It’s a little snappy, a little rude, but I’m already annoyed with this entire time. I won’t hide who I am for these idiots.
“You’re right,” he says, relenting. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive and rude of me to say.”
“It’s fine,” I say with a huff. “I’m sure there’s a bar around the corner or something. It’s Vegas, after all.”
“You’re sharing your location with me, then. I don’t trust this place or the people in it.”
I roll my eyes, but pull out my phone and share my location with him.
I busy myself on my phone as the guys continue to go back and forth to the buffet to “get their money’s worth.”
I couldn’t do that if I had the entire day. There is no way I can eat like them. But I get it. They’re athletes and if they want to keep their build, they need to take in the calories same as they burn them off—in copious amounts.
When we’re finished, we walk to the strip club. The line is super long, and I’m glad I won’t be waiting just to get inside to see some tits that half the city has probably touched. No thanks.
“I’ll catch you later,” I say, giving everyone a wave.
“Where the hell are you going?” Trey calls out.
He’s the big mouth of the bunch. Immature and never knows when to shut the hell up.
“I’m gay, remember?” I say, putting my hand on my chest and smiling.
“They have asses too,” he says, gesturing toward the place.
“I am not even going to touch that one.” I give another wave before leaving, completely avoiding looking at Austen because I just know he’ll be giving me some kind of apologetic look and I just can’t handle that right now.
Maybe I will get to enjoy Vegas the way I would without him, if only for tonight.
I walk a few blocks before looking for places to go. Instead of searching for bars, I look for clubs and find there’s one not too far, so I walk there and wait in line. It’s long, but not as long as the one for the strip club was. It moves quickly, and before I know it, I’m paying the entry fee, getting my hand stamped, and let inside. I’ve never seen anything like it.
The ceilings are high as hell, with screens playing light shows that go along with the music that’s so bass-heavy I feel it in my toes. It’s jam-packed, but I make my way to the bar, needing adrink. I order myself a whiskey and ginger and a shot of whiskey. I take the shot before heading off with my drink to the bar on the other side to do the same. My drink is done by the time I get there.
I love clubs with more than one bar because it’s easy to play both sides and drink well beyond the point of what you should. I hang out at this bar though, finish my drink, then order another before disappearing into the crowd and getting lost in the music.
By the time I finish this drink, I’m feeling everything. A mix of not eating much and sweating has the alcohol hitting me hard, and I feelgood. I end up getting two more drinks and another shot. Music has never sounded so good. The energy in this place is palpable. Everyone is having a great time, and the DJ is amazing.
Soon enough, someone is coming up behind me. When I turn, I expect to see a girl, since this isn’t a gay club. But when I meet bright blue eyes, and a drunken smile, I know I’m in trouble.
Chapter Thirteen
Austen
“Glad to see you haven’t been murdered,” I say with a laugh, relief flooding me. I’d meant what I said about Cam running off on his own. I know we’re both adults, but the thought of him disappearing into a club and following some guy home makes me feel more than just a little concerned.We didn’t talk about ground rules for that sort of thing, but Cam’s always been pretty solid at keeping his sex life mostly private. I know he wouldn’t be the type to bring a guy back to our room. I’m not sure I could handle seeing Cam with anyone.
I don’t want to see him with anyone.
I want him all to myself.
The thought enters my brain as he stares at me, bleary grey eyes and dark hair semi-sticking to his skin.
“How—”
“You weren’t answering your texts,” I half scream. The music is too fucking loud here.
“What?” he asks and I lean in closer, my chest brushing awkwardly against his as my mouth finds his ear. I stumble just a bit, from the countless shots Mack and the boys had me shoot at the last place. My lips brush the edge of his ear as I repeat myself.
“I said, you weren’t answering your texts.” Up close, I get a whiff of his cologne, mixed with the scent of sweat and alcohol, and it isn’t necessarily a bad smell.
