When Eli had woken up that morning, he’d expected to spend the day prepping the four-course meal for Marlee’s wedding. Nowhere, in any of the many recesses of his brain, had he even considered that he’d end the day with his jean-clad ass on a leather bench seat of a hot-pink Lincoln stretch limousine, a crystal champagne flute in his hand, purple lights flashing over his head, and a chihuahua with his leg in a cast passed out on his sneakers. All while they cruised the Vegas Strip and his baby sister chattered away with her three best friends about all the shit he did not need to know.
“Whatever happened to that guy with the goatee?” Becca asked Sadie.
She flinched and shook her head. “It was a no go.”
“’cause he had that whole foot thing she wasn’t into,” Kellie said as though Eli wasn’t sitting there and they weren’t discussing his little sister.
He shivered at the thought of Sadie and a guy with a goatee oranykind of foot thing.
“I’m right here, ladies.” Eli pointed to his chest.
“Jump right on in anytime.” Kellie leaned over the space between their bench seats and faux whispered in his personal space, “You’re just one of the girls this weekend.”
And wasn’t that fun?
“When did that happen with Goatee Guy? I thought you two were trying to make it work?” Marlee was in her element with her girlfriends, all thoughts of Scotty clearly pushed aside for the trip.
But Eli had been there during her asthma attack, had a first-row seat to Scotty jumping right in to help her, and the look in Marlee’s eyes when it registered that what they had was ending. All the declarations from before breakfast about her being over him dissolved like an antacid in a tall glass of bubbly. Marlee had put on a good front, recovered from the slip quickly, Eli gave her that. But he could see Scotty’s damage. And he was pretty sure Scotty saw it, too. Not that he felt bad for the guy—but he’d looked like Lothario must’ve when the bike tire got him.
Eli tossed back the exceptionally expensive champagne in his glass.
He shouldn’t have crashed the girls’ weekend. But at the same time, he didn’t want to end up on a twelve-hour emergency drive to bail them out of trouble when the call came in. Sadie might be a successful attorney these days, Kellie an accountant, Becca a—what the hell did Becca do for work?—but when the four of them all got together, they had a history of not making the best choices.
Case in point? Three years ago, they’d all decided to go zip-lining for their semiannual meet-up and not one of them had considered filling the gas tank before heading up to Idaho Springs. The whole batch of them got stuck on the side of the mountain, and he’d been the one on call to bring Marlee’s Jaguar F-Pace a fresh tank of gasoline. Or—and he still had no idea how this one even happened—two years ago when Marlee and Kellie had managed to handcuff themselves together using Kellie’s then cop-boyfriend’s work-issued handcuffs. Becca had swallowed the key, for reasons still unknown. Eli had ended up sawing off the bracelets with a hacksaw.
Yep, these girls in Sin City required on-site supervision.
Also, the four of them hadn’t given him any choice in his attendance. Marlee had booked his ticket before he’d given the A-OK.
Marlee leaned over and refilled his glass of bubbly. “Don’t you look reflective.”
“Thinking of all the times I’ve had to bail out your asses over the years.” Thank fuck they only got together twice a year. Well, three times this year since Marlee had the whole wedding shindig going on.
“You love us.” Marlee maneuvered herself to sit next to him.
Even though Marlee was from old money in Denver, her parents had believed attending public school for a few years would be good for her. Show her that it’s not all about a bank account. That’s how she’d met her friends. They’d spent their teenage years getting into trouble together, and he’d bet her parents rethought that stance on public school more than once throughout those years. But by that time, it’d been too late.
“What would you do without us keeping you on your toes?” Marlee asked.
“I would read a book, Mar.” He took the most masculine sip of fizzy booze that he could manage. “Maybe take up golf.”
She flinched. Golf was Scotty’s game.
Shit.
“I would’ve hated the golf, so you saved me from that.” He tried for recovery.
“At least there’s good champagne.” She held up the cloth napkin–wrapped bottle, little rivulets of condensation soaking the black label underneath her manicured thumb.
Eli really would’ve preferred a beer. Or a couple fingers of whiskey. But Marlee didn’t skimp, and he was personally affronted by anyone who would let goodDom Pérignongo to waste.
His phone buzzed beside him.
Jase.
Eli glanced over the message. His buddy Jase had an engagement party coming up next week. Since his fiancée was out with her girls, Jase wanted to know if Eli could hang out at their other buddy’s—Brek’s—bar that night. Yes, Eli wanted to. He sagged in the seat, tilted his head toward the ceiling of the car, and stared at the purple lights above. He’d made his Vegas bed when he shoved his duffle bag into the overhead compartment and sat his ass in one of the first-class seats Marlee had splurged on for all of them.
He tossed back the rest of his champagne and held it out to Marlee for a refill.
