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“Well, I broke my arm while riding a bike once, so that’s a horrible analogy.”
Josh chuckles. “Stop stressing, brother. Kat and I will be there to pick up your incoherent slack, if need be, until you’re ready to be your charming self.”
“That could take a while. Remember when we’d invite a sorority over to the house, and I’d stand there in a corner and—”
“You’re not nearly that shy anymore. Just be yourself and Hannah won’t be able to resist you.”
I flash Josh a snarky look. “Says the guy who instructed me, mere days ago, to ‘dick it’ up in order to ‘bag a babe.’”
Josh rolls his eyes. “I was joking.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“Well, either way, it was terrible advice. You heard Kat. She told you to lean into your strengths—your awesome, genuine self. It sounds like Hannah is a lot like you, so that strategy should work like a charm.”
“God willing and the creek don’t rise.” I’m not Southern; I’m from Fresno. But I’ve always liked that phrase.
The sound of female laughter wafts through the closed door, causing me to abruptly jerk to standing. Two seconds later, Kat and Hannah glide into the suite on a cloud. Hannah’s wearing thick, dark glasses, jeans, and a dark shirt, but she might as well be dressed in World of Warcraft cosplay, based on the way my body—my skin, my heart, my very soul—are reacting to her. Hello, wife.
That’s the crazy thought that pops into my head at my first sight of Hannah Milliken. Obviously, I know my brain is being silly. Making a joke, which it often does in times of stress. But, wow, if I could program a wife out of code, Hannah would be my template. She’s even more beautiful in person than in all the photos I’ve devoured of her. Yes, photos. Plural. I’ve now scoured the internet for every photo I could possibly find of one Hannah Suzanna Milliken of Seattle and quickly surmised she’s totally out of my league. Hence, my nerves at present.
As the women come to a stop in the middle of the large room, I fold and unfold my arms, feeling like they’ve suddenly become useless sausages attached to my torso.
Kat gestures to Hannah. “Gentlemen, this is my beloved sister from another mother, Hannah Banana Montana Milliken. Hannah, meet our generous benefactor, Josh Faraday, and the sweetest genius you’ll ever meet, Peter Hennessey. Henn.”
At the sound of my name, I force my legs to propel me forward toward the pair, and with each step I take, I feel the synapses inside my brain damn-near short-circuiting as my tongue thickens and twists inside my mouth.
“Hi, Henn,” Hannah says brightly, her blue eyes sparkling behind her sexy glasses. “I’m so happy to meet you.”
I come to a stop in front of her and try to smile. “Hi, Hunnooh. Hab-be bleet choo.”
Oh, God, no. No. Not the gibberish thing!
I try to correct course—to tell Hannah that she looks amazing—but the only sounds that come out are a string of syllables ending with a semi-word that sounds a bit like schmamazing.
“Why, thank you, sir,” Hannah replies smoothly, without missing a beat. “You look pretty damned schmamazing yourself.”
My breathing halts.
Wait.
What?
How?
Chuckling, Josh arrives at my side and extends his palm to Hannah. “Hello, Banana. Glad you could make it. The PR team desperately needs your assistance.”
Everyone chuckles at the inside joke, so I try to join in. But once again, my vocal cords and lingual vestibule aren’t cooperating. As I try to pull myself together, Hannah hugs Josh in thanks, which makes me realize I probably should have hugged her in greeting. Fuck! Should I do it now, after she disengages from Josh? No, the moment has passed. Plus, I’m rooted to my spot, anyway, my sausage arms dangling uselessly at my sides.
“Oh, it’s your first time here?” Josh says in reply to something Hannah has said. “I didn’t realize that. Come check out the view.” He guides the women toward floor to ceiling windows on the far side of the suite. As he passes, Josh winks at me, letting me know he’s got this until I’ve sufficiently gathered myself.
At the windows, Josh launches into giving Hannah and Kat a guided visual tour of The Strip below, while I shuffle over and stand next to Hannah. Throughout Josh’s commentary, I nod and pretend to listen, but in reality, I’m far too intoxicated by Hannah’s perfume, and her pretty profile and warm and friendly vibe, to pay attention to a single word he says.
“Tell Hannah that story you told me,” Kat says to Josh when my brain tunes back into the group’s conversation. “You know, about that time you, Reed, and Henny celebrated Red Card Riot hitting number one?”
Kat’s referring to our good buddy, Reed Rivers, who owns a wildly successful record label called River Records. As Josh proceeds to explain, when Reed’s first-ever band hit number one worldwide with their debut single, Josh and I dropped whatever silly thing we were doing in LA and flew here to Vegas to celebrate with him, since this is where Reed happened to be when he got the life-changing news. That night, our celebration started at the fancy restaurant we’re taking the girls to tonight and continued until sunset—not sunrise—the following day.
