Tyed

Flipping the channels grumpily, I mouth “no” every time I bump into a crappy talk show or a mind-numbing reality show. I reluctantly watch the local news.

“Oh! My! God!” Izzy sings from the bathroom. “I'm smokin’ hot in this! This selfie goes straight to my Instagram account. Jesus, all those squats paid off.”

I shake my head, a thin smile on my lips, and summon the will to pretend to be in awe of how hot my sister is. Izzy stands in front of me wearing the uniform of a day-shift stripper. She twirls around while punching in a caption for the picture she just shared with her Instagram followers on her phone.

I rub my face using the back of my hand. “You need therapy.”

We hear a knock on the door.

“The only thing I need is for the man of my dreams to walk straight into this room right now so I can win him over. Get the door.”

Tired of being ordered around, I dive into the bed, head-to-pillow, and groan into the sheets. “Izz, please. Give me a break."

Izzy walks to the door in her stripper heels, tossing her hair to look pretty. She props the door open. Then I hear the worst possible thing to come out of Izzy's mouth: nothing. She is speechless, and that never happens.

I'm worried. I raise my head up to see the figure entering our suite. It’s not Dad. It’s not Mom. It’s not Nana.

It’s Shane. And he is wearing his usual uniform of a funny tee (“When Life Knocks Me down I Usually Lie There and Take a Nap”), fitted jeans and angst-filled expression. Actually, the expression is new. His face changes the moment his eyes land on Izzy. She rewards him with the same stunned reaction, maybe even worse, her chin quivering while she suddenly hugs her chest, protecting her modesty.

“Shane.” I leap out of bed and dart between them.

Of course he came to Vegas for the wedding. I just didn't think we'd see him before the ceremony.

Shane takes a step forward, his chest going up and down like he is breathing short, desperate breaths. His lips flatten anxiously.

“My parents are a few doors down, unpacking. I have my own room om a different floor.” He answers one of the questions whirling in my head. “I had to see you. Talk to you after you-know-what…and give you a little update.” He runs his hand over his neck and hair.

Izzy winces when she catches this little gesture. And I’m not surprised, now that I know what happened between them.

“Christ, Blaire! Shane too? Is your * made of Cinnabon? What is up with you?” I hear my twin, who apparently recovered quickly.

For the first time in my life, I second Izzy. From a girl who wasted her days daydreaming about Charlie Hunnam and considered eye-humping a hot dude at the gym a sufficient sexual accomplishment, I turned into that girl, the one who has two hot guys fighting about her. I used to hate that girl when I wasn’t her. But honestly? Being that girl turned out to be a headache.

Izzy and Shane are keeping their distance, but it's obvious that there's enough heat in the room to boil an egg.

"Play nice. Say hi," I instruct them both, taking both their palms in my own hands and forcing them into a handshake.

"Yay, look at us, one big happy family." I offer a toothy smile when they reluctantly obey.

"Last time I saw Shane we did things that normal family members don't do to each other." Izzy bites her inner cheek, staring at Shane accusingly.

I want to bark at her that this isn't helping, but Izzy is the least of my worries right now. For all I care, she can walk around the hotel lobby in a crotch-revealing Cher outfit, using two dildos as dangling earrings and singing “Copacabana” into a lipstick tube. I’m one hundred percent consumed by my love life, and the baffling thing about all this is that this love life is real.

Shane’s blush deepens with every glance at Izzy. He’s in danger of poking someone’s eye out with his raging boner.

“Can we talk?” he asks me wide eyed. He may hate her, but he is still a man.

“Let’s take it outside for one of those weird cocktails, cool?” I jerk my chin toward the door.

Izzy sulks in her lingerie, twisting in her spot like a five-year-old throwing a hissy fit. “You're seriously leaving me to have a drink with him?”

I pause, thinking about it while I find my shoes. Am I overstepping my bounds here? Nope, this has nothing to do with Izzy and Shane. It has everything to do with Blaire and Ty.

I tie my shoes and stand up quickly. “I'll be back before you know it.” I bang my fist twice against my chest and point my finger at her. “Now put your big girl panties on and get over yourself. Actually, just put any panties on, because this is getting pretty annoying.”

I slam the door behind me and pray to God she’s dressed by the time I get back.

Shane and I take our conversation outside, standing in front of a tattoo parlor and sharing a fifty-ounce Coco Loco. Neither one of us like cocktails, let alone frozen cocktails, and the bartender in me is ashamed of what I'm doing right now, but I need the liquid courage to get through this convo and then surprise Ty later on today.

Shane leans his head back against a brick wall and closes his eyes, looking thoughtful. A bride and groom cross the road about a block away from us, and a bunch of drunk undergraduates raise their cups and holler a woo hoo! to the two of them. And it’s only three p.m.

God, I love Vegas. I hate hating on it right now.