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 never 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.
“Your ankle okay?” Eli glanced pointedly toward the new heart.
Marlee’s ankle was the first to go under the needle, and the little tattoo hurt like a sonofabitch. She wouldn’t be getting another anytime soon. Scotty didn’t believe in tattoos. Which was—Marlee was certain—the catalyst for Becca’s dare. Marlee enjoyed looking at tats. She had been an art major in college and completed a whole paper on tattoos as artwork. That paper hadn’t been hard to write—she loved studying all the different types of ink and the process of creating something that a person would wear forever.
“It hurts a little, but not too bad now.” Marlee stood, leaving Lothario lounging in his doggie bag, and moved next to Eli. “It means a lot that everyone’s doing this. Not just the tattoos, but the weekend. I feel like I’ve been so out of touch with the world.”
“You girls know how to have a party.” Eli slung his arm around her shoulder, tucking her into his side.
“You sure you don’t want a heart tattoo?” Marlee looked up at him, her hand resting against his firm pectoral muscles. He wasn’t against tattoos. He already had a whole sleeve of tats. She’d seen him in his chef’s jacket with the sleeves rolled up during their tasting.
Whoever had done Eli’s was an exceptional artist. What started at the wrist as a tree trunk branched into a mosaic of skin graffiti that could’ve easily graced the cover of Inked magazine or won one of those television tattoo competitions.
“I’m sure. You girls should just enjoy your tats.” Eli smiled down at her.
She wasn’t ashamed to say that his approval made her want to lick all the ink on his arms. It just did. Fact of nature.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Marlee pulled a little glass bottle of vodka from her cleavage and took a sip.
Eli raised his eyebrows.
“Want some?” She offered the bottle to him.
He set his beer aside, wrapped his lips around the shooter, and tilted it onto his tongue. Her own lips went dry, and her salivary glands kicked into overdrive.
The static buzz she’d been feeling around him intensified. She could’ve sworn he was going to kiss her. Lean in. Press his mouth to hers. And she bet he tasted amazing.
“Check it out, this one makes your dick look like a tuxedo.” Eli broke free of the moment, passed her the vodka, and grabbed one of the condoms on the rack next to her, holding up the package.
With the moment effectively fractured, she re-capped the shooter, tucked it back in her cleavage, and sauntered to the other side of the display.
“That’s better than the SpongeBob one.” Marlee held up the offending condom. “I’m just saying that if your penis is dressed like a cartoon character, it’s not getting anywhere near my pineapple under the sea,” she continued.
Eli started whistling the SpongeBob SquarePants theme song.
“Don’t let my brother anywhere near your pineapple.” Sadie emerged from the curtain separating the front area from the tattoo table in the back.
“No one is getting near my pineapple for a very long time,” Marlee assured. Not that anyone had been under the sea for a while—not since what seemed like forever ago when Scotty decreed they should push pause on that portion of their relationship so their wedding night would be even more special.
“But when they do, they should be wearing a tuxedo.” Sadie grabbed the tuxedo condom from Eli and tossed it to Marlee. “My treat. I’ll have them add it
to the bill.”
Marlee held up the plastic-wrapped condom. “You’re always so thoughtful.”
“I am, aren’t I?” Sadie replied, her head tilted to the side.
Marlee tucked the condom in her bra, next to her phone.
“How much shit can you fit in there?” Eli asked, staring at her chest. He wasn’t staring inappropriately, more like he was genuinely asking the question.
“There’s not that much,” Marlee said. “It’s easier than carting around a second purse.”
“Because your first purse is reserved for the dog,” Eli confirmed.
Well, yes. She pressed her eyebrows together and nodded at him.
“Eli, are you sure you don’t want to reconsider a real tattoo?” Sadie tilted her ankle to admire the fresh little heart tat.
“Eli already has his tattoo,” Eli replied, gesturing to his face.
“That hardly counts.” Sadie dropped beside Lothario on the imitation leather sofa. “Don’t you want something permanent to remember your first girls’ trip?”
