Page 56 of Strictly the Worst

BROOKS: We didn’t say that. You did.

HOLDEN: Well I’m the groom so what I say goes. One night, that’s all I wanted. Then I see this.

Ah, I guess he’s gotten my email with our flight details.

LINC: It is one night. We fly, we play golf, we have an evening of debauchery, and then we fly home.

LIAM: What kind of debauchery? I’m going to need to run it past Sophie.

I roll my eyes. Liam used to be my wing man. Or maybe I used to be his.

ELI: Golf I can do. Debauchery I can’t. I need to be in bed by ten or I wake up cranky.

MYLES: Ava asked if she can join in the debauchery, too?

HOLDEN: THERE’S NOT GOING TO BE ANY FUCKING DEBAUCHERY

LINC: Calm your tits. It’s all good. The debauchery involves a private meal in the casino, a few hours in the high rollers room, and a concert. That’s it.

I send the message off and lock my phone because my brothers are pissing me off. You don’t ask somebody to do something for you, then criticize it.

Brooks and I have got it sorted. We’ve arranged the rooms and the entertainment in Vegas. We’ll fly together from JFK. Then Myles, Liam, Eli, and Holden will fly up together on a private jet from Yeager Airport, and will be met by a limo that will bring them to meet us for golf.

It’s literally everything Holden asked for. But for some reason, none of them trust me to get it done.

Yeah, now I’m pissed off.

“Linc?”

Her voice brings me out of my thoughts. I let out a long breath, because the last person who needs to know I’m pissed is Tessa.

Not when I’ve spent the whole evening trying to relax her.

“Yes, baby?”

“That sounds weird. No babies.”

I start to laugh. “Okay,” I agree. “I can go with that.”

“Are you coming in then?” she calls out.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

I grab the champagne glasses and balance them in one hand while I push the door to the bathroom open with the other. The steam hits me immediately, and it takes a moment for me to be able to see through it.

And holy fuck when I do, I think I’m about to combust.

She’s naked. In the tub. No bubbles or anything to hide herself. I go hard instantly.

Because she’s beautiful. Every fucking part of her. I pass her one of the glasses, my eyes almost popping out.

“Don’t ever let anybody tell you you’re not perfect,” I say, my voice thick. “Because I don’t think I’ve ever been so hard in my life.”

“Show me,” she whispers. And because I love to please people – no scratch that, because I love to please Carmichael – I down the champagne in one go and put the glass on the sink counter. Then I start to unbutton my shirt, my fingers deft, my gaze never leaving hers.

And when I shuck it off and throw it to the floor she lets out an audible sigh.

“Can’t you at least have some imperfections?” she asks me.

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