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Oh, and a bride who is long gone.
Apparently, what happens in Vegas doesn't always stay here.
Sometimes it takes off running.
Now I’m chasing after my runaway bride with divorce on my mind.
What could go wrong?
Besides everything.
prologue
Titan
“I can’t believe she’s marrying him,” the girl mutters as she plops her sexy ass next to me. I look at her again, shaking my head. I say again because she caught my eye a few times tonight. She’s tight. Rockin’ bod, firm ass, tits that you could bury your cock in—a solid nine on the fuckability scale.
“I can’t believe he’s marrying her,” I counter. I lean back against the white leather sofa.
We’re in the private dining and casino area of the Calypso, a new place in Vegas that caters to the rich and famous. My buddy Aden just tied the knot, and they’re out there dancing like crazy fucking lunatics. I love my boy, but he can’t dance for shit. Of course, he apparently has some rhythm in the sack, because you can clearly see Hope’s baby belly in that white dress she’s wearing.
“What’s wrong with my sister?” The girl huffs, shooting me a look that I figure is meant to freeze my dick into ice. I smirk because instead, it makes me hard.
So, this is Hope’s sister. They sure don’t look alike, although they’re both pretty damn hot. I heard Hope had two sisters and only one was here. The other was in Istanbul or Kabul—something like that. I guess I should play nice with her, but this girl looks like she can take as good as she gives. That’s just one more reason she makes my dick hard—and maybe that’s why I decide to let it all hang out.
“For starters she lied to my boy.”
“Your boy was an asshole to her,” she mutters.
“Don’t change the fact that she chained him up in lies for over two months,” I respond, taking a sip of my Jack and Coke, savoring it as it slides down my throat.
“If he had said that shit to me, I would have let the doctors check him into the mental wing of the hospital and become a model for their latest white jacket designs,” she says.
I turn my gaze on her, to taking her in, fighting the urge to laugh. She’s staring longingly at my cigarettes.
“You want a smoke?”
“I don’t smoke,” she sighs wistfully.
“Woman you’re looking at my smokes like your last name is Hoover and you’re about to latch on and suck them all down,” I laugh.
“That’s better than where I thought you were going with that.”
“Changed my mind mid-stream,” I respond with a wink.
“Thoughtful of you,” she laughs.
“That’s me, Mr. Thoughtful.”
“You look less than thrilled to be here,” she points out.
“I hate weddings.”
“Why?”
“They’re fucking contagious,” I mutter. “They’re like fucking crotch rot. Had Gavin go down not too long ago. Now, Aden has fallen like a fucking brick.”
“I’m with you. If Ida Sue tells me, ‘your turn next, Faith,’ one more time…” she stops to shake her head in disgust. “I’m going to hurl.”
“She’s your aunt? I had to dance with that woman three times.”
“Awe! That’s sweet.”
“No, woman. It’s sweet if it’s a normal dance. That aunt of yours was all up in my business. Started talking about how I needed to come down to her farm and pet her cow. I don’t even want to know what the fuck that’s code for.”
“It’s not code,” she says. She shrugs, her gaze going back to my smokes. “She has a cow.”
“You’re shittin’ me,” I laugh.
“Nope. She named it Hamburger. She gave one to Hope and Aden as a wedding present named Buttermilk.”
I listen to her talk, wondering if she’s pulling my leg or not. It’s clear that she’s completely serious, however.
“Your aunt is crazy,” I mutter.
“To be fair, I think it’s the entire Lucas clan in general.”
I haven’t seen anything tonight to argue with that. “I can believe that,” I respond, taking another drink.
“Oh, God,” she moans, sounding miserable.
“What?” I ask, giving her my full attention once more.
“I just noticed there are like four women on the dance floor, and every single one of them is pregnant.”
“So?”
“I hate pregnant women.”
I blink because her tone is so vehement. Shit, most women I’ve met go all doe-eyed when you start talking babies. “Why?” I find myself questioning. If I wanted to admit it to myself, I’m interested in what makes this sexy blonde tick—but I’m not going to admit it. I take another drink instead.
“That stuff is contagious, just like you said—crotch rot. Though to be fair, we call it crotch critters where I’m from.”
“Crotch critters?” I laugh.
“Pretty much.”
“I don’t know how to process that,” I respond, stifling my laughter.
“I don’t know how to process that you just said you were going to process something,” she says, frowning up at me.
This girl is funny. Much better company than anyone else I’ve met here tonight, but I’m about done.
