Page 78 of Playing Dirty
Colt just shook his head, stuffing a plain black shirt into Easton’s hands. “Quit whining. Buy the damn souvenir.” Colt picked out a couple of T-shirts for the twins. “I think Tessa would approve of the one with the race car and flames.”
The crowd thickened, voices buzzing with speculation about which truck might take first place. Rhett kept one hand on the Ford’s fender, like he could shield it from everything, his focus razor-sharp. And all I could think was—he wasn’t standing there alone. We were in this together.
The loudspeaker crackled, and the announcer’s voice rolled across the convention center. “Ladies and gentlemen, the judges have reached a decision!”
The crowd pressed closer. My stomach tied itself in knots, but Rhett stood steady as a fencepost, one hand resting on the Ford’s fender like he was staking his claim. When his name rang out—Rhett Callahan of Lovelace, Montana, winner of the classic division with his vintage ’49 Ford F1—the sound hit melike a wave. Applause, whistles, the roar of engines revving in celebration.
Rhett blinked once, almost stunned, then that grin of his broke loose—half cocky, half boyish, the kind that made my knees weak. His hand closed around mine, and he tugged me toward the stage as if the crowd was nothing but background noise.
“C’mon, darlin’,” he murmured, voice rough in my ear. “Time to collect our prize.”
The lights blazed hot on the stage. The emcee reached for the microphone, but Rhett beat him to it, pulling me close with his arm snug around my waist.
“Appreciate the honor,” Rhett said, his voice steady, but his thumb was tracing circles against my side. “But I got something more important to tell y’all. This woman and I—” he tipped his head toward me, his eyes shining like nothing else in the room existed— “we got married yesterday.”
The crowd erupted. Cheers, clapping, even a few gasps. My cheeks burned, but Rhett only grinned harder, soaking it all in like it was another win.
The emcee threw up his hands. “Well, congratulations indeed! And folks, that’s not all. Our winner also receives an all-expenses-paid luxury cruise for six to Hawaii!”
The noise doubled, the whole convention center buzzing with envy and excitement.
Tessa squealed, grabbing my arm. “Did you hear that? Six! Hawaii!” Colt tried to shush her, but his grin gave him away. Sawyer smirked, muttering, “Guess I’ll need a new pair of flip-flops.” And Easton—quiet, steady Easton—just gave a low whistle, eyes wide for once.
I couldn’t stop laughing, dizzy from it all. A truck show win, a husband, and now Hawaii. Somehow, against all odds, Lady Luck kept stacking the deck for us.
The Strip pulsed around us as we walked back to our room, neon signs flickering against Rhett’s profile, painting him in gold, then crimson, then blue. My heels clicked on the pavement, but his hand was warm and solid in mine, steadying me against the chaos like always.
He glanced down at me, that grin still tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So… I’m thinkin’ we push the honeymoon back a month.”
I arched a brow. “Oh? That far?”
His thumb brushed over my knuckles, rough and gentle at once. “Darlin’, we just got handed a cruise for six and a special deal if we want to add more. It would be a shame not to take everyone. Tessa’s already packin’ in her head, Sawyer’ll never admit he wants to go, Colt’s in whether he says it or not—and Easton?” He gave a quiet laugh. “He never is one to miss a party.”
My chest swelled, not with nerves this time, but with something deeper. This wasn’t just about me and Rhett anymore. It was about all of us—the family I’d stumbled into, the one I hadn’t even known I was searching for. Vegas had started in chaos. But tonight, walking back under a sky that was more radiant than the stars, I realized it had given me more than I ever imagined: a husband, a family, and an adventure just waiting on the horizon.
Epilogue
Anchored Together
Sawyer
It had been a month since Rhett and Callie’s wedding. Thirty days that somehow flew by for everyone else but dragged for me. They looked like newlyweds should—starry-eyed, radiant, floating on their own cloud. Colt and Tessa were the same, inseparable. Easton kept plenty busy back at the ranch. As for me? I was counting fence posts and wondering how I’d let myself get roped into this crazy “honeymoon cruise,” wondering who in their right mind would invite friends along as guests on someone’s honeymoon.
I figured I’d spend the next week dodging umbrella drinks and watching Rhett polish his new ring like chrome. At least Easton was here, which meant I wasn’t going to be the lone third wheel in a sea of romance. The man had a way of blending in anywhere, calm as a pond at sunrise.
Then Lilly Mitchell stepped onto the gangway. Bag slung over her shoulder, sundress swaying, late as ever.
My stomach sank.
“I missed the flight everyone else was on,” she explained later, breezy as you please, when she finally caught up to us at the boarding line. “Had a funeral arrangement to finish for some friends. Couldn’t leave them hanging.”
I just stared at her. A funeral, right.
Callie’s smile from across the deck told me everything I needed to know—this wasn’t a coincidence. This was Callie's sneaky matchmaking. And it irritated me how my chest tightened the second I saw Lilly walking toward us, all sunshine and excuses. I wanted to blame Callie for meddling. But the truth? Some part of me didn’t hate it half as much as I should have.
It turned out that sail-away parties were floating circuses with better wallpaper. Steel drums thumped across the deck, bartenders shoved neon-colored drinks into hands, and half the passengers acted like they’d been set free from the mainland for good. Paradise, they called it. To me, it looked like chaos with a side of sunburn.
Easton, of course, was already working the crowd. It didn’t take him ten minutes to strike up a conversation with a girl from Brazil—long, dark hair, bright laugh, the kind of accent that made every word sound like music. By the time the ship’s horn blasted, she was leaning into him like they’d known each other longer than the walk from the railing to the bar.
