Page 107 of Double Puck

“You're telling me to stop listening to everyone else and trust myself. Except you're doing it by giving me specific instructions on how to do it.” I watch their faces fall. "That's the same fucking thing, morons!"

Declan opens his mouth as Mason looks at him. They both shrug like the mugs they are. “He's got us there.”

“Thank you.” I raise my croissant toward them. “Personal growth. Already crushing therapy.”

Declan grunts and folds his arms over his chest. “Fine. Do whatever the fuck you want tomorrow.”

"Thank you," I announce dramatically. “Now that's the supportive parenting I'm used to.”

After a quick flight that ended with Corbin scurrying to the lavatory with spew leaking between his fingertips, pretty soon, we're rolling down the Vegas strip in a limo with tinted windows and the air conditioning set to arctic.

We arrived at the airport with three limos waiting on the tarmac for the team. Of course, Josie had the three Morrison brothers in the lead car because that woman's marketing never misses.

The Strip unfolds through the glass, bright flashing towers bleeding color into a sky so blue it looks fake. Enormous LED billboards cycle through ads for shows and fights and buffets that promise to ruin your life, and endless rows of palm trees line the boulevard, their fronds barely moving in the dry desert heat.

"Is that a pirate ship?" Corbin's face is pressed against the window of the limo.

"Dude, we said if you ride with us, you need to be chill."

"Right. Sorry." Corbin sinks back into the seat, glancing at Declan's gruff demeanor, trying to mimic it and failing badly.

Soon, The Bellagio appears at the end of the curve like a mirage, the rising towers, the famous fountains still and glassy in the afternoon sun, waiting for their moment of magic later tonight.

Our limo eases to a stop at the doors, and hotel staff in crisp black uniforms descend before the doors even open. Our luggage is handled as the doors are held open.

When I step out, I glance at the limo behind us just in time.

Darcy steps out of the limo, smoothing both hands down her clothes like this is just another weekday for her. My eyes follow the movement automatically, catching the generous curve of her hips, and that delicious ass I've spent most of this week becoming intimately acquainted with.

Jesus.

I'm the only goddamn man standing here who knows exactly what that ass looks like without the expensive fabric covering it now. Exactly how soft it feels beneath my hands, how badly she likes it when I spank her while fucking her from behind.

I drag my attention north before all the blood leaves my brain.

I forget sometimes that all of this, the limos, the five-star hotels, the army of staff appearing to make life easier before you've even realized you need something, isn't particularly impressive to Darcy.

This is normal for her.

This is her world.

Maybe that's why she looks so good in it. It's natural.

A woman with a clipboard guides us through a private entrance that bypasses the casino floor entirely, and soon, I'm standing beside my brothers, staring up at soaring ceilings that are dripping with a glass flower sculpture so massive it looks like a botanical garden exploded.

Rose has somehow commandeered the private check-in desk by the time we reach it, standing beside one of the hotel staff with a neat stack of gold-embossed envelopes arranged in front of her.

"Morrison," she calls, holding one up.

All three of us step forward.

Rose stares at us. "God, that's annoying."

"And productive," Mason says, winking. "I know how you like to squeeze every... last... drop out of your time."

Rose's cheeks blush and she fumbles with the stack of envelopes. "Beck."

I reach for the envelope, but before I can take it, Mason plucks it neatly from her fingers and passes it to me.