“Not particularly.” Eli was acting all aloof. “But I will take a SpongeBob condom. You never know when a lucky lady may be in the mood for cartoon sex.”
Eli acted like he didn’t have a care in the world, but Marlee knew him better than that. He pushed people away, sure. The first inkling that someone needed him, though? He was right there. Case in point? Marlee’s house that morning. Second case in point? This trip.
“Eli won’t need the tattoo. He’ll always have the memories, won’t you, Eli?” Marlee asked.
“Memories and approximately four weeks of a face tattoo.” He lifted his beer to her.
Becca emerged from the curtain next. “Okay, so we’ve done the dancing and the tattoos. The dare game has been fun, but I think it’s time to say goodbye.”
“Agreed,” Eli mumbled.
“For our next game, we’ll all hang out at the Luxor and try to pick up members of the Blue Man Group. First one to get laid with a blue dick wins.” She followed her declaration of the game with a dance move fitting of the pole.
“Marlee has to get him to wear a tuxedo condom when she gets her Blue Man,” Sadie added. “It’s a rule.”
“You know how black is slimming and white kinda makes us all look fat?” Becca asked.
“I so do,” Marlee replied. It was one of the hardest parts of New York’s Fashion Week.
“What do you suppose the blue paint does to their dicks?” Becca dropped to the couch on the other side of Sadie. “Lengthen or…?”
“Absolutely no more booze for you.” Eli grabbed a bottle of water from the plastic grocery sack he’d snagged at the convenience store. He popped off the lid like it was a beer bottle and handed it to her. “Drink that.”
“Aye, Cap’n Eli.” Becca saluted him and then spilled a solid quarter of the water down the front of her silk blouse.
“I just had the best idea.” Sadie stopped stroking Lothario’s head and pointed between Eli and Marlee. “You two should get married.”
Say what? Marlee’s blood pressure rose, and she did her best to ignore what her best friend had just said and focused instead on the idea that blue paint might possibly make a penis look smaller.
“Why would this be the best idea?” Eli asked as calm as though he were ordering a Corona at the swim-up Bellagio bar.
He grabbed another bottle of water and handed it to Sadie.
She took it. “Not really married, just the motions. To prove to both of you that it’s not scary.”
“I never said I was scared of marriage,” Marlee said quickly. “I’m all for it. Was ready to do it this weekend. Not feeling like I need to prove that again.”
With her luck, she’d get to the altar and then get left again. No, thank you.
“Great, then it’s just Eli with marriage issues,” Sadie said, all sugar and honey.
Eli glared at her, his forehead all scrunched up. “I don’t have marriage issues.”
“We all know you do. But hear me out, it’s like therapy.” Sadie started talking with her hands like she was in the courtroom and Eli was on the interrogation stand.
“I can assure you, this is not like therapy,” Eli practically growled.
“Objection, Your Honor,” Becca said with a giggle. “Eli didn’t wait for the question.”
“I’ll allow it,” Marlee said, electing herself to the judge position in this new game of Taunt the Eli.
“For fuck’s sake.” He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
Marlee wasn’t going to marry him. He didn’t have anything to worry about.
“Isn’t there a kind of therapy where you force people to do the things that make them uncomfortable?” Sadie asked Becca.
“There is immersion therapy, but I’m pretty sure this wouldn’t fall into that category. But”—Becca paused dramatically—"it would be fun to watch.”
“That’s the truth,” Kellie added.
“Do I get a say at all in this?” Marlee asked. “As the self-appointed judge, I feel like I should get a say.”
“You’re not really getting married. Just the motions,” Sadie said.
Oh, like she’d done for the past year? She knew all about that.
“You know what? I’ll get the tattoo.” Eli released a deep sigh.
“What?” Becca tilted her ear toward Eli. “I didn’t hear that. What did you say?”
