Page 11 of Stick Fight

Iquietly shut the door behind me and exhale, trying to shake off some of the tension pressing down on my chest. Outwardly, I’ve been dancing, smiling—playing the role I usually enjoy—but inside, my heart fucking aches for my friend. Gabby’s been through hell tonight, and if there’s anything I can do to make this even a fraction easier for her, I damn well will.

I head to the living area and crack open the big bottle of Jack I’d picked up in the gift shop while I grabbed her wine. Yep, getting Gabby at least tipsy tonight is the plan. Tomorrow is a problem for the future, her future, a future I will no longer be a part of.

I pour a generous amount of the dark liquid into a glass and add a splash of soda. After a much needed mouthful, I flick on the TV, scrolling for something that might distract her from the train wreck of a night she’s had.

Muffled voices filter in from the hallway, people heading off to party, gamble, or lose themselves in one of Vegas’ neon-drenched spectacles. Normally, I’d be right there with them, but not tonight. Tonight, I’d rather be here.

I finally land on a cheesy chick flick, something mindless and feel-good, and crank up the volume to drown out the world outside. As I sink into one of the plush chairs, my gaze drifts across the room, straight to her wedding dress, the lamplight shining on the jewels. It sits draped over the other chair, a ghost of what was supposed to be tomorrow. Should I shove it in the closet? Out of sight, out of mind for the night. Maybe that’s a good idea.

I push up from my seat, about to grab it, when the bathroom door creaks open.

And then, everything stops.

Gabby steps into the room, wrapped in nothing but a towel.

My brain short-circuits.

The first thing I do—because I’m a gentleman (debatable, but let’s pretend)—is quickly shut my eyes and spin around. Okay, maybe that’s not entirely true. First, I get an eyeful of the damp tendrils of her hair clinging to her collarbone, the soft rise and fall of her chest beneath the fluffy white towel, her long silky legs that the towel does little to hide.

Shit.

“Sorry,” I manage, forcing my voice to stay level.Dude, what the hell are you doing? You don’t ogle your friend when she’s just been jilted.I scrub a hand over my face, willing myself to get it together. “I didn’t realize you’d, uh… just be in a towel.”

She hesitates. “I just need my pajamas.”

“Right. I put your bag on the coffee table,” I quickly instruct, forcing my gaze toward the window before I do something incredibly stupid, like steal another glance. “I should’ve thought to grab them for you.” I huff out a dry laugh. “Then again, I doubt you’d want me digging through your stuff.”

“It’s fine,” she says, voice soft.

I stare out at the strip below, watching the neon lights reflect off the fountain, pretending the sound of her dropping her towel doesn’t send a ripple of heat straight through me. I should have put her bag in the adjoining bedroom. But still, just knowing what she’d be doing in there…

And that’s when it hits me. Tonight is going to be hard.

Dude, really…

“Any trouble getting these?” Gabby asks, and I catch the worry threading through her voice.

I glance back at her. “Rip said…uh, he…” We are not using his name. “…wasn’t in the room when the concierge entered. But when he got back, he called the front desk to see if you checked out.” I hesitate, watching her reaction. “He knows you’re still in the resort.”

There’s worry in her voice when she says, “He’s been blowing up my phone. But I’m not ready to talk to him. I really hope he doesn’t bother my parents anymore tonight.”

I want to askwhat he said to them, what he thinks he could do to fix this, but no questions. That’s the rule tonight.

She exhales, her voice smaller now. “I’m sorry for putting you and Rip through so much.”

“It’s okay, Gabs. No trouble at all.”

The silence that follows is thick—too thick. Then, she sniffs, and my chest tightens. Unable to help myself, I turn, finding her standing there, tightly gripping the silky piece of lingerie against her naked body.

She seems lost in thought as I take a step forward. “Gabby.”

Her head lifts, and when our eyes meet, it guts me. She looks lost. “I…can’t,” she whispers, staring at the delicate fabric. “I bought this for?—”

“Say no more.” I hold up a hand. “I’ll go back to the gift shop and get you something else.”

But before I even finish the sentence, a stricken look crosses her face, like the thought of me leaving, even for a moment, is unbearable.

I hesitate. Then, instead, I walk over to the dresser, pull open a drawer, and grab a T-shirt. “Or, you could wear this. It’s clean.” I grin. “I even use that fabric stuff that makes it smell good.” I pull it to my mouth and moan in delight as I sniff it. “Lavender and vanilla. Josie put me on to it.” Then I quickly explain. “Josie is Jesse’s wife. Jessie Campbell, from the team. He always smells so good, so I had to ask.” Jesus, why am I rambling?

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