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“Make sure to be responsible in Las Vegas. I’ve heard some terrible stories about that place,” she warns, and worry is written all over her face.
“Just remember, Mom, this was all Summer’s idea,” I tease, taking the attention away from me for once. What they don’t know is that she can drink us all under the table. She might seem perfect now, but she was a sorority girl in college, and I heard about the wild frat parties she attended. Just because she had good grades doesn’t mean she didn’t have the normal college experience.
“We better get going.” Summer shifts the conversation with ease. “Love you, Mom. Tell Dad we’ll be fine,” she says, walking toward the front door.
“You two behave,” Mom barks.
“We will,” Summer and I say in unison.
Once we’re outside, Summer pops the trunk to her car and helps me load the heavy ass suitcase. I see her carry-on inside.
“That’s all you brought?” I ask, shocked.
She shrugs. “Don’t plan on remembering anything that happens this weekend, especially not what I’m wearing.”
My eyes go wide as I realize I might be in for more than what I bargained for, but I gladly accept the challenge. We listen to music as she drives us to the airport, excited to have the next few days of freedom. She gushes about her fiancé, Owen, who’s her high school sweetheart. My father molded him into the son-in-law he’s always wanted, one who has a career and can provide for his daughter. Owen went to med school and plans to follow in my father’s footsteps. Luckily, she found the love of her life while she was a teenager. I’m probably doomed to die an old cat lady.
Once we park the car and make it to the entrance, I see her four best friends waiting impatiently. They’re all beautiful and wearing matching bridesmaids’ shirts. Avery hands me one that says maid of honor, and it has the same sparkly rhinestones on it as their bridesmaids’ ones. I slip it over my crop top and give her a hug and a thank you. They’re all Summer’s age and treat me like their kid sister, but I don’t mind. It’s actually fun being around them, and I love how they bring out the wild side in Summer. She deserves this weekend more than anyone else I know.
Once we’ve checked our bags and made it through security, Avery and Chelsea drag us to a little cantina by our gate for pre-flight drinks. I try to pace myself, but it’s useless when they keep ordering rounds of shots. By the time we’re called for boarding, we’re all two sheets to the wind and giggling about God knows what. Summer’s grinning wide as we patiently wait for the attendant to scan our tickets, and I haven’t seen her this happy in a long while.
After she got engaged, she became more serious, saying she needed to start acting like an adult. Essentially, she took etiquette lessons from my mother on how to be a good wife. It kinda makes me sad how manipulative they’ve been.
“Are you ready, sis?” Summer asks after we find our seats and buckle. Looking out the window, I feel my excitement nearly bubble over.
I turn and look at her with a huge smile on my face. “Ready to make memories of a lifetime!”
She squeals and so does the rest of the bridal party. Right then, I vow not to think about my parents, Benjamin, or anything back in Phoenix. This weekend is about experiencing Vegas and living life to the fullest.
Chapter Three
Riley
Time zones confuse the shit out of me, especially when my internal clock is on ranch hand time—up at the ass crack of dawn and in bed before midnight. I left at four, was on a three-hour flight, and landed at five.
After we grab our shit, Diesel and I make our way to the hotel. Instead of renting a car, we use a shuttle to drop us off at Fremont Street. I’m in awe as I look around at the buildings, bright lights, and all the tourists strolling the sidewalks. I can’t fucking wait to go out tonight.
“Aw shit!” Diesel says, beaming. “We’re gonna tear this place up. Ooh wee!” he yells, bringing attention to the two of us, not that we needed any. Considering we’re both wearing cowboy boots and hats in the middle of the busiest street in Vegas, we’re doing just fine without all that.
“Oh my God! A cowboy!” a drunk woman says, stumbling toward Diesel with her tits on display. “Can I take a picture with you?”
“Sure, sweetheart!” Diesel obliges, smiling big.
“Wait, is the accent real?” She looks at him suspiciously, and he eats up the attention.
“As real as your pretty face.” He’s laying it on good, making sure to thicken up his drawl.
