Waking up in Vegas

by Natasha Preston

  There’s a replay of Formula One that I missed over the weekend, so I play that and take a long swig of beer.

  My phone beeps again.

  Fuck off, Mason.

  I’m about two laps in after skipping all the chat at the beginning when someone raps on my door.

  The delivery guys usually have to be buzzed in, but if a resident is coming or going, we let them in. I pause the TV and head to the door.

  I open the door while digging in my pocket for my wallet. But it’s not the delivery guy.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Mase scowls. “Why are you ignoring my texts?”

  “Why have you come to my door like a scorned girlfriend?”

  “Okay, let me in,” he says, pushing past me.

  Great. I look up to the ceiling before slamming the door and turning around. “What do you want?” I growl.

  “I was in the area; you would know that if you fucking looked at my messages.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I’m going to get a beer, and then we’re going to talk about why you’ve been a prick recently.”

  I watch him get one of my beers out of my fridge. “How have I been a prick?”

  He can’t know. I would have been punched or at least shouted at by now if he did.

  “You forget that I grew up with you and I know when something is up. You always reply to messages; you think it’s fucking rude not to. And you were quieter in Vegas, not living it up the way I thought you would.”

  Honestly, I had no idea he was this intuitive. Most of the time, Mase lives in his own world where there are no problems. He’s lighthearted, fun, and he never takes life seriously.

  “I’m just questioning a few things; that’s all. Sit down; we’ll talk.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Since when do we talk?”

  Mase sits on the single chair opposite the sofa. “We talk all the time.”

  “Not about anything deep.”

  “You need a deep-shit conversation?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

  Fuck. “No.”

  “Oh, just sit down and stop being a little bitch. I can have the real chat when I need to, so stop using that as excuse to say nothing. What’s eating you?”

  I walk around the sofa and drop. “I can’t tell you, man.”

  “Yeah, you can.”

  Can I? He wouldn’t tell anyone. I can trust him.

  Wren told Felicity and Emma. She has someone to talk to, and those girls are firmly on her side. Not that there needs to be sides here.

  This secret is driving me crazy.

  “I’ve done something, and if I tell you, I need you not to judge. I want you to stay calm.”

  He takes a swig of beer. “Go on.”

  “Something happened in Vegas. Something with Wren.”

  His eyes round like saucers. “You fucked her!”

  I feel my face cringe at his crude choice of word. Wren is not someone you just fuck.

  “We slept together,” I say. “But that’s not all of it.”

  “Fuck.” He closes his eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t get her pregnant? I’ll rip your head off if you’ve knocked her up.”

  “No. I married her.”

  His eyes fly open. “What?”

  “In Vegas.”

  “You’re not making sense. Married as in married?”

  “Yeah. Legally married. She’s currently my wife.”

  His mouth falls open. “Well, stop it!”

  “We tried. Some bitch denied us an annulment. We’ve started divorce proceedings.”

  Slowly shaking his head from side to side, he clears his throat. “Are you having me on?”

  “I wish. I fucked up.”

  “God.” He closes his mouth.

  I wait.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? How could you let that happen?”

  “I know, man.”

  His face reddens. “This is Wren!”

  “I know! It wasn’t planned. I never intended to screw shit up.”

  “But… Wren. Little Wren. You married her?”

  I don’t like the Little Wren thing anymore.

  “Yeah, I married her.”

  He exhales hard. “Take me through it. I don’t get it.”

  I tell him everything, starting with catching her at the bar. Twice because he apparently needs the details again.

  His mouth falls heavier, the more I reveal.

  “How the fuck did that happen?” he exclaims. “Seriously, Brody, this shit happens in movies.”

  “I feel like shit about the whole thing. God, I wish I’d stayed with you and Luke that night.”

  “Does Luke know?”

  I cut him a look.

  “Right. Of course he doesn’t. He won’t hear it from me.” He shakes his head.

  “Wren told Fliss and Emma, but that’s it. We don’t want anyone else to know. This would blow fucking up.”

  He frowns like he’s trying to figure something out “What’s got you in this mood? You said you’re sorting the divorce, right?”

  “I got drunk off my face and married my best friend’s sister. If all the parents and Luke find out, they’re never going to forgive me.”

  “They would,” he replies, his voice flat.

  “You couldn’t even convince yourself there, bro. You know they wouldn’t. It’ll always be there. Wren is about to have a divorce against her name at eighteen, and it’s all because I took her out to a bar, underage, in a different country and married her.”

  “Yeah, you are a prick.”

  I roll my eyes. “So, you can see why I’ve not had the best week.”

  “Can I do anything?”

  I shake my head. “No, just listen when I need a rant.”

  “Do you think that’s why it’s been so hard? Not having anyone to talk to? I can’t believe Felicity hasn’t told me.”

  “Maybe,” I reply. It has been hard, keeping it in, and I can’t tell Wren that I don’t like the divorce. “Felicity has mostly yelled… or told me I have a thing for Wren.”

  He arches his eyebrow. “Do you?”

  “No. I’ve been talking to her a lot more because I married her. It’s not like we can go back to the relationship we had before. Too much has happened.”

