Waking up in Vegas

by Natasha Preston

  “We’ve got previous. Being drunk at weddings.”

  “Vow renewal?” she asks.

  Laughing, I shake my head. “You’re the one who has to tell our divorce lawyers we did it again.”

  The earlier tension of our recycled sex conversation has been forgotten. Now, if neither of us brings it up again, we might just be okay. Not okay in the sense that it’s all over, and I don’t want her anymore. But I’d rather want her forever and never have her than fuck it up and have her hate me.

  Which, let’s face it, I would do.

  I arrive at the reception with my parents and Felicity. Mase is meeting us here with his date. I have no idea who she is or if he’ll see her again after tonight, but he always has to have a date if he’s attending a wedding. He can’t rely on hot singles being in attendance, apparently.

  Maybe there will be someone here to take my mind off Wren and her dress. Which I have yet to see because, according to Mum, who’s been texting Rachel, they’re about ten minutes behind us.

  I drop off the gift I brought on the stacked present table, congratulate the bride and groom, and head straight for the marquee where the open bar is.

  The evening is too warm, but the trees offer a lot of cool shade to make it bearable.

  “Hey, man,” Luke says, slapping me on the back.

  “Hey. Beer?”

  “Whiskey.”

  I raise my eyebrow. “You getting on it already?”

  We have a long night ahead of us, and Luke is shit at pacing. At every wedding, he drinks quick and passes out after two hours. He never picks anyone up because who wants the snoring mess in the corner?

  He shrugs. “Why not?”

  “Hey, Brody,” Wren says, stopping next to her brother.

  I turn my head, hairs rising at her voice. Fuck. She’s wearing a navy dress with a floral pattern. The hem sits mid-thigh, and the cut is low enough to have my blood pumping.

  I clear my throat. “Hey. You look nice.”

  There are many words I want to substitute nice for, but Luke is right there.

  She picks a glass of Prosecco off the tray on the bar and smirks. “Thank you. The shorts don’t look ridiculous, by the way.”

  “How did you know he was going to wear shorts?” Luke asks.

  Her eyes rise to Luke. “He mentioned it when he had dinner with me and Mum the other night.”

  This is enough for Luke. He nods and asks the bartender for a whiskey and a beer.

  Wren bites her lip and looks over in my direction.

  I shrug. It was an easy mistake, and there was no harm. It’s not like she asked me for a copy of our marriage certificate.

  “Right, there’s a girl outside I want to talk to. Later, fuckers,” Luke says. He thanks the bartender and walks off.

  Wren rolls her pretty blue eyes, which appear lighter with the contrast of the navy. “I hope she throws her drink over him.”

  “He pissed you off?”

  “Nah, he just deserves it. It’s going to look so pretty here when the sun sets.”

  I pick up my beer. “Want to take a walk outside?”

  “A walk?”

  “Outdoor games. I challenge you.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she says, “It’s on.”

  “After you.”

  She turns, and as we head out, I place my hand on her back, just above her perfect butt.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she mouths, “Really?”

  Oh, yeah, really. Now that I know the effect that tiny action has on her, I’m going to do it as often as I can. I’m sporting blue balls all the time. It’s only fair that she’s as uncomfortable as I am.

  “Sorry,” I mutter, dropping my hand.

  She knows I’m not at all sorry, but she doesn’t say anything.

  Outside, people are mingling, drinking, and laughing. A few children are playing giant Jenga and Tin Can Alley, while others are just running around with large bubble wands. There’s a corner of teenagers perched on hay bales, watching their phones and flirting.

  I think there’s a stream nearby, but it’s past the light splatter of trees, before it turns into thick forest. Apparently, it’s about a three-minute walk.

  Wren looks up, and the sunshine bounces off her face. I take a breath and look away as my heart hammers in my chest.

  I turn back just as her lips close around the edge of the champagne flute.

  We should have agreed to completely ignore each other. That’s the only way I’m going to get over this attraction.

