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“Right,” Harper sings. “We’re going to a club down the street. The concierge recommended it. It’s got specialty burgers and steaks.”
“Come on, brother. Let’s go have a big, juicy steak,” Jensen says, slapping me on the back and pushing me up the aisle.
“I’m not eating steak,” Freedom adds. As if we don’t already know she doesn’t eat meat. She reminds us every time we have a cookout.
I lag behind our group as we fight our way out of the auditorium. Maybe they’ll proceed to their dinner destination without me. Not that I don’t want to join my family for a meal, but I’m still feeling a little off from the flight and I’m not sure I’d be good company. Plus, the constant earthy scent emanating from Freedom’s skin is fucking with me, like always.
“Let’s go,” Latham says when we finally smell the freedom of the night air.
Freedom. See? I can’t even step outside without somehow associating everything with her.
“We’re going back to the hotel for dinner. We’ll see you all tomorrow,” Mom announces, pulling away from our group, along with Latham’s parents.
“Are you sure?” Harper asks.
“Absolutely, You kids go have fun. We’ll meet you tomorrow for brunch in the hotel restaurant,” Kitty adds, walking over to give her son a hug.
“I’ll go with them,” I announce, ready to make a run for it. Just the thought of going to a club has me about ready to break out into hives.
“No way! You’re definitely coming with us,” Harper insists, latching onto my forearm with her little sister claws.
“But Mom…”
“I’ll be fine. I’m having dinner with the Douglases and then will be turning in to my room. No need to worry about me. Please, go with your siblings and enjoy yourself.” Mom gives me a smile, but retracts away from the group, letting me know there’s no room left for discussion.
Sighing, I turn toward my siblings. They’re all smiling widely. “We’re going to have fun, Samuel,” Marissa insists, Rhenn wrapping his arm around her shoulder and guiding her toward the club.
Fun.
Right.
I fall into step with the rest and walk the two blocks to the club. The lower floor is a restaurant and bar, while the top two floors are for dancing. Latham gives our name to the hostess, thanks to our hotel concierge for making the reservation, and we are led to a big round booth in back. Music from the floors above filters down, but not in the can’t-talk way. Instead, it seems to add to the dark ambiance and comfortable experience.
“This place is great,” Harper beams, taking her menu from the hostess.
“I can’t wait to get upstairs,” Latham croons over the music. Her eyes light up with excitement and I have to look away. They’re clearly sharing a private moment, and I don’t want to be subjected to it.
Our waiter arrives, delivering glasses of water and a smile he offers right to Freedom. My gut tightens when she returns the gesture, and I have no clue why. Freedom isn’t mine, and if this guy wants to flirt with her, so be it. Yet, at the same time, that thought makes me want to rip off his arm and beat him to death with it.
It’s confusing as hell.
Latham orders a round of Patrón for our group while we browse the menu. The ladies are all excited, ready to let go and have fun in Vegas, while all I can think about is how we’re going to all get safely home and how often they clean the club bathrooms. No way am I taking a shot of anything, let alone Patrón.
“No thanks.” I wave my hand as the shot glasses are passed out.
“You have to,” Jensen states, pushing my hand away and setting the little glass in front of me.
“I do not. I’m not five.”
“We’re celebrating!” Harper bellows.
“We haven’t eaten yet. It’ll go straight to our heads,” I argue, refusing to even glance at the tiny glass of temptation.
“Exactly,” Latham replies, raising his hand.
“Please,” Harper whines. Yes, whines. That over-the-top fake voice that some use to get their way. She used it all the time when we were little, so no surprise she’d pull it out now for this special occasion.
I push the glass to Rhenn, who’s sitting next to me. “You do my shot.”
