Kayla

Just after eleven o’clock means the night’s only getting started for the Vegas club scene. Yippee. I pretend I’m not dead on my feet and wishing for my night to end, because Scarlet is more excited than I’ve seen her over a guy for at least a year.

I think back to the last big heartbreak and the thought of Jason Gregory sends a shudder through my body. That guy was one of the biggest assholes to ever walk into the club, and for months I didn’t think Scarlet’s heart would ever heal from his total destruction. One of these days I hope she’ll learn that we shouldn’t shit where we eat. Dating guys that come into Top Tier should be an obvious no, but... here we go again. 

The guys are leaning against a black Range Rover. They’ve ditched their suit jackets, unbuttoned their dress shirts a bit, and rolled up their sleeves. They’re ready to let loose and look like just the kind of mistake I’d live to regret. A mistake I’ve done quite well avoiding since I moved to this city five years ago.

But I’ll be honest, all work and no play makes me feel dull as hell sometimes.

Scar plays it cool as she walks over to Brandon, but I know she’s bursting at the seams and would throw herself straight into his arms if we weren’t behind the club. Technically, we aren’t even supposed to be seen leaving with these guys, but the coast is clear, so we duck into the backseat of the car before anyone can see us. I could give a shit if I lose this job, but Scarlet loves this place.

Brandon’s friend—Steve? Dan? Shit.—looks at me, eyebrows raised. “No red hair?”

I frown. “That was a wig.” Is he serious?

He nods. “Bummer.”

This is going to be a long night. “My name isn’t Kincaid Summers either.” Let’s get all the disappointment out of the way, shall we?

He smiles. “I know. Scarlet already told us, Kayla.”

I raise a brow at Scar and she smiles sheepishly. What else has she told them about me?

They hold the doors for us on either side, and we climb into the backseat, then they settle into the front seats and Brandon starts to pull out of the parking lot. “XS cool with everyone?”

I nod, though he can’t see me in the backseat. XS, TAO, Marquee... they’re all the same.

“Works for us.” Scar slaps my elbow, so I turn to her. She looks at me pointedly, her eyebrows furrowed, then mouths, “Perk up.”

I sit taller in my seat and give her the most plastic grin I can manage. She owes me big for this. I usually do my best to avoid douchebags, but here I am on a double date with their leader. Leaders? It’s yet to be revealed if Brandon’s a total douche too. But if I were a betting woman, I’d let it ride on a big fat yes.

I forgot to look at the plates on the Rover, but my guess is California. Orange County mortgage brokers, to be more precise.

Scar rolls her eyes at me and shakes her head, as if following my thoughts, then focuses on the men in the front seats. “So, Brandon, you said you live here, right? Have you been in Vegas all your life?”

No, he’s probably a transplant from California. So am I, truth be told, but if Scarlet makes that connection, she’s dead to me.

D.

E.

A.

D.

As the small talk starts, I rest my head on the headrest and close my eyes, catching bits and pieces of the conversation—enough to possibly be able to hold a convo with them later—but not enough that I have to fully engage right now. I need a few minutes to decompress after work.

Though I’m usually in my pajamas and cuddled up with Ben and Jerry when I do it. That’s my kind of threesome.

We drop the Range Rover at valet and head into Encore on our way to XS. Brandon knows the guy working, so we get in right away. It’s stuffy and packed to capacity, but we follow security to the VIP hostess, who then leads us through the crowd to the only remaining bottle service table. She unhooks the red velvet rope, then steps aside as we enter the crescent-shaped booth. Scar and I sit in the center, and the boys sit beside us on either side. The hostess opens the bottles, then begins to pour drinks. When she hands me a vodka cran, I shake my head and raise my hand to say ‘no thank you’.

She smiles and nods, then sets the drink down on the table.

“Kay doesn’t drink,” Scar announces.

Brandon’s friend turns toward me, his eyebrows raised. “Really? Is there a reason?”

I force a smile. Why does there always have to be a reason? Maybe I just don’t like to drink. “No,” I shout over the bass. “Just never really got into it.”

“Huh.” He leans back, stretching his arm out across the back of the booth behind me. The armpit of his pale blue shirt is soaked with sweat. It’s hot as hell in here, I get it, but ugh. Every moment that passes makes me want my bed even more.

