I can’t focus anyway. I’m too busy hoping the four vodka cranberries I had don’t make an appearance all over the sidewalk.
Then it hits me: I’ve only had four drinks, and I feel like my world is ending.
Such a lightweight.
"Gross," I mutter. Or at least thought I did, until I caught the confused looks on my sisters’ faces. Apparently, I said it loud enough for all of Vegas to hear. "Sorry. How, exactly, could it be worse?" I shake my head and blink hard, trying to force my eyes to focus on Jenna, my brows pulling tight in protest.
"I mean, literallyanythingwould be worse. The man is currently getting out of the car across the road, dodgingpaparazzi and crazed fans, just to come collect his intoxicatedfauxfiancée." She wiggles her brows.
My gaze follows hers.
There he is.
Avery Jones. NBA’s reigning bad boy, with hands that do wicked things to a basketball and better things to my body.
Drool-worthy abs.
Eyes that could rip my soul into shreds.
He bends to my level, eyes locked on mine. "You ready to go?"
I swallow, hard, nibbling on my bottom lip.
His hands trail down my smooth calves, his thumb grazing my ankle, and I wince.
He tilts his head. "You okay?" he asks, a flicker of concern crossing his face.
"Heels. I regret wearing them whenever I do." I sigh, holding my hands out for him to pull me to stand, but he doesn’t.
"I remember," he tells me with a smile.
Slowly, he unclasps the buckle on one black heel, sliding the strap free, then rests my bare—now blistered—foot on his knee. After easing off the second shoe, he hands them to me. "Can you walk, or are your feet too sore?"
I shake my head before my feet can even make contact with the ground.
"Alright," he murmurs, sliding his arms under my legs and behind my back. "Up you go."
In one smooth motion, he lifts me off the ground like I weigh nothing.
If our wedding wasn’t scheduled for tomorrow, I’d assume I were being carried across the honeymoon suite threshold.
"You girls coming?" he asks, glancing at Jenna and Lizzie. They nod in unison, ignoring the flashing lights as we head toward the car.
He opens the back door and places me gently down onto the seat, before reaching over to do up my seatbelt. Jenna and Lizzie climb in after, buckling in beside me without a word.
Then he slides into the passenger seat.
"Avery?" I ask, watching the casinos, bars, clubs, and hotels blur past—still packed with people, colorful lights splashing across the city like it’s just now time for the first round of drinks.
"Mmm?"
It’s not really a word. Or maybe it is, and I just can’t tell. Either way, I say what I’ve been thinking all night, audience be damned.
"I hope you know the spot next to you in your bed is reserved for me."
Lizzie snorts beside me, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch Jenna swatting her thigh to shut her up. Her hand flies up to cover the grin she can’t hold back.
"Isn’t it bad luck for the groom to spend the night with his bride before the wedding?" he asks, playfully.