  “Do you know Mase’s date?” she asks. “The only thing he told me was that he’s bringing a girl and she’s not his usual type.”

  “He said that? He’s not told me anything about her.”

  “I hope he settles down with someone. I can’t wait to see him get serious after all these years of messing around.”

  I stop by the archery. They’ve really gone all out to make it a fun wedding.

  “I’d pay to see that at this point. Vegas for him was about sleeping with as many people as possible.”

  She sips her Prosecco. “What was it for you?”

  “Well, you know what it was, but it was supposed to be one massive piss-up and gamble.”

  Her voice dips to a whisper. “Did I completely ruin it?”

  I’ve already told her that she didn’t, but I made that sound so fucking bad.

  I take a step closer. “Not at all, Wren. And in a few years to come, I will have the best story.”

  That makes her smile, and she closes the gap until we’re almost touching. My blood pumps harder. “I like that we’ll always have that wild night. I mean, I’ll like it a lot more once we’ve, you know, sorted it. I’m looking forward to it just being an epic story.”

  “Looks like you’re about to kiss.”

  Wren and I take a step back and look up as Felicity grins and walks away from us.

  “I don’t like your sister,” Wren grumbles.

  “Neither do I.” Taking Wren’s drink, I put it on the table next to the bow with mine. “Now, let’s pretend Fliss is the bull’s-eye.”

  Wren picks up the bow and an arrow. Which isn’t a real arrow because that’s a terrible idea around alcohol.

  She pulls the string back and bites her bottom lip. When she lets go, the arrow flies… straight past the target.

  Slumping her shoulders, she hands the bow to me. “I don’t think I’m going to like this game either.”

  I take my go, and although I don’t hit the target, I do get the board, which is much closer than hers. There is a light breeze, which screws our chances.

  “You’re doing it all wrong,” I tell her, picking up the bow again.

  We’ve been playing for the last twenty minutes, and she hasn’t hit the board once. I’m now pretty good at hitting the black rings.

  “Aim properly, Wren.”

  Lowering the bow, she turns her head and glares.

  My mum and dad have joined us on the second target. Both are laughing at Wren every time she misses.

  “Help her, you arse!” Dad says, chuckling as he helps Mum aim.

  Mum is a pretty good darts player, so she doesn’t need help to aim, but there are four empty champagne flutes on their table, which is impeding her significantly.

  “I don’t need his help,” Wren says defiantly.

  Dad laughs again. “So stubborn, love.”

  I watch her lips twitch as she wants to argue that but can’t without proving his point.

  “Fine.” She sighs. “Brody, help me.”

  I smirk. “What’s the magic word?”

  Her chest expands with a deep breath and a million swear words she’s holding in. “Brody…”

  “Yes, Wren?”

  “Don’t be a fucker.”

  Mum and Dad throw their heads back and laugh.

  My smile widens. Fuck, she is awesome.

  “Turn around,” I tell her and press my chest against her back as she twists. My heart beats painfully fast. I p
ut my hand over hers, holding the bow still, and the other over the hand holding the arrow. “Okay,” I whisper in her ear.

  Her body relaxes into mine, arching back a fraction so there is no part of her not squished against me. Oh God.

  “Look down the arrow,” I tell her, gulping as her breath hitches.

  This was not a good idea.

  She lowers her head and follows my instruction.

  “If you arch your arse into me again, I’m taking you home,” I whisper. Jesus, my voice is laced with desperation.

  Wren shivers, her body shuddering into mine, and my erection grows, pressing into her.

  “Wren, I need you to take this shot,” I plead. My dick throbs, and my fingertips involuntarily dig into the back of her hands.

  She lets go of the string, and the arrow flies. It hits the board at the bottom, but neither of us cares.

  Mum and Dad cheer, but all I can hear is my erratic pulse and Wren’s heavy breath.

  I lower my hands because I’m suddenly very aware that this is going to be obvious soon. Wren turns around, and her expression changes like flicking a switch. Gone is the lust in her eyes, and it’s replaced with amusement.