Scar leans over to whisper, “Want me to order some champagne?”

I shake my head. “Nah, I’m good.” I won’t be here long.

“We’re drinking Friday night though, right? To ring in your big retirement?”

“Did I hear someone say they’re retiring?” Brandon leans forward, elbows on his knees. His green eyes meet mine. “Not Kincaid Summers. Say it isn’t so.” He smiles, and it’s a nice gesture. He doesn’t give off the full blown creeper vibe I’d pegged him with.

I glance at his friend whose smile is more of a leer.

Yep. Scar definitely got the better of the two.

Looking back at Brandon, I smile and shrug. “Friday night’s my last gig.”

Brandon shakes his head. “That’s a shame, man, a real shame. I’ll have to come in with the guys to help you celebrate.” He holds my gaze for a few long seconds, then turns to Scar. “You’ll be there?”

“Oh, absolutely.” She practically vibrates with excitement.

I’ll leave out the fact that she said she was taking a few days off.

Brandon looks at his buddy. “Sure you can’t stay for the final show, Chad?’

Chad. His name is Chad. If I say it out loud and write it down, I might stand a chance of remembering it.

Two hours and three bottles of vodka later, my best friend’s ass is exposed for all to see as she straddles her boy of the week. He runs his hands over her cheeks as they slobber all over one another, lifting her micro dress higher in the process. If it were anyone else, I’d do something, but she lives for this shit. Any chance to expose herself, and Scar’s on board.

We’re going to get kicked out.

That would be such a shame.

I finish my fourth bottle of water, then stand.

Chad stands with me, eyes flicking between me and Scar’s ass, so very torn between the two of us.

“Excuse me.”

He meets my gaze.

I nod toward the rope. “I’m going to use the ladies’ room.”

“Oh, okay, yeah, cool.” He returns his gaze to his buddy’s hands on my best friend’s ass.

This fucking guy.

“You’re in my way, Chad.”

“Oh, shit, sorry.” He finally wakes up from his Scarlet trance, and steps aside, though he doesn’t unhook the rope for me. Why so single, Chad?

I leave the booth, then head for the main entrance. I’m about to pee my pants, but it’s not that long of a cab ride home. This girl’s going to turn into a pumpkin if she stays out much longer. I send Scar a quick text to let her know I’m out as I leave the club and make my way through the casino.

As I wait out front for my Lyft, I hear my name, and Scar rushes out the doors to meet me. “Why are you leaving, babe?” She runs her fingers through her hair, trying to fix whatever Brandon’s hands have done to it.

“I’m exhausted, Scar. I’m sorry.”

She narrows her green eyes at me. “You’re going to bring your A game out on Friday, right?”

“Of course.” I smile, then nod toward the door of the hotel. “You’re okay if I leave you with Brandon and what’s-his-butt?”

“Yes.” She sighs, smiling lazily. “I think I’m in love with him.”

I groan. “Oh, Scarlet.”

“What, Kayla? I’m not stupid, okay? I know we just met, obvs. But this feels so different.”

She’s not stupid. Really she’s not. What she is, however, is a hopeless romantic. The most hopeless romantic in the entire freaking world, and in this industry, that means heartbreak after heartbreak after heartbreak. We’ve done this dance before. These guys don’t come to Vegas to fall in love. They come to Vegas to fall in lust.

There’s a pretty huge difference there that Scar has yet to learn.

I sigh and give her a small smile. “I hope it works out. When are you seeing him again?”

“Friday night. He’s coming in for your last show, then we’re all going out afterwards.”

“All?” I don’t want to know the answer. If she says Brandon’s douchebag friend is extending his trip, I’m on the first flight to Bangkok.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, silly. Like we’re going to let you escape celebrating your retirement with your friends.”

Friends. Plural. Who else is in on this plan to force me to go out?

My phone chimes to alert me that my driver has arrived, so I give Scar a quick squeeze and kiss her on the cheek. “Be good tonight.”

“The best he’s ever had.”

I snort and shake my head as I climb into the car. “Text me if you’re not coming home!” I shout as I watch her strut back into the club.

Right into inevitable devastation. Maybe I’ll ask my Lyft driver to stop at the store so I can be fully stocked with red zin and New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream. It’s not a matter of if we’re headed for Heartbreak Town; it’s a matter of when. And I’d like to be prepared.