  “Right. A wedding and sex.”

  “That about sums it up.”

  “I can’t believe you slept with Little Wren.”

  “We’re not calling her that anymore.”

  He chuckles, and as if on cue, my phone rings, and her name flashes on the screen.

  Thirty

  Wren

  “Pick up, dickhead,” I mutter into the phone.

  “Hey,” he says a heartbeat later. His voice is quieter than usual, like he’s trying to talk to me in secret.

  “You okay?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Why are you being weird? If you can’t talk yet…”

  “I can talk for a second.”

  For a second. Why only a second? What’s he doing? Oh God. Is he entertaining?

  “I’ll talk to you later. You’re clearly busy.” With my hands shaking, I jab my finger into the End Call button and take a breath. My chest burns.

  I sit down on my bed and drop the phone onto the cover. He’s with a woman.

  Which he is entitled to do. We might be married, but we’re not together.

  We’ve never been together.

  My phone buzzes.

  Great.

  Fisting my hands, I ignore him. I don’t want his pity. I don’t want anything from him besides a divorce.

  I let the call ring off and leave the phone on my bed. Mum is the only one home. Emma is out with friends, and Dad has meetings tonight.

  Straightening my back, I force a smile on my face and bounce into the kitchen. “Hey, Mum. Whatcha cooking?”

  She looks over and smiles. “Spaghetti Bolognese. Did you have a good day at work?”

 
; “We have new puppies in, so of course I did.”

  “Hmm… I wonder if there is a paid job there for you.”

  There are some employees, but they rely heavily on volunteers.

  “Believe me, I’ve asked. They said if something comes up, they’ll let me know first.”

  I would love to work there properly, full-time, and earn money. It’s not what I imagined myself doing, but I love it. Paid jobs don’t come up often, though, and I hate not bringing in proper money.

  A career is something I have always wanted, working my way up and taking an expensive bag to the office. I guess I’m not as set on one thing as I thought. At least not for now.

  “Fingers crossed. You’d be good to have on board. They have a lot of land and could do so much more.”

  I’ve already had ideas for making use of the land—different ideas that could turn a profit and ease the stress of relying heavily on donations. Doggie day care, grooming, puppy training, guide dog and police dog training. We have the land to rent to outside companies for any training we’re not qualified to offer.

  As soon as they offer me a job, I’m going straight in with all these ideas. And obviously my favourite idea is employees can take a puppy home to cuddle at night. Not that we could, as it wouldn’t be fair to the dogs. I would keep them all if I could.

  “Can I do anything to help?”

  “You can stir while I make the garlic bread.”

  Mum’s homemade bread is to die for, but when she adds her garlic butter to the top… oh my God!

  She ties her mid-length blonde hair up and washes her hands.

  “Do you have any plans for the evening?” she asks as we cook side by side.

  “Nope.” I do know that I’m not going to allow myself to obsess over Brody and what—or who—he’s doing.

  God, I hate that he could be shagging someone else right now while I’m currently married to him. It’s disrespectful. He could have at least let me know he’s “dating.”

  Or am I asking too much?

  Way to not obsess.

  “Wren?”

  I look up. “Huh?”

  “I was asking you about the weekend.”

  “What about it?”

  “Jack and Abi’s wedding reception.”

  Abi is a friend of Mum and Brody’s mum. She’s on her second marriage, like I will be someday. They’re only having immediate family at the ceremony and then a big party at a marquee in the woods after.

  “Oh, what about it?”

  “I asked if you’re looking forward to it. Adam will be there.”

  I roll my eyes.

  Abi’s son, Adam, is a year older than me, and Mum is determined to set me up with him. She wants me with one of her friend’s sons. I think it’s because she knows them well. Funny that she’s never mentioned Brody to me before. He’s only three years older. She knows he likes to put it about.

  “I’m not interested in Adam.”

  “He’s a lovely lad.”

  “I know, and I’m still not interested.”

  Sighing, she replies, “Okay. Stir the sauce.”

  I turn back to the hob and stir the red mixture as it lightly bubbles away. It smells incredible, the tomato with whatever herbs she added.

  The front door opens.

  Mum mutters, “Can’t be your dad.”

  Honestly, the amount of people who can let themselves in is long, so it could be anyone.

  “Brody. Hey, love,” Mum says brightly.

  My heart begins to sprint. I freeze on the spot, my hand mid-stir. Mum’s footsteps mix with the sound of my thudding pulse.

  What is he doing here?

  “Hey, Rachel.”

  I hear Mum give him a kiss on the cheek. “Are you stopping for dinner? It’s Bolognese.”

  “Definitely!”

  Mum laughs, and I slowly turn my head.

  “Grab yourself a drink. It won’t be long.” Mum turns around to continue her bread.

  Brody doesn’t grab a drink. He stares at me like he’s trying to telepathically tell me something.

  I’m not Edward Cullen.

  “Don’t burn that,” he finally says. There is a light, humorous tone to his voice that makes me relax slightly.

  Isn’t he supposed to be with some whore?

