Page 81 of For Pleasure Or Worse

“Yeah, that’s what I thought!” I boasted, giving Phee an impressed nudge. As I was patting myself on the back, two large bodies saddled up beside us, unbothered and slurping noisily from a straw. I didn’t even need to look to realize it was in factnotme, but Sam and Tyler, who had scared the creep into a speechless, fumbling mess. The two stones of ex-military concrete known as the Swan brothers stood behind me and Ophelia like a blockade.

The bartender materialized out of thin air, glancing at the boys with a smirk. “Can I get you guys something?”

“We’ll do two Blow Job shots,” Sam said. “You ladies need a refreshment?”

“Please, vodka sodas,” Phee ordered. “Doubles.”

I blanched at Sam. “You’re not serious.”

“Thank God we were here.” He clicked his tongue.

“I had that handled.”

“I’m sure of it.” He smiled in that sideways, charming way I’d only ever found harmless coming from Sam Swan. I could see how it might not be so harmless to any other woman in the world. “You’re lucky it was us and not the other two.”

He was probably right. The most intense I’d ever seen Mateo was when he stood up for me, and he very well might have taken Camilla’s Chippendales comment to heart despite how ridiculous it was. Our emotions were heightened. Petty is as petty does.

“Does he even care?”

Tyler scoffed mirthfully. “You women are so smart, yet so unbelievably self-deprecating.”

The bubble-braided bartender returned with our drinks and two frothy shots and placed them eagerly in front of the Swans.

“You’re actually out of your mind,” I said through a reluctant grin. “Can we get this on camera, actually? I’m saving it to warn the poor women you marry of the eye-shielding embarrassment they’re getting themselves into.”

“Put on the flash. We’re in it to win it, baby.” Tyler muscled to the table. It seemed like everyone around us dispersed to make room for the two of them to have their space. “Check it off the list, too.”

They weren’t kidding. I watched with a mix of pride and mild humiliation as my future husband’s groomsmen, special forces veterans, and two of the most masculine men I’d ever met stood at the edge of the bar on either side of me, put their hands behind their backs, and deep-throated a whip-cream-covered shot glass without a shred of hesitation. A giggle bubbled from my throat as they lifted the glasses off the table with theirmouths and threw their heads backwards, shooting the creamy liquor without spilling a drop.

My eyes pinched closed and a smile spread across my face. The whole thing plucked at something hopeful inside my chest, regardless of how it put our team at a disadvantage in the scavenger hunt. I didn’t grow up with brothers, but I figured this was what it must have felt like. The ridiculous antics, the air of protectiveness, coming to my emotional rescue when they know I needed a pick-me-up.

Tyler licked his sticky fingers clean and ran his forearm across his mouth.

“Showboater,” I said, elbowing him.

He shot me a wink.

I turned my back to the bar and looked out into the crowds of people around the pool. A significant area beneath a platform at the edge had been cleared to make room for something. People floated around in bright-colored tubes and flamingo-shaped floats. Like a magnetic pull, my eyes wandered to the opening in the dance floor as it split, and Mateo and Frankie poured out of the dense crowd. A pang hit my chest, like a single piece of thread being tugged, a sewing needle through my heart pointing toward his with the remaining stitch.

His wide hazel eyes found me in an instant. There was something hurt, but hopeful, in them, just the same as mine, and a flush of panic subsided to calm when he realized it was the four of us standing there.

“Did you tell them we were here?” I gestured toward Frankie and Matty.

“Of course.” Tyler checked himself out in the sunglasses sitting on top of Ophelia’s head. “Stop running away, girls. We’ll always find you. Whether you want to be found or not.”

The commotion at the pool reignited and Sam watched with rapt attention as a tall man in flagrant chrome sunglasses andlayers of beaded necklaces hopped onto the small wooden stage with a microphone. The man waved his hands and the poolgoers cheered expectantly. “Who here’s got the best belly flop in Las Vegas?”

“Oh, Jesus,” I snorted. “Who in their right minds would ever voluntarily do that to themselves? In front of thousands of people, no less. We should get out of here before this gets too crazy. Looks like the entire place is about to be standing around this pool any second.”

Sam glanced past me at his brother, then back to the pool. My face dropped. Not Sam. He was reverent, and quiet, anobserver, perfectly melting into the background. The liquor shot was likely going to his head because a wicked grin stretched across his face and he pushed off the bar and started for the pool.

“He’s joking, Tyler. Tell me he’s joking.” I took one worried step toward Sam and then looked back at his beaming brother. “What iswithyou two and public humiliation? This has to be some sort of kink.”

“Wink never jokes about winning.” Tyler whistled at him. “Hey, shirt! Pockets!”

Sam stalled briefly to peel off his shirt and strip down to his black boxer briefs, showing off trim muscle that accentuated a body full of traditional American tattoos. I caught his clothes clumsily as he tossed them back to us, and then he continued toward the water.

chapter twenty-nine

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