First to Fall

by Lane, Stacy

  Ryan nods and before long we are leaving one place and heading to another.

  I’m usually exhausted after going out to one place, and already tonight we’re heading into our third bar within a couple hours.

  Not sure I was ever meant to hang with the cool crowd.

  This next place was inside the hotel we were already in. With three levels, we took the stairs to the second floor bar and found Marc and Claude sitting on a sofa in a balcony hanging above the first floor and sticking out from beneath the third.

  A massive chandelier ran up the center, crystals shimmering with an iridescent pink-purple glow.

  Approaching the low couch and chairs, it didn’t surprise me Marc already had a girl sitting in his lap.

  “I’ve heard about this drink here called the Verbena,” Kate spoke from my right. I was sitting between Brooks and Ryan, Kate at her husband’s other side. Mila and her husband were curled up in a chair, her sitting in his lap. We pushed Marc and Claude off the couch and to the other chairs in front of us. “It numbs your mouth. Wanna try it?”

  My stomach was already swirling from the amount of alcohol in the other drink, my head light and buzzing.

  But it’s Vegas, so why the hell not?

  The waitress brings us back three Verbenas and explains the process to experience the full effect of the beverage. If there’s a process, a certain way to drink a cocktail, you better believe I’m expecting something mind-blowing.

  The three of us take a few sips of the white, slushy drink, then pick up the Sichuan flower laying on top. We all pop it in our mouths at the same time, laughing and a little weirded out to chew on a plant.

  Kate immediately hates the taste, gagging and making hilarious puckered faces, but keeps chewing. Mila and I feel differently. It has a very plant-like taste to it. It takes a couple chews before it begins to dissolve and spread the tingling, numbing sensation all throughout our mouths.

  Mouth opening and tongue moving about like Venom, I feel stupid and must look it too. The flower is meant to intensify the flavor of the cocktail as it’s consumed. Maybe it does, but I can’t get past the numbness.

  After entertaining the guys with our Verbena experience, they start talking shop.

  Brooks has his arm around my shoulders. The liquor is hitting a lot harder and a lot quicker after imbibing this drink.

  I watch Marc sitting across from me with a redhead in his lap. Her breasts are at eye level and she’s thrusting them into his face while he talks to Claude. His hand roams back and forth on her exposed thigh in the short, sparkly skirt. I have to give him props for pretending to pay her no mind as he listens to Claude tell a story, but the whispering in his ear must be something more to his liking if the tugging between his legs indicates anything.

  She’s a very pretty woman. Similar in coloring to Amber, the redhead of Brooks’s single days.

  My mind falls into dangerous territory for a moment.

  I glance at the two other couples in our group and then at the two single men. My eyes lift to the bar straight ahead and meet a group of four women, unabashed in their lascivious stares. Claude’s been eyeing them for a while, and I can’t help but wonder if Brooks misses all that. The freedom to have a different woman whenever he chooses.

  I’m in love with a man who has never done commitment.

  I’m not the kind of girl to have a trial run with. The biggest commitment I have gotten out of him this far is a planned vacation in the off-season. Maybe we’ll do that right after he hosts the gala I haven’t been invited to.

  Ugh, alcohol is not for me. It sinks into my blood and my head and snuffs out what little positive light I have.

  Searching for Brooks’s confidence that bleeds out of him like an open head wound, I twist my body into his side. My outside arm drapes over my stomach, falling into the tiny space between our pressed bodies. Hidden from view, I finger the hem of his shirt until my touch reaches his hot skin beneath. My finger runs the distance of a few inches above his hip bone. His skin burning and soft and taut as his muscles flex and twitch from my slow, tantalizing stroke.

  Inebriation is doing other things to me as well.

  He’s not unaffected either. His breathing has picked up, chest lifting higher with each inhale.

  My lips twitch as I raise my mouth to speak in his ear. “Take me to our room.”

  His breath hitches. He stares down at me with hunger, eyes growing dark. “There’s a lot of Vegas left to see.”

