–Killian: Want to join us for brunch in ten? The Royal Flush on the top floor? Gotta eat regularly if you want your dick to recover.
The text is new enough that I’ve still got time to make it.
–Me: Yeah, sure. And just so you mofos know, Ms. Bad DID follow me to Vegas.
I put my phone away before it can explode with replies and head to the restaurant. It has a great view of Vegas, all the energy and excitement and noise of the city, throbbing with greed and aspirations. Vegas is great—all the drive of a metropolis, topped off with a lot of cheeky fun. If Vegas were a person, it’d be a carnival barker winking and smiling while gesturing at you to try your luck.
The host takes me to an area by the window that’s partitioned off with frosted glass walls for privacy. Which is good—you couldn’t miss the guys even if they weren’t popular and famous. Although they might look like just some guys hanging out in T-shirts and old, frayed denim of various colors, they’re all dark-haired and pretty enough. That’s been one of the selling points for the band, although if we didn’t also have the talent, we wouldn’t have made it this far.
I go over to the round table and take the empty seat between Max and Killian. The guys have already ordered, so I ask for French toast, a plate of bacon and coffee.
“Sister’s joining us,” Max says when our waiter’s gone.
My jaw slackens. “Shit. You said words.”
He grunts.
“Cuz it’s important,” Cole says with a nod.
“A baby sister is really important,” Killian adds. He has
one, too. And he’d die to keep her safe and happy.
“I didn’t know you had a sister,” I say to Max.
Cole and Killian shake their heads. “You totally missed her in New York.”
“You guys met her in New York and didn’t tell me?” I ask, feeling vaguely left out.
Max grunts. “You weren’t around.”
The waiter pours coffee into my cup. I start downing it as quickly as I can. I can always use more caffeine.
Cole’s gaze sharpens and then his eyes grow bigger than our table. “Holy shit. Is that a wedding band?”
Fuck. I forgot to take it off. What I should have done was toss it in Becca’s face before storming out of her room.
“Dude!” Killian leans over, twisting to see my left hand.
Max gives a grunt that’s accompanied by raised eyebrows.
“Did you elope with that hot brunette?” Cole asks.
“Which one? Dev’s been with tons of brunettes,” Killian says.
“No!” Gotta stop this or the questions are going to come like grenades. “No brunette. It’s Ms. Bad from New York. I told you she followed me here.”
“Seriously? I thought you were joking,” Cole says.
“Serious as a cardiac infarction.”
“But this is marriage, man.” Killian shakes his head. “I feel like you dropped us in the middle of a set.”
“Exactly. Tell us what’s going on,” Cole demands. “And why weren’t we invited to the ceremony?”
Max grunts in agreement.
I sigh. They’ve been giving me the usual bro shit about my dick issues, but getting tricked into tying the knot is a big deal. Maybe—finally—I’ll get some support. “She followed me here. Apparently, she stalked me, then dragged me to a chapel, and bam! This”—I flip them the bird with my ring finger—“is what happened.”