Page 1 of Stick Fight

1

Roman

Vegas:

Am I seeing a ghost?

A gorgeous female ghost, but a ghost, nonetheless.

If I am, it’s definitely the ghost of Christmas past. A girl I knew from a long time ago.

Which is a good thing, right?

Because the ghost of Christmas future, well…that’s the terrifying one. And let’s be real, I don’t need some hooded Grim Reaper showing me my future. Thanks to Mom and Dad, not to mention my grandmother and grandfather, I already know exactly where I’d end up if I followed in their footsteps.

Spoiler alert:It involves plastered-on smiles for the public, explosive arguments behind closed doors, and one very confused golden retriever caught in an emotional tug-of-war. Oh, and let’s not forget the mountain of therapy bills. Enough to single-handedly fund a shrink’s luxury retirement in the Bahamas.

Which is why I have a rock-solid plan: never get married. Ever.

But seriously, did anyone else see the white blur that just ran past me?

I glance over my shoulder. The posh Vegas resort is bustling with people, everyone minding their own business as they sip overpriced cocktails, and laugh at things that probably aren’t that funny. Nobody else seems to be questioning their grip on reality. So, either I’m the onlyone who saw it, or I’m officially losing my damn mind.

Then, from the corner of my eye—whoosh——there it is again.

…Oh, hell no.

I scrub my hands over my face and blink, staring down the long, empty hallway. My pulse kicks up a notch. If those creepy redheaded twins from The Shiningpop out, I am outof here. I don’t care if my old buddy Easton is getting married. He’ll have to survive without me becausenope.

I glance over my shoulder again, making sure the guys aren’t watching me. Wouldn’t they love this. Ever since the spider incident with Jonesburger (which we donottalk about), they’ve been waiting for the perfect opportunity to roast me.

You are not afraid of ghosts, Roman.

I square my shoulders, putting on a brave face, but yeah… I kind of am.

Shit. Where’s a guy’s big-girl panties when he needs them?No, I don’t wear women’s underwear, it’s just a saying. But speaking of panties… wasn’t there a hot bridesmaid I was planning to hook up with later?

Maybe she’ll lend you hers, you chickenshit.

I am nota chickenshit.

Much.

Okay, maybe I amseeing things. But just to prove I’mnot(mostly to my annoying inner voice), I head toward the end of the hall. The white blur first darted left, then seemed to change its mind and bolted the other way. Straight toward the pool.

Just my luck.

One foot in front of the other, I make my way down the hall, hesitation creeping in as I reach the end. I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and turn right. The pool is closed, because apparently, people need rules, but I’ve never been great at following them. I tap my key card against the lock, and when it pings green, I tug the door open.

A wave of thick, humid air smacks me in the face, and yes,that’sthe only reason I’m suddenly sweating. I step inside, scanning the dimly lit space. It’s empty. Completely still. That should be a relief, right? Instead, my nerves kick up because now I’m officially waiting for this mystery woman to pop out at me like some haunted house jump scare.

Then, through the swirling mist rising from the hot tub, I catch a clearer look at her.

Wait a second.

Is that really…Gabby Evans?

It couldn’t be. Except...of course it could be.

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