  The finger roaming his flesh dips below his waistline. I find the sharp cut of muscle that will lead me to his growing erection beneath. Slipping three more fingers inside, my brazen touch follows the rippled trail as far as the restricting jeans will allow.

  “I came. I saw. I feel corrupted. Now take me back to our room, please.”

  Brooks growls, barely recognizable in the noisy bar, but the rumble easily felt beneath his chest.

  We stand to say our goodbyes, but everyone joins us. The married couples are heading back to their rooms as well. Marc and Claude have another bar they want to try out. The redhead walks out with Marc, and Claude winds up with all four women from the bar.

  Outside, a part of all the flashing lights once again, we cross the street and walk back up the other side. Brooks pulls me in with an arm around my shoulders, and mine wrapped around his back.

  Our big group has separated some. But when we cross over Flamingo Road there’s another performer outside The Cromwell. A DJ violinist. He’s incredible, and I find myself stopping in my tracks along the others to listen to him. The music, the beat, it’s tranquil and lively. It’s beautiful and artistic and unique.

  When we walk away, I’m smiling and ebullient…and then I get propositioned.

  Well, we get propositioned.

  “Hey, doll, wanna make this night even better? Alls it’s gonna take is a hundred roses.” At first, I can’t tell who she(?) is talking to. My eyes shift restlessly as we continue walking ahead, but the person is keeping pace with us. “Bring your girl for a hundred more.”

  I eye her then. The indecently short dress, cropped black wig, and toned legs walking backward in five-inch heels.

  “We’re good, thanks. But the tall blonde man with the Devil’s own charming smile might be interested.” Brooks nods over his shoulder to Marc, smiling politely like he’s turning down sample food at Costco.

  “Was that…Did she just…” I can’t even finish my sentences.

  “A prostitute, and yes,” Brooks answers them anyway, laughing and unleashing his contained hilarity in the crook of my neck where he buries his face.

  “But that’s illegal.”

  “It’s Vegas, Angel.”

  “I think I’ve just been schooled in why it’s called Sin City.”

  “That’s only a glimpse. The club Marc and Claude are going to is nothing but sex.”

  “A sex club?”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it, but I just meant sex is everywhere—strippers, hookers, swingers.”

  Of course, I know those things exist. I’ve just never seen any of it with my own eyes. It’s a bit of a culture shock.

  On the sidewalk in front of a busy, bursting at the seams club, we all stop to say good night as we leave Marc and Claude to the rest of their night. Marc punches Brooks in the arm for sending a lady of the night his way, but that only results in Brooks to laugh uncontrollably as Marc cusses him out.

  We’re standing on the sidewalk when a boisterous crowd exits the front, brushing us aside. The girls get separated from the guys, but they remain in view because of their towering height.

  Kate’s joking about being a mom who can’t stay awake till midnight even without her kids when I catch Mila’s gaze jerk over my shoulder. Her hand juts out to grip my arm, but another hold from behind reaches me before she can.

  Turning to see who is behind me, another group of drunk party goers rush out of the club and storm the sidewalk. Before I know what the hell is happening, I’ve been separated f
rom Kate and Mila as a mixture of laughter and angry shouts surround me.

  I’m forced to move with the crowd, the hand of the person pulling me having a hold on my arm still. I’m jerked to the left, but he doesn’t let go until we’re out of the chaos and on the far side of the club.

  The outside bar is nearby, but I’ve been pulled into a dark alcove.

  “We need to talk. And preferably before your boyfriend sees me.” Noah’s fingers are curled around my upper arm.

  I yank from his hold, stepping into the light. People are swarming from every direction.

  My chest grows heavy, the air feels thick and it’s hard to breathe. “Are you following me, Noah?”

  “No. I was already here.” He nods his head to the bar at my back. The music from within blares at an obscene volume. “There’s something you should know about Mason.”

  Anger mixes in with my panicked adrenaline. “I don’t fucking care. Leave me alone.”