  “I thought you were supposed to be my archery instructor, showing me how it’s done. It’s nowhere near the red.”

  I step back, keeping my body facing her since I have a fucking raging hard-on. “You cannot question me after you practically wanked me with your arse,” I whisper.

  Laughing, she picks up her Prosecco. “We should go and get all of the arrows back again.”

  She’s glowing, animated, and thoroughly pleased with herself.

  So, it looks like we really are stuck in a never-ending cycle of trying to keep things platonic while desperately wanting to fuck each other’s brains out.

  Thirty-Four

  Wren

  I’m having the best time. We’ve only been here for an hour and a half, but Brody and I have played all of the outdoor games and visited the bar many times. You’d think we would learn.

  We’ve yet to find Mase and his date, but we haven’t been looking. I don’t even know where Emma and Felicity are, but we’ve spoken in passing. No one has questioned me on spending all of my time with Brody so far. I don’t think anyone finds it odd.

  Felicity is the only suspicious one.

  “There you are!” Mase says, slapping Brody on the back. “Hey, Wren. You look gorgeous.”

  That’s better than Brody’s “nice” but he could hardly say much in front of Luke. It’s okay though; I could see everything he wanted to say in his hungry eyes.

  Beside Mase is a gorgeous redhead. She’s tall—maybe only an inch shorter than him—with an hourglass figure to die for. He usually goes for dark hair and skinny frames. Both awesome, but this is unexpected. Maybe that’s a good sign. He’s not had any luck with the blondes.

  “This is Katherine. She prefers Kate,” he says, wrapping his arm around her waist.

  She smiles. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Hey, I’m Wren, and this is Mason’s dickhead younger brother, Brody,” I say.

  Brody rolls his eyes. “How’s it going?”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “You guys want to get a drink?” Mason asks. “We’re headed to the bar.”

  “Sure,” I reply, holding up my glass. “I’m getting low.”

  “That’s three-quarters full, Wren,” Brody points out.

  “By the time I get to the bar, it won’t be.”

  My response catches him off guard, and he laughs. “To the bar then.”

  We don’t need to go to the bar together. But we have been. In fact, we’ve spent almost every second together since we got here.

  Let’s not read anything into that. We’re getting on, and tonight, at least, the whole unwanted marriage thing isn’t hanging between us.

  I really like it.

  Brody is cool when he’s not being a dick.

  I like our relationship when it’s like this.

  “What are you drinking?” Kate asks.

  “Prosecco. Waiters keep bringing them around on trays, so I don’t always have to walk to the bar every time.”

  She nods. “I like your style. I’ll stick to Prosecco, too.”

  “How’re things going with Mason?” I ask as the boys begin to half-wrestle while they walk to the bar. Idiots.

  Her peach lips curve. “Really well. I’m enjoying getting to know him.” She lowers her gaze as if she admitted something embarrassing.

  “Well, I’m glad he’s grown up.”

  Her eyes flick to me. “Yeah, he mentioned that he’s not really dated before. I was kind of nervous at first, almost cancelled our second date, but I realised it would be stupid of me not to give him a chance.”

  “I’m glad you did. He looks happy.”

  His smile is light and genuine.

  “What do you want?” Brody asks, leaning against the bar.

  One more night in your bed.

  I bite my tongue and hold up my glass.

  “You and Brody aren’t together, are you? Mason didn’t mention it.”

  I shake my head. “Just friends.” Recent friends. I definitely feel like his friend now. If we can talk more after accidentally getting married and while going through a divorce, I think that means we’ve made each other’s Christmas card lists. Not that Brody sends cards because no one really likes them, and they all end up in the bin by December 30th.

  Can you say Scrooge?

  She purses her lips. “You two seem close.”

  “Yeah, it’s nothing like that. I’ve recently found out he’s not a complete dickhead.”

  With a nod, she replies, “Okay.”

  At least Mason hasn’t told her. We’ve already told three people when we were supposed to take it to the grave.

