Chapter Twenty-Eight
Luke
We enter Vegas city limits with the convertible top down and find ourselves at the hands of a golden hour, the sun dipped but not gone. The strip holds a tangible energy, ready to greet travelers and stroke their wallets into submission.
Cass’s body bounces as she shifts to look left, right, and up. “There’s so much to see!”
I’ve got one hand on the wheel as the other strokes the back of her neck. “Where do you want to go first?”
“I’ve never done Vegas. I need you to be my tour guide.”
It thrills me an unreal amount to be the first to experience this with her.
After fighting traffic—not a hardship when the weather is a dream and a beautiful girl rides copilot—I pull into the Linq Parking Garage. A machine spits out a ticket that I flick into the dash.
Within seconds of parking, she clicks off her seat belt. “Vegas is like L.A.’s hotter, more interesting friend. The one that actually does the things everyone else pretends to do on social media, you know?”
“Not really, but I’m glad you’re excited.”
She flicks down the mirror and checks her reflection. Her face deflates.
“What?”
“I look like death warmed over.” She pulls out our phone and violently taps and scrolls. “Okay, this is good. There’s a mall right down the street. I’m going to require a moment of its time.”
“All of Vegas at our fingertips and you want to go to a mall.”
She silences me with a quelling look. “I’ve got to get out of these yoga pants you keep soaking.”
Her words are a hot press straight to the groin. “The mouth on you.”
Leaning across the center console, she swirls her tongue in the hollow beneath my ear, taking me from vaguely alive to hard in an instant. “It’s a very skilled mouth.”
With that, she exits the car.
I shove the limited contents of the center console in my pocket before taking off after her.
She guides us to the Grand Canal Shops. The walk lasts the length of her story, an account of how she met Berkeley at a pole-dancing exercise class. Cass, there for the love of the sport and to expand her skill set, befriended a struggling Berkeley, who was there to work on a “divorce revenge body,” whatever that means.
Inside the regal mall, she ducks off into a store that looks like every other store, and I find a bench and open my email.
As grateful as I am for the system that sorts emails by perceived urgency, acid rises in my throat at the number of red-flagged messages. Everything can’t possibly be this important.
And yet, a stark majority are coded as such. Great.
I chip away at them one by one, getting an idea of what I’m missing. Once I’ve hung out with the family for a bit, I’ll have to tuck away and respond to some of these. Especially the ones forwarded by Rogelio.
A series of incoming texts reroutes my attention.
I genuinely think your sister lives here now.
Her room is filled with boxes.
I’m going to see a double feature tonight to hide from your mom and all the weirdness in this house, then I’m turning in early.
Berkeley. I make a mental note to tell Cass as soon as she comes out.
Cass emerges from the store fifteen minutes later, breathless and in a slinky dress.
Every thought evacuates my brain. I dry swallow.
The fabric is a vibrant green and sparkles when she moves. The neckline plunges so low I can’t imagine a bra is hiding anywhere in there. It is Vegas in dress form, sinful and glittering.
If that wasn’t enough, her lips are darker, like she’s sucked the juice from a strawberry to stain them.
“Holy shit, Cass.”
She gives me a coy smile. “I zhuzhed myself up the best I could. Are you ready? Or was there somewhere you’d like to stop?”
My brain misfires, scrambling her words. I’m in a state of panic over every last alluring inch of her. “Sorry, what?”
“I asked if you were ready to go or needed to stop anywhere?”
“There’s nowhere I need to stop.”
“You sure? Tommy Bahama is right there, prime for the taking.”
Dragging her out of the mall before I end up in a printed vacation shirt, we pause to acquaint ourselves with Las Vegas Boulevard.
“Linq Promenade should be…” I trail off, sweeping my gaze across the area. “South.”
“I linq you, Luke. Will you go to promenade with me?”
I snort and then reorient her on the sidewalk. “We’re going this way.”
Our gaze lands on a sign.
Treasure Island Chapel.
She stiffens, chewing on her bottom lip. “Nothing like a wedding chapel to remind me that I should be helping prepare for a wedding.”
I scratch my jaw. “If we leave here now, we’ll get to L.A. around one in the morning. What kind of stuff could you take care of that late?”