  “I can cook.”

  “Not really, darling. That’s why I got you to stir,” Mum teases.

  I don’t even have anything to shoot back because my mind is still about ten steps behind. Why is he here? For me because I didn’t pick up his call?

  My heart flutters as we stand perfectly still, our eyes locked in a duel. If Mum were to glance up from her bread, she would know something was up.

  I shake my head. “Can you grab me a Coke when you get one, please?” I ask him.

  He needs something to do to break this spell.

  He dips his head in a nod. “You want anything, Rachel?”

  “I have wine already.”

  “Actually, I want wine,” I tell him.

  His eyebrow lifts. “On a school night, Wren?”

  “You drank every night in Vegas, and only two of those were a weekend.”

  “Holiday,” he replies.

  I shrug. “I wasn’t judging.”

  Mum pats my shoulder. “She takes after her mum.”

  Brody laughs, but I can’t bring myself to. My mum married her university sweetheart. I drunkenly married my brother’s friend.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking a glass of white from Brody. White isn’t my favourite, but I don’t care tonight. I want to know why he came. For that, I need Mum to leave us alone, but she’s kneading.

  “Are we eating outside?” I ask her.

  “If you’d like,” she replies, putting the bread in the oven.

  Dinner is almost ready.

  “Want me and Brody to set up the table on the patio then? While you make sure this sauce doesn’t burn.”

  She dashes beside me and picks up the spoon in the pan. “Yes, off you go.”

  I knew that would work. As if I were going to burn bloody meat and sauce.

  Brody take the plates while I take the cutlery, and we head into the garden. The door closes behind us. I put the cutlery down on the table and look up at him, squinting as the sun blinds me.

  I was going to talk first, but he beats me to it. “Why did you hang up and then ignore me?”

  “Why were you weird on the phone?” I counter.

  “I asked you first, Wren.”

  “Ladies get answers first, Brody.”

  He sighs sharply and says, “Fine. Mase was over. I told him about us.”

  “What?” I snap. But there is no anger.

  I told Emma and Felicity because I needed someone to talk to. It would be massively hypocritical of me if I were annoyed with Brody for doing the same. I am surprised. He said he didn’t want to tell anyone.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t need to apologise. How did he take it?”

  “Okay, actually. He ranted a little but didn’t punch me. He’s too laid-back. I had to explain it twice.”

  “So, you were weird on the phone because you were talking to Mason about it?”

  “Yeah. What did you think?”

  What a dick I am.

  I shrug. “I didn’t think anything. You sounded busy.”

  Brody narrows his eyes. “What did you think, Wren?”

  “That you were busy.”

  “That’s bullshit.” He puts the plates down and steps closer to me. “You thought I was with a woman.”

  I look away from the intensity of his deep blue eyes.

  “Wren,” he whispers, lifting my chin, “I’m not about to jump into bed with someone else. Not now.”

  What’s changed? “You can if you want.”

  “Can I?”

  I step back, and his hand drops, leaving behind a maddening burn. “What do you mean, can I? Of course you can. You can do whatever you want.”

  His la
ugh is full of distaste. “I think we’ve established that I can’t do what I want.”

  Meaning we can’t have sex.

  “Is the table set?” Mum asks, opening the door.

  I jump at the sudden interruption.

  “Pretty much,” I reply. “Is it ready?”

  “I’m about to put everything into serving platters while the bread cooks. Brody, can I have a hand bringing it out while Wren finishes out here?”

  “Of course,” he tells her, walking past me without another glance in my direction.

  I don’t feel very hungry anymore.

  Thirty-One

  Brody

  She actually makes me angry.

  I’m not even annoyed. It’s pure fucking anger.

  How obtuse can one person be?

  Why did I come here? Well, perhaps because she fucking hung up on me and wouldn’t take my call.

  I carry the last dish outside with Rachel, and we sit down to eat. Wren is opposite me with her mum on the end. I clench my jaw.

  We’ve eaten with just the three of us before—not often, but it’s not like this is a first. It is a first that I feel an uneasy atmosphere. Thankfully, Rachel doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Are you coming to the wedding reception this weekend, Brody?”

  The day after Wren’s divorce lawyer appointment is a fantastic day to celebrate a marriage.

  “Yeah, it should be good.”

  “The reception sounds lovely. Outdoors for the most part, lights around trees, and hay bales to sit on,” Rachel gushes.

  “And an open bar,” Wren adds.

  “You don’t care about the romance then?” I shoot at her.

  Rachel laughs. “Wren and romance.”

  “Yeah, she’s not really one for flowers and serenades.”

  “If someone sang to me, I would be mortified. And flowers only die,” she says.

  “Oh, love.” Her mum sighs. “Maybe you really aren’t suited to Adam. He was so sweet with his last girlfriend.”

  “You’re trying to set her up with Adam?” I ask. I swallow hard as a mouthful of bread gets stuck in my throat. I hate the thought of her being with someone else.

  Not on my watch.

  “He’s lovely, but she’s right; he’s not her type.”

  My eyes snap to the blonde who’s doing my head in. “What is your type?”