live in this moment forever, holding him like this.

  We dance until the song fades into another, something more upbeat. After, Jordan looks at me, all lovestruck and dazed.

  There are a few people watching us, and one lady walks by and puts her hand on Jordan’s arm. “You two make a lovely couple,” she says.

  “Oh, we’re—”

  Jordan pulls me away before I can finish my answer. “So,” he says, eyes sparking. “What do you want to do next?”

  What I want to do is take him back to the room and climb him like a tree. I want to tell him everything that I’m feeling and not worry about what happens after. But most of all…


  “I don’t know, I just don’t want this night to end.”

  His answering grin is sexy and mischievous.

  That’s when I know I’m in trouble.

  Chapter Five

  I wake up feeling like I just licked a carpet. My mouth is dry and gross, and every part of my body aches. I recognize the bed as the one that I saw in my room in our suite yesterday, so at least I’m in the right place. There’s steady breathing to my right, my legs are tangled between someone else’s, and…yes, definitely a hand on my ass.

  My eyes widen and my breath quickens. I’m wide awake now.

  I take a couple of deep, deep breaths and steel myself to turn my head and look at whoever is lying next to me. What if it’s Jordan? But what if it’s not?

  I don’t know which possibility terrifies me more.

  I hold my breath and look.

  Definitely Jordan.

  With all the stealth I can manage, I quietly roll out from under his hand on my ass, hoping I can extricate myself without waking him up. He reaches out, grabs my pillow, and snuggles up with it.

  The cool chill of the air-conditioned room hits me, and I look down. I’m naked. Wait, no…my hungover, slow brain realizes I still have on undies and the stick-on bra I put on last night. I look over to where Jordan’s lying and see the waistband of his boxer briefs peeking out from under the sheet that’s slung low across his hips.

  We both have our underwear on, so that’s good, right? That means we probably didn’t have sex. I definitely don’t want to be the first time I have sex with him to be a drunken affair that I don’t even remember. That would be a travesty.

  I dig deep into the recesses of my mind and try to organize my jumbled thoughts so I can figure out the last thing we did last night.