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Smiling, I shook my head and headed for the suitcase, where I fished out a matching clutch and tucked my phone away before transferring my ID and cards.
And I would stand tall tonight.
Out.
With my long-time crush, in a strange city, where nobody knew us, so no ridiculous ancient pacts of small-town brotherhood could be broken.
What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Right?
That’s the mantra I gave myself when there was a subtle, rhythmic knock on the door. Before opening it, I stood tall, closed my eyes, blew the last trace of nerves out, and turned the handle.
What I didn’t expect was for Broderick to be extending one long stem rose in front of that ear-to-ear knockout smile.
“A congratulatory token for making the top three,” he said gallantly. Prince Charming had nothing on Broderick Allen. And God, were those nerves adding gravel to that gorgeous baritone?
It wasn’t until he’d closed the distance, his thumb brushing over my lower lip, that I realized I’d clamped my teeth into it. Tentatively, eyes narrowed suspiciously on his face, I accepted the smooth stem, and brought it to my nose to inhale that intoxicating scent.
“Broderick Allen, are you wooing me?” I said over a smirk that barely contained the grin begging to be set free.
“Just practicing my graceful loser routine, like they do before the Oscars.”
“I wouldn’t count yourself out so quickly.”
“I would be an idiot to underestimate my competition,” he countered, smiling with something like pride in those deep browns. It was of no shock to Mara and I that the three finalists moving on to the next round were us, Pierce and Cheyenne, and Broderick—fate clearly had a sense of humor. Taken aback, I studied the sincerity there, my breaths coming in faster, shallower little pumps of air when he didn’t yield. Nothing about this felt like a bonus little sister outing.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, throat constricting in some invisible turtleneck as I turned back, wishing for some way to put my rose in water. Broderick sidled into the room and leaned casually against the entertainment center, hands in his front pocket, watching as I gingerly set it across my pillow. He was always so damn classy, and today was no different. Sleek charcoal slacks complimented a pale blue button-up shirt—the sleeves rolled up to expose those gorgeous forearms he’d used to cage me against him—beneath a navy vest. It was the moment he slid those bronze glasses on as he studied me that I was well and truly done for. My heart had grown wings. Wings that fluttered like the happiest little hummingbird as I turned back to face him. God, that smile might just kill me yet.
Broderick
Be ready at six. That was the indication I’d asked for in order to feel her out. To see if this was okay with her. And damn, Elora didn’t hold back.
I was still getting used to her longer locks of hair down and free flowing, since she almost always had it pulled back. That silky dark brown framed her face tonight, curled in a sexy, messy way, just begging me to wrap it around my fist. Her lips were a gorgeous shade of red that snagged my attention the moment she all but threw the door open, but her eyes were still beautifully, perfectly, Elora.
It was the dress that did me in. Tight in all the right places, a midnight black fabric hugged the supple lines I’d ardently attempted not to focus on for my entire damn adult life. I needed to taste her. To know what her soft curves would feel like beneath my palms. It was that primal urge that kept me anchored to the table with my hands safely tucked inside my pockets. El loved nothing if not a woman who refused to make herself small. This concert was an ode to that. I didn’t know a single song, but when Brex asked me what I could do for some grand gesture, I put in a call to my uncle, who had a buddy from college on the inside of the event scene here in the city.
Judging by the way the invitation had robbed away her coherent words, I thought I hit it outta the park.
This was insane.
I knew it as I watched her set the rose on her pillow. Knew it as she nervously ran those pearly teeth over that tempting, painted bottom lip. Some part of me clung to the fact that her brothers would kill me for the amount of time I allowed my eyes to linger on those strong bare legs or the swell of her ass. As for the rest of me…
Well, ultimately, for tonight, I was just going to do what made her happy. If that took us down a new road, fine. If not…at least she was smiling at me.
At least I would always have this picture of her tonight, flustered and beautiful…for me.
When she reached my side, I stretched out my hand in offering, preening like a damn bird when she took it. “Got your ID?” I asked, needing to say something to break the silence, to make sure nothing would stand between us and a night she’d remember.
I had to admit, the pop princess put on one hell of a show, and judging by the permanent smile on Elora’s face as she rattled off every single fact she could think of about the music empire, she was thrilled with it. I’d been hoping for the opportunity to dance with her, but it wasn’t really that kind of show. Too much screaming and giddy, uncoordinated flailing about with drinks held upright by women much younger than us. I now knew a disturbing amount of information about the thirty-something icon.
Dinner had been just as disconcertingly smooth, and watching our chipper, round little waitress entirely enamored by Elora putting down another basket of breadsticks might have been the highlight of my evening.
We’d opted to walk back down the strip, rather than trying to compete for a ride share in this chaos. The flash and glow of the omnipresent neon colored her skin as she prattled on beneath the roar of car horns, tires grinding across asphalt and the constant chatter of voices. Props to Taylor for creating such a feral fandom. But it was that smile I watched.
“You still want to meet her someday?” I finally asked as a limo passed us with feather-boa-baring women woo-hooing through the sunroof, saluting the city with raised middle fingers. Grinning at the surrounding insanity, El slowly glanced my way.
“I mean, obviously,” she said, like the question was ludicrous. “Who wouldn’t?”
Well. Me, for starters. But that didn’t need vocalizing.
