Chapter Two

 

Upside #2: You don’t have to wear a pretty bra to impress anyone. Or any bra at all.

 

I was right.

Three huge, frozen cocktails later, and we were wandering down the middle of Bourbon Street. Which was how I knew Chloe was drunk—she avoided this place as much as humanly possible.

Peyton was going to be in big trouble tomorrow.

Never mind them, though. They could work on their phones in bed. I was the only one who had to actually people. So why was I also a little past tipsy?

I was weak. And Peyton was a pusher.

No excuses.

Chloe sighed happily, clutching her huge cup with the remnants of her cocktail in it. “I feel old.”

“Old? We’re twenty-seven. We’re not old.” I snorted.

“I know, but look at all these twenty-one-year-olds.”

We all paused as one of said twenty-one-year-olds flashed her boobs and promptly tripped over a drain covering.

“I sure as hell can’t wear stripper shoes like that anymore,” Peyton agreed. “What are they? Six inches?”

“Bigger than the cock of the guy pulling her up,” I noted, watching as she brushed him off and flashed a grin at the guy who threw beads down at her.

“We should flash for beads. We haven’t done that in a long time.” Chloe grinned, clutching her straw between her teeth.

I raised an eyebrow. “Have we ever done that?”

Both of my best friends nodded.

I paused. “Uh, just me, then?”

“You’ve never flashed anyone for beads?” Peyton stopped in the middle of the street and stared at me.

“It’s hardly shocking,” I said. “Most other adult humans haven’t either. And why would I? I can buy some on the corner.”

Chloe shook her head, sipping. “Nope.” She pointed the stupid cup at me. “Before you go home tonight, you’re flashing someone.”

“I’m not!”

Peyt grabbed me, her eyes sparkling under the bright lights. “You are. I dare you to.”

Fuck it. She had me there. There was one thing I’d never been able to back down from, and that was a dare. I had no choice. I had to do it.

Couldn’t I just do it here, in the middle of the street, next to the group of drunken pirates trying to pull a couple of chicks dressed like fairies?

I asked.

“No.” Peyton shook her head decisively.

Chloe shook hers, too, but stopped and put her hand on her head. Our taxi home would be detouring past her house first then…

“Why not?”

“Because if you’re going to flash, you need to get something for it.”

“That’s one step closer to prostitution than I’d like to take.” I chewed the inside of my lip. I knew she owned a hook-up website, but geez…

“The guys on balconies don’t buy beads to decorate their houses with. They buy them so idiots like us flash them. Ready? See them up there? Let me show you how easy it is.” Chloe—who was one hundred percent hammered at this point—shoved her cup at me and walked a few feet through the crowds to where a guy was smoking on the balcony.

She got his attention with a wave and motioned around her neck.

He grinned.

God, he looked about twelve.

Without a care in the world, Chloe grabbed the bottom of her shirt and pulled it up.

Of course, she didn’t care.

She was wearing a bra.

Me? I was not. I had expected a nice, quiet dinner, not a potential audition to become a stripper.

Oy vey… what was I doing?

“I’m not wearing a bra,” I blurted to Peyton while Chloe caught… “Is that a paper airplane?”

Chloe hooked the beads around her neck and came back to us. “He just paper airplaned me his phone number. Like grabbed it from the table and threw it.”

“That’s kinda smooth,” I admitted.

“But you’re not going to call him,” Peyton reminded her. “Since you’re hopelessly in love with my brother.”

“I am not hopelessly in love with your brother!”

“We’re not having this conversation again. We all know you’re in love with Dom, so get over it. Can we go now?” What? I’d take advantage of this change in conversation if it meant I could get out of this dare.

They both shook their heads. “Nope. You’re going to flash someone, and you’re going to do it right now.”

“Not wearing a bra!”

“Even better,” Chloe said. “You might get laid as well as beads.”

“I should already be at home. In bed. For work tomorrow.” I was such a party pooper. Also: a responsible adult. Most of the time.

Peyt grabbed my hand. “One flash. Ten seconds. Then I promise, I will hail us a cab and go home.”

I was going to regret this. “Fine. But you have literally ten seconds to find someone for me to flash at, or I’m out of here.”

On those words, she quite literally dragged me down the street, her eyes searching left and right for a balcony where I could lose my dignity.

“That one. Right there.” She pointed to a balcony where four guys were sitting. They were older than the possibly-legal guy Chloe had just flashed. Not much older than us by the looks of it, but it was dark, and the lighting wasn’t exactly LED bright, so who knew?

One of the guys leaned over the balcony and shouted something. I didn’t know what it was, but Peyton obviously heard him, because she shouted back, “What have you got? We’re not all wearing bras!”

Oh, Jesus.

I took a step back, but Chloe stuck her finger in the middle of my spine, making me go back forward. I couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation, but my eyes scanned the balcony. They were all good looking. One with dirty-blonde hair and blue eyes. Another with what seemed like jet-black hair and equally dark eyes. One who had his back to me.

And the guy in the corner.

No kidding, my clit danced a little bit for joy.

All right, so there was the part of me that’d already sacrificed its dignity.

Dark, wavy hair that was swept to one side and back. A sharp jaw that was dotted with dark stubble, just enough that it would tickle if you brushed your fingers over it.

His piercing gray eyes found mine, holding my gaze hostage for a moment before full lips curved into a smirk so daring and sexy I was ready to go spidergirl and climb up there to lick it right off his handsome face.