  “No, you need to know this. Everyone needs to know.” The veins in his forehead are popping out.

  “I don’t. I’ve moved on. If you want to tell me anything, tell me if you and your brother played your little twin games on me too.”

  “Mason and I liked to share. But the women we were with knew who we were. I had never met or even knew about you until the night you saw me at Triplets.” The fire in his eyes simmers to a low flame. “I never harassed those women. It was Mason. And I have the proof. I wanted to tell you earlier today when I saw you in the hall. I’m going to release the evidence that it was him and not me.”

  “Then do it, but stop bringing me into it. I’m not Mason’s girlfriend anymore.” By this point, I shouldn’t be shocked by anything I hear about Mason, but along with the little bit of shock is disgust. I spent a year of my life with a total stranger.

  “My career is in the tank because my brother and my parents screwed me over. I thought maybe…” Noah runs both hands down his face, sighing with frustration and weary with vulnerability. “You and I had something in common. We loved him and he played us both.”

  The sadness in his voice douses the initial anger. I look at him and all I see is Kason. But hearing the devastation in his words allows me to see a new person.

  Mason is my past and I am no longer a part of his games. I’ve gotten all the answers I needed as to who he was and why he played me. But there are other women out there who never got their justice.

  Noah was hoping to find an alliance with me, but I can’t give him that. I can give him this last moment to say what he needs to say, and give him advice that I hope he takes.

  “Are you telling the truth for you or for those women he hurt?” I ask, meeting his gaze once more. My stomach twirls a little less every time I meet those familiar blue eyes.

  His face hardens and I know what his answer is before he speaks.

  “My parents covered for him. They always hated that I didn’t take the educated career path like Mason. My dad’s a mayor, did you know that?” I shake my head. “Mason assaulted those women and my parents paid off the ones they could. But the ones they couldn’t get to, they leaked speculation that it was me. The only reason I didn’t go down for any of it is that their stories did not add up with my whereabouts. Mason knew all about this before he died. He went along with it. You were his beard. I was his fall-boy. Then my parents slipped by telling me they went to see you, and that Mason gave you our grandmother’s ring. They knew about you, but not the proposal. I hired a PI on my own parents. My entire family set out to ruin my reputation just to save theirs.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say softly, bleeding hurt on his behalf.

  “I don’t want pity,” Noah spits, looking away, but I catch the pain in his eyes regardless.

  It’s indeterminable if Noah is a good person or not, but I feel for him regardless. The way he spoke of Mason in that short time at Triplets, and the misery in the depths of his eyes now shows his bond with his brother was his greatest treasure. The loss of Mason and his betrayal, has changed him.

  Licking my lips, I pull in a deep breath. Normalcy returning to my system.

  “I know you feel wronged by him and your parents. You want to lash out the only way you can. But think of those women when you do it. Your family hurt you, but a complete stranger hurt them.”

  Noah’s gaze flickers back and forth in mine. He gives a subtle nod, an understanding.

  I pause a second longer.

  Turn to go.

  And that’s when a fist comes flying toward Noah’s face.

  “I told you to stay away from her.” Brooks seethes as he stands over Noah.

  My mouth falls open. Before I can think what to do or say, Noah gets back on his feet and charges at Brooks.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Jo

  Fists are flying.

  Bodies are falling to the ground and jumping over the railing of the nearby bar to catch a glimpse of the fight.

  Noah circled Brooks’s stomach with both arms and tackled him to the ground. I yelled when I saw an arm go flying toward Brooks’s face, but he blocked it and threw Noah off of him.

  They were grappling and punching when Claude made it to my side. He ignored my argument of helping Brooks and getting him off of Noah before he got arrested.

  “Ryan, Marc, and Kaarle have him. I’m with you ladies.” Claude guides me with a hand on my back until we meet up with Kate and Mila. “We should go. People are going to have their cameras out.”

  “What?” I spin on him with concern. Brooks’s response to Ryan after the hallway incident earlier was not lost on me. If his coach got onto him for that, what’s he going to do about this?

