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“No, thanks…” My glance flicks to the name tag on her impressive chest. “…Leslie. We’re all good here.”
Her smile widens even more. “You remembered.”
“Of course, darlin’. How could I forget?”
After Grayson shuts the door after her, he turns to me. “You had no idea who she was, did you?”
“She’s Leslie,” I say firmly. “Cheers! Drink up and we’ll go meet the others.”
Chapter Two
Fiona
IsitbecauseI’mthe maid of honour and first-hand witness of the love story of Bexley and Grayson that I’m so preoccupied with my own love story? Or lack of one?
The way Grayson looks at Bexley, his gaze softening as he watches her laugh with Rachel, is truly magical. Doubters, take note: the process of combing through twenty-six women to find true love really worked on this season of The Suitor. Bexley and Grayson made it through filming the season, keeping their romance under wraps until the ending—the “most dramatic ever”—was revealed, and making their debut as a couple
They’re happy. They’re in love.
I want it.
I don’t want Grayson, but I want a man who looks at me like he looks at Bexley. I love my best friend, but I can’t help envying what she’s got. I wouldn’t be human otherwise.
My best friend—engaged. She fell for Grayson Grant, star of The Suitor reality show, and after outplaying, outwitting—
Wrong reality show.
Our little group swells as the rest of the party join us in the line for Bubbles, apparently the latest and greatest nightclub on the Strip. Emmett is Grayson’s best friend, another former baseball player. Like Grayson, he gets noticed by the sports fans in the airport and the hotel, and even on the street, but compared to the attention his girlfriend Shae gets, Emmett looks like a nobody. Shae is an influencer and quite fascinating to talk to about her travels. I like them both, but I can’t help the flash of annoyance as they butt into the line.
Line jumpers are a pet peeve of mine.
I don’t blame them; I save the irritation for Mase Stirling.
“How we doing tonight?” He sounds like a talk show host. In fact, he might make a good one when the baseball career comes to an end—he’s pretty, popular, and smooth with the moves.
He can work a crowd too; not one person around us shows anything but excitement when three more people join us in line.
“Darlin’, aren’t you lookin’ lovely this evening.” Mase smiles down at me, dimple on display, with dirty blond hair that rivals Robert Pattinson’s Edward locks.
The smile turns me cold because guys like Mase don’t smile like that at women like me. “Thank you. And it’s Fiona.”
“What’s Fiona?”
“My name. In case you forgot. There’s a lot of us and you weren’t taking notes.”
“Do you think I need notes to remember your name?”
“Well, don’t baseball players use those little cards stuck in their back pockets to refresh their memory about the other players?”
Mase widens his eyes with surprise and then he laughs, sending a jolt ofsomethingthrough me. I chalk it up to irritation. “You like to watch the back pockets of us, do you?”
I stiffen at his easy manner. “I don’t recall saying anything of the sort.”
“No? I must have heard wrong.”
“I’m sure it’s not the first time.”
He laughs again, somehow knowing it irritates me. “You really don’t like me, do you?”