“I don’t know. Go through the boxes my sister put in her room. Though that would probably wake her. Crap, maybe there’s really nothing I can do. I just feel bad, you know? Like I shouldn’t be allowed to have this much fun.”
The hot hand of guilt slides across my shoulders, pressing down. Sophie hasn’t taken a vacation pretty much ever, but here I am having the time of my life.
But if I do wake the house up with my arrival—barking dog and all—my nieces probably won’t go back to sleep without a fight. My sister will not appreciate that.
“I know what you mean,” I say after a sigh. “But I wouldn’t say this if I genuinely didn’t believe it—there’s nothing useful we can do tonight. However, if you want to leave right now, I’ll make it happen. Whatever you need to feel comfortable. I still get five more hours of you in the car, so I’m a happy man either way.”
“Luke,” she says softly, stepping into my arms. “You’re going to make me melt on the sidewalk.”
I peer down at her beguiling eyes. She may as well reach up and fist me by the collar for how strong a hold those baby blues have on me. “Stay or go?”
“Stay,” she says in a whisper that almost gets swallowed by the bustle of traffic. “As long as we’re home really early.”
“Done.” I kiss her once to seal the deal, and then a second time because I can’t resist.
We follow the buzz of excitement all the way to the Promenade.
If an outlet mall and Downtown Disney had a child, it would be this stretch of storefronts and restaurants. Twilight has surrendered to night, and the bright colorful lights give this pocket of the world a plugged-in, frenetic energy. In the absence of a breeze, the palm trees lining the walkway stand still, no sway in their fronds.
We choose In-N-Out for a quick dinner. I turn that greasy burger into personal gravity in two bites, while Cass takes a more demure four-bite approach.
After, we stroll toward I Love Sugar, a candy store decorated to look like an acid trip’s wet dream. She flounces past a giant flamingo statue out front and turns around, beckoning me to follow her inside.
My gaze moves past her to the High Roller, alight in the sky, arcing over the city. “After you torture your pancreas with sugar, we should do that.”
Her chin skims her shoulder as she turns around. “That Ferris wheel?”
“Yes. We rented one for Sophie’s ex-husband’s bachelor party. He was a tool, but the pod was excellent.”
“Sophie. Your sister, right?”
We step inside I Love Sugar, and my blood sugar rises by osmosis. “Yes. She was married for four years. Divorced him when she discovered he had a fiancée living in New Jersey.”
“What the actual heck? How do you even—never mind, people are twisted.” Cassidy shudders. “She and Berkeley should trade war stories. Her high school sweetheart-turned-husband was sleeping with their former high school teacher. Like, they met in this woman’s class.”
“Wow. What an asshole.”
“Sure is. Berkeley’s from a small town in North Carolina, so it was a huge scandal, and she had to sell her house and move across the state to keep her sanity.” Studying an overwhelming wall of jellybeans, her expression takes a turn for the careful as she straightens an askew pile of candy bags. “Speaking of houses…you own one?”
“Yes. My very own HOA and everything. I’ve got the fines to prove it.”
“Sounds very settled.”
A wisp of my earlier anxiety rises in the air. “I…guess.”
Her head bobs in an aggressive nod. “Cool. I love that for you.”
My gaze drops as I examine the side of her face. “Is there another question buried in your original question?”
She wheels around and scans the area. Her attention moves past the bright, gleaming plastic teddy bear filled with unidentifiable candy balls and settles on a poster. “Yes, actually. Where can I get that?”
I swivel my head, and my brow furrows of its own accord. “You want that giant smoking martini filled with gummy bears to avoid answering my question?”
“Kind of, yeah. Because this is a pit stop, right?” She slips her arm around my waist. “On pit stops, our priority is fun. So forget what I asked.”
“Yes but you’re not a pit stop. So if you want to talk about Raleigh, or my property taxes, or I don’t know, tomorrow even…that would be reasonable.”
Her hands slip behind my neck, fingers threading at the nape. It’s a move that makes me feel claimed in the best way.
“We have a five-hour drive to make and only a couple hours in Vegas.” Her lips tease mine in an almost kiss. “Questions can wait.”
I taste her shiny strawberry lipstick. Questions shouldn’t wait, but her distractions are very distracting. “Martinis it is.”