Well, all right. If I wanted to do that, I could flash. Right? Right.

Chloe nudged me. “Triple flash. Ready?”

“Yes.” No. Never. Not ever.

Wasn’t there another way to reclaim our youth? Like, oh, act our ages?

“One, two, three.”

I did it. All that was holy, I grabbed the bottom of my shirt, looked Mr. Tall, Dark, and Silent in the eye, and flashed my bra-less boobs for the entire city to see.

Fine. Not the entire city, but it felt like it.

Thank God this city was already a pool of sin.

Mr. TDS—because Tall, Dark, and Silent was just way too long to keep saying, even inside my head—twitched his lips upward, grabbed something off the table, and tossed it my way.

A tiny shot bottle of Fireball.

Great.

That was all my dignity was worth.

I’d just flashed for Fireball.

I uncapped the bottle and downed it in one. Maybe it’d help me forget.

Lord, no. Nothing would help me forget this.

Chloe tossed a string of beads around my neck. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“I don’t know,” Peyton said. “She looks pretty traumatized.”

Stopping in the middle of the street, enough of a distance away from the balcony with the hot guys, I stared at both of them. “You’re both dead to me.”

They burst out laughing.

“Think about it this way,” Peyton said, linking her arm through mine and handing me my empty, giant cup. “You never have to see them again. You wouldn’t recognize them at an empty bus stop.”

Yeah, well, if she was wrong, I was going to kill her.

 

***

 

“The elevator is behind the reception counter and to your left. You’re floor three, room six.” Lillie slid a card-sized folder across the counter. “Thank you, and enjoy your stay.” She smiled her brightest smile at the customer who’d just taken the keycard from her and stayed in that perfectly poised position until the new check-in had headed for the elevators.

“All okay?” I asked, leaning against the side of the counter.

She nodded. “How are you feeling today? Better than yesterday when you had paperwork to do?” A knowing glint flickered in her eyes.

I held up my finger. “First, I did have paperwork to do. I also had a very important cat nap to take.”

Lillie laughed.

“And yes, I’m fine. No more hangover. Which is just as well, because it’s Monday, and the new owner is coming in to meet everyone today.”

She wrinkled up her face. “Do you know anything about him?”

I smacked my lips together. “I finally know his name since he emailed me last night to tell me what time he’d be here today. Jacob Creed. Other than that, not a thing.”

“He sounds old.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, well, he’ll be here in about thirty minutes, no matter his age. I have to get the order in, so I’m going to see Harley to make sure she hasn’t messed up the bar one again.”

Lillie winced. “Right. Quinn is on vacation.”

“I want her back already,” I muttered. “If I don’t come back by the time Mr. Creed arrives, get one of the bell guys to take him to my office and come get me from the storeroom. I’ll be counting vodka and wishing I could drown in it.”

“I see you learned a lot from your hangover.”

I put my finger to my lips and pushed off the counter. I headed for the bar where I could already see Harley zipping back and forth. It was barely lunchtime, and it was already getting packed. The hotel was small, but the drinks were marginally cheaper than some of the bars, so we packed out quickly with people starting early.

Catching Harley between customers, I slipped behind the bar and pulled her to the side with an apology. “Did you do the order this morning?”

She took a deep breath.

That was reassuring.

“I did.”

“Is it correct?”

“I think so.”

“In other words, you need me to go to the storeroom and check it over.”

She grimaced. “Please? Quinn changed some of the brands, and I’m still getting used to them.”

For a mixologist-in-training, she was a few colors short of a rainbow, this one.

“All right. Where’s the form? And is everything in the bar done?”

“Yes! And it’s right here.” She pulled it out from the cupboard. “Quinn sorted the bar and stocked it before she went, so I know it’s all good.”

It better have been.

“Okay. Thanks. I’ll go and do this.” I left the bar, swung through into the kitchen to get the chef’s order form, and took both books into the chilly storeroom.

A shiver rippled across my skin at the cooler air, but I quickly got accustomed to the temperature and got to work on the bar order. I scanned gins, vodkas, fruity liquors… More bottles than I ever cared to pay attention to. They all blurred into one as I sighed and made my way through it.

Let’s just say it was a good thing I was here to check it.

I was almost done when a glint of a blue bottle caught my eye. It was on the floor, rolled under the very bottom shelf. With another heavy sigh, I tugged my skirt up over my knees and got down onto them to get it, crawling beneath the shelf to grab it.

If it was broken, I’d lose my shit.

A throat cleared from somewhere behind me.

I jerked, banging the back of my head on the wooden shelf above me. “Shit! Oh, hell!” I grabbed the thankfully unsmashed bottle and crawled back out. “I’m sorry,” I said, clearing the shelf.

“Mellie Rogers? The manager?”

That sounded like I was in trouble.

“That’s me.” I stood up and turned, clutching the bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin with one hand and doing my best at straightening my skirt at the same time.

“Jacob Creed. I’m the new owner. The girl at the front said you were here.”

I looked up from my skirt and—

Oh no.

No, no, no.

I knew that dark, wavy hair. And that jaw. And those lips. And I definitely knew those gray eyes.

Because I’d looked into them as I’d flashed my boobs not even forty-eight hours earlier.

I was going to fucking kill Peyton Austin and Chloe Collins.