Eli ran a hand over his face. “I do this and then we drop the Blue Man game. We sure as fuck drop the Eli-gets-married game. We just go back to the hotel and think about the things we’ve done. The things we’ve seen. Because even though I did my best not to, I saw the start of what you did to that poor pole back there, Sadie. And I’ll never be the same.”
Marlee smiled like she was reliving the show. Sadie had rocked it. That’s what she’d done. And they’d all kept their clothes on, so it wasn’t that bad.
“Here’s what I propose.” Becca stuck her finger in the air like she’d had ten too many of her own cleavage shots. “You get that heart tat.”
Marlee tried to understand her. Wasn’t that what they’d just decided?
“On my arm,” Eli clarified.
“On your penis for all I care.” Becca wobbled a tad.
Eli flinched.
“Then we’ll put a pin in the idea of the Blue Man orgy until after another round of drinks,” she finished, pausing while they all stared at her.
“Done,” Eli said.
All right then, Eli was going to get inked after all.
Chapter Six
Nearly Midnight
“I can’t believe they crashed.” Marlee’s friends had all passed out while they binge-watched the new Gilmore Girls—Marlee’s favorite. Despite Becca’s insistence that they head over to the Luxor, the pit stop at their penthouse had turned out to be just what they needed—her friends, not her. She was still ready to play. They were definitely not.
Kellie snored softly from where she’d stretched out on the floor, Lothario under her arm.
“They were pretty drunk.” Eli stretched on the sofa, his body long enough for his toes to touch one end while his head rested on the opposite pillowed armrest.
“Then why aren’t we?” Marlee asked. This wasn’t fair at all. She was practically sober. And it’s not like she hadn’t given it her best effort.
Eli winked at her. The dimples in his cheeks, which she rarely saw, peeked from beside his lips. “Because we are the responsible ones.”
That was unacceptable. Marlee stood, dropping her blanket to the floor.
“C’mon.” She grabbed her phone and little wallet, shoving them in her bra.
“Mar?” Eli’s eyes grew bigger.
She mimicked his expression. “Eli?”
“It’s late.” He didn’t stand.
“It’s, like, midnight. We cannot be those people who are in bed, in Vegas, by midnight.”
“You mean like these people?” He gestured around the room. “Aren’t
they your people?”
“Totally not the point.” She scrawled a note next to the phone. Went out with Eli. Be back later.
“You’re going out with or without me, aren’t you?” He ran a hand over his henna-tattooed face.
She lifted her eyebrows in response. “I think I’m going to go figure out what step four is in my life plan.”
“Shit.” He tossed his feet over the side of the couch and snagged Lothario. “Let’s go, then.”
The red bricks making up the wall outside of the one-story motel were more than a little wobbly. Marlee would bet if she pushed on them with her fingertip, they’d ripple. She tried it.
They didn’t ripple.
She tried again.
Nope, still just a brick wall.
“Are you trying to push over the motel?” Eli asked, his voice rough. It had to be almost dawn. But then again, what the heck did she know?
“Maybe you should try?” she asked, leaning her shoulder blades onto the brick exterior of whatever this place was. It’d come with the marriage package Eli had purchased for her. They’d done the pretend wedding, proving to each other over green twist ties that neither of them had any issues with a wedding.
There had been enough lemon martinis to make the edges of the world fuzzy and wrap her in a cocoon of lemon-flavored bliss. Gah, when was the last time she’d been this lit? Had this much fun?
She glanced over her shoulder at Eli, Lothario sleeping in the pink bag slung over his shoulder.
Motel key in hand, Eli stalked past her to open the door. He let her pass.
They’d chosen the palm paradise suite.
“It’s amazing,” she whispered.
Palm leaves were painted on the walls, and there were hanging vines draped throughout the room. The door clicked behind Eli. He set Lothario’s bag on the floor.
And then he looked at her like he’d done at the tattoo parlor. Like he wanted to kiss her. And okay, maybe she was off her game, but a guy didn’t get that flicker in his eyes for just anyone.
Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3 Page 53