  The guys get drinks, and we go back outside. It’s too nice and warm out, even with the sun setting long ago. Fairy lights and patio heaters keep people wanting to be in the forest rather than the marquee.

  “So, Kate, did you know that Mason wet the bed until he was five?” Brody says.

  I laugh behind my Prosecco while Mason’s head whips around to face his brother.

  “What the fuck is the matter with you? I wasn’t five!”

  Kate shakes her head, not fazed by Brody’s little bed-wetting reveal. “Men are horrible to each other.”

  I nod. Men are way harder on other men they actually like. It’s weird.

  “Dick move,” I tell Brody as Mason leads Kate ahead of us, afraid of what Brody might say next.

  He shrugs. “Read my recent texts from him, and you’ll think I was taking it easy.”

  “What’s he been saying?”

  Brody stops walking and lifts his eyebrow. “A lot of shit about what a twat I am.”

  “Over the wedding thing?”

  “What else?”

  “He’s just messing, though, right?”

  “Yeah, he is. But I was looking for revenge anyway.”

  “You’re definitely going to Hell.”

  “I got drunk and married my best friend’s sister in Vegas.”

  Nodding, I sip my Prosecco. “Okay. In that case, I’m going to Hell, too, so I might as well tell Luke that we’re married.”

  Brody’s eyes widen, and the hot-as-fucking hell muscles on his forearms tense. “Tell me you’re joking.”

  I laugh. “Of course, I’m joking! We might both be going to Hell, but I don’t want to go there tonight.”

  Brody growls as I walk off to join Mason and Kate at the dartboard hanging on a tree.

  Two games in, Brody and I are beating them, and Brody and Kate head back to the bar.

  “So, how does this wedding compare to the last one you were at?” Mason asks the second we’re alone.

  I can see my parents, but they’re sitting on a hay bale with Brody’s parents.

  My eyes slide to him, and he laughs.

  “I’m sorry, Wren. I don’t really know wh
at to say.”

  “Then, I recommend saying nothing. We’re taking care of it.”

  I’m aware that I’m downplaying the shit out of it right now, but at this exact moment in time, things aren’t really that complicated. We’re waiting, and while we’re waiting, we can pretend that nothing is abnormal.

  He nods. “So I’ve heard. And how do you feel about divorcing my little brother?”

  “About the same as I felt when marrying him, to be fair. Neither was on the top of my to-do list.”

  Mason folds his arms. “He’s not that bad.”

  “He’s not. Marriage and divorce at eighteen are.”

  “You won’t always be eighteen.”

  “Now, I understand why you got straight As at school,” I mutter sarcastically.

  He chuckles. “You’re hilarious.”

  “What’s the deal with Kate, then?”

  “What do you mean?” He sips his beer.

  I grin because I am so not letting him get away with being casual. “You like her. You’ve been sweet and attentive. This isn’t just some fling, is it? She likes you.”

  He groans. “We don’t need to put a label on it, Wren.”

  “When did you meet her?”

  “The day after we got back from Vegas. We’ve been on two dates. It’s early days. Don’t read anything into it.”

  “Oh, that’s too late. You never have a third date! And if you can get all up in my business, I can ask you all the probing questions in return.”

  “Your business is my business because your business is my brother.”

  I shudder. “That’s the worst sentence to ever come out of your mouth. And I’m including the time you said The Big Bang Theory wasn’t funny.”

  He folds his arms. “I’m going to say this once, like I did to him, and then I’ll let it go. Did a part of you want to get married, or does a part of you want to stay married now?” I open my mouth, but he holds up his hand. “Just hear me out first. You two have never been close, but is that because you have nothing in common or because, deep down, you have a connection? Did the marriage happen because the alcohol had stripped away the layers of irritation and pent-up sexual frustration?”

  I deadpan. “Can you hear yourself?”

  “Answer me seriously, Wren.”

  “You’re so far off the mark, Mase. We were drunk and got caught up in another marriage. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Neither of us want to be married, so we’re getting a divorce. End of story.”