Page 84 of Pucking Forbidden

Stacey gives me a baffled smile. “You turn twenty-one tonight? Hadley, why haven't you been bragging about this all week?”

I shrug a shoulder, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious under the collective weight of their intense focus. “I don't know. My birthdays have just...never really been that big of a deal.”

I downplay it with a small, casual smile, but a quiet ache twinges in my chest. Because I've never had people to celebrate with, I think to myself. Growing up, birthdays were just another day on the calendar, usually spent having a quiet dinner with my dad if he wasn't traveling or hanging out with Lainey before I moved away. I’ve never had a group of girlfriends text-spamming me, let alone planning a night out. I’ve never had a crowd to care.

But looking at the girls right now, I realize that old reality is officially dead. I have lots of friends now, and for once in my life, I’m going to let loose.

The next hour is a blur of high-speed packing and adrenaline. Stacey is frantically talking into her phone, coordinating with her babysitter. Thankfully, Rylee's new sitter is free too, and between the two of them and Owen’s mom stepping in to help watch the kids, the moms are cleared for takeoff.

By the time we board Sutton's family's private jet, my heart is hammering against my ribs. I sit by the window, watching the lights of Denver fade into the dark, realizing that for the first time in my life, I am taking off into the night without notifying my father. He doesn’t have to know that I’m flying to Vegas, and he certainly doesn't have a say in what I do when I get there, especially since I’ve got my own money to use now.

When the wheels hit the tarmac in Las Vegas, it’s nearly ten o'clock at night. The second we step off the plane, the sheer, crushing weight of exhaustion hits us all at once. I feel a small bit of relief knowing I have another day to figure out what to say to Julian when I see him to make it clear I’m not letting him off the hook.

As we walk into the terminal, the legendary Vegas energy buzzes under the surface, instantly reviving us. Jayce completely came through. He’s arranged for a car service to pick us up from the airport, and managed to secure a massive block of luxury suites at The Bellagio, despite the last-minute madness.

When the bellhop opens the doors to the suite we’ve gotten in addition to our individual rooms, I just stand in the center of the room, taking it all in.

It doesn't feel real. A day ago, I was worried about midterms. Now, I’m standing in a penthouse in Las Vegas, on the brink of turning twenty-one, surrounded by women who have pulled me into their family.

“Happy birthday to you…”

I turn around as the clock strikes midnight. Grace is walking toward me, carefully balancing a single, decadent chocolate cupcake with a lone, glowing candle stuck in the frosting. Her eyes are bright with excitement. Sutton, Rylee, and Stacey join in, their voices swelling to fill the luxurious room as they finish the song, cheering loudly the second they hit the final note.

“Make a wish, Hads!” Stacey laughs, clapping her hands. “Twenty-one! Let’s go!”

I look at the flickering flame, a sudden, fierce warmth blooming in my chest. I close my eyes. But instead of wishing for the future career I know I want, the vivid image of a dark, intense brown gaze flashes behind my eyelids. I can almost feel the brutal, possessive heat of his mouth against mine.

I inhale deeply, holding the memory close, and blow out the candle.

The next morning starts incredibly early, fueled by gallons of room-service coffee. As we embark on our mission. The bell above the heavy glass door of Siren Bridal chimes with a crisp, delicate sound that feels in direct contrast with our group’s excited chatter.

We have exactly four hours before the boys land, and right now, our bride-to-be is standing in the center of an aggressively plush, cream-colored showroom wearing nothing but a pair of fishnet stockings, denim cut-offs, a black oversized hoodie with a cartoon capybara in a headset with a video game controller, and an expression that screams she is about to bolt back to Denver.

“I can't do this,” Skyler mutters, her fingers twisting the frames of her glasses up her nose. “Look at this place. Everything looks like a giant marshmallow. I am a video game developer. I write code in sweatpants. I cannot get married in three layers of crinoline and lace that costs more than my rendering rig.”

“Sky, breathe,” Grace says, ripping through a rack of heavy ballgowns so fast the wooden hangers are clattering like gunfire. “You are not getting married in a marshmallow, but you are also not getting married in that hoodie.”

“How about this?” Stacey holds up a heavily beaded, strapless number that looks like it belongs on a vintage showgirl. “It’s very Vegas.”

Skyler winces. “If I wear that, I will break out in hives before the vows. I need something that doesn’t pose the threat of blinding me if the light hits it just right.”

I watch her from the circular velvet sofa, the low hum of the vodka from lunch still buzzing pleasantly under my skin. I can see the exact moment the claustrophobia starts to settle into Skyler’s shoulders. She doesn’t want the theater of a traditional wedding. She just wants Carson.

My eyes drift away from the main showroom, tracking toward a smaller, minimalist alcove tucked in the back under a soft spotlight. There’s a single mannequin standing there, completely separate from the exploding lace and tulle filling the rest of the store.

I blink, pushing myself up from the deep sofa.

“Sky,” I call out, my voice cutting through Rylee and Sutton’s heated debate over a satin mermaid gown. “Look at this one.”

The girls fall silent, following me as I walk into the alcove.

The dress is a heavy, liquid ivory silk-crepe slip. It hangs from the mannequin’s shoulders by ultra-thin spaghetti straps, dropping into a clean, effortless cowl neckline that looks like poured water. There isn't a single bead, strip of lace, or layer of tulle on the entire thing. It’s sleek and radiates a cool, unbothered elegance.

Behind me, Skyler’s breath hitches.

“Oh,” she whispers.

“Go try it on,” Stacey urges gently.