  “Jo.” Mila takes my hand. “We were worried when Noah grabbed you, and then that crowd split us up and we couldn’t see. We went to find Brooks.”

  “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

  “Hell no. Don’t apologize.” Kate takes guard of the side Mila is not on. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

  “Oh God no. No. He wanted to tell me…” I sigh, fingers pressing into my temples. “It’s a misunderstanding.”

  Everyone is freaked out for the wrong reasons.

  To them, Noah might as well be labeled as a perpetrator.

  “C’mon ladies. We need to go.” Claude pushes us along. I start to argue again, leaving Brooks behind doesn’t sit right with me, but Claude cuts off my response before I have a chance. “Jo, he wouldn’t want you caught up in the mess if someone catches this on video.”

  “But he punched him because of me. I’m the reason there is a mess.”

  “Honey, they’re grown men with big egos and hot tempers. You think Ryan hasn’t gotten in someone’s face for pushing personal boundaries?” Kate retorts, looping her arm with mine and attempting to reassure me.

  “We have to keep a different mindset than most others.” Mila shrugs with acceptance like it’s no biggie to conform to this spotlight life.

  Mila grew into an adult with the spotlight on her husband since they’ve been together since teenagers. Same goes for Chelsea. Kate met Ryan six years ago, but she’s a strong-willed person. I’ve been in this game for two months and have already dealt with more backlash than they all have combined.

  I only hope Brooks doesn’t blame me for bringing the trouble to his doorstep.

  We cross over the bridge from The Cromwell to Caesars Palace. Claude parts with us from there, heading back to the guys.

  The three us go up to our rooms. I say good night and agree to meet for breakfast before our flight tomorrow.

  Tossing my key card and purse on the dresser, I strip off my blue jacket and fold it over the back of the chair at the small table in the corner of the room.

  Pacing the floor and running scuff marks on the carpet with my Chucks, I worry my lip and pick at my nails.

  Five minutes pass.

  Ten ticks by.

  At fifteen I’m concerned the cops had to break up the fight and Brooks is in jail.

  N
oah’s career has taken a nose dive because of scandal and behavior that’s gone on outside his games—not actually him, I know, but it’s what the public believes that’s caused his downfall. So if Brooks is fighting at clubs over a girl, what will that do to his?

  His world is hockey. He’ll never want to be with me if I ruin any amount of his success. I wouldn’t fault him either. Not that I’m to blame, but sometimes there’s no guilty individual, just guilt.

  Annoyed with my restlessness, I trek to the bathroom and remove my jewelry. My feet slide out of my shoes with a toe to heel tug. Then my glasses are coming off and the mass of my hair is going up.

  My phone pings and I rush for it. It’s Kate. The guys are on their way.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I close my eyes and when I open them again they land of a basket filled with bath essentials. Walking over to the giant bathtub, I turn the gold nozzle to hot and full blast. There are bath bombs and oils and bubbles—I throw a little of all that shit in the water.

  A bath is for relaxing, not bathing in bisque tented foundation and black swirls of mascara, so I remove my makeup at the sink while the tub fills.

  Naked and emerged under the steaming water and bubbles rising above my shoulders, I lean my head back on the neck support.

  It never works, but I try to turn off my mind as I wait for Brooks to return.

  Bubbles.

  Luxury bathtub.

  Lavender oil.

  Bubbles.

  Bubbles.

  Mason.

  My eyes shoot open.

  That son of a donkey’s ass.

  I allowed my push-over, willing to settle for less mentality to love a man I really didn’t know. Even now, I disliked Mason greatly for the crap he pulled on me and others, but I found it hard to mourn him or be hurt more than above the surface wounds. It feels like I can’t have deeper emotions—other than fury—for a man I really didn’t know.

  The door to our room unlocks and opens. I can hear Brooks’s feet shuffling past the bathroom entrance before the heavy weight of the door closes all the way shut.