Page 19 of Breakaway

Trying to hide from haunting memoriesis the answer, but of course I keep that to myself.

“Same as you, I guess, aside from the friend who’s getting married.”

Her face, which has a smattering of freckles, lights up, and she inches closer. “Any chance you’d like to join us? Hang out with me and my friends?”

“I don’t think my friend would like that.”

Putting her hand on my knee, Zoey turns to me. Her flowery scent mixed with the alcohol on her breath envelops us both. “You think your friend won’t like us? The girls and I are nice…very nice.”

I hold her gaze as her hand slowly moves up my leg.Well, this is new.I don’t remember anyone ever coming on to me this hard. The elevator dings, and the click of approaching heelsechoes through the lobby. Averting my gaze from Zoey, I see Nevaeh heading over. A white summer dress with little flowers streams down her body, ending just above her knees. A bodice accentuates her narrow waist and pushes up her round tits. Her hair cascades down her bare shoulders, two braids framing her face. She slumps down onto the couch beside me and leans forward.

“What did I miss?” she asks, making Zoey retract her hand from my leg.

“I was making friends with Zoey,” I reply nonchalantly. “She’s here for a bachelorette party.”

“Um…I didn’t know you were here with someone…sorry. I better go,” Zoey mutters, rising to her feet.

Scurrying away from the couch, she joins her friends, and a moment later they step into the elevator. Unable to keep my face straight, I turn to Nevaeh with a huge grin on my lips. “I think I can use your help with scaring the girls away.”

Her slightly narrowed eyes roam over my face. “Was her hand on your knee when I got here?”

“A bit higher, actually,” I confirm.

“A bit higher,” she repeats, shaking her head. “I didn’t take you for a touchy-feely guy, but I guess it depends on the person who’s doing the touching.” Standing up from the couch, she hovers over me. “Let’s go to dinner. I’m starving.”

Without waiting for my reply, Nevaeh turns on her heel and strolls to the exit. My gaze slides from her toned back down to her tanned legs in red heels. An indecent image of her on all fours flashes in my head, but I quickly push it away, jump to my feet, and follow her outside.

She sounded pissed, for whatever reason, and making things worse is definitely not on my to-do list. Not today, and not ever. I need this trip to help me survive next week.

“Remindme again why we’re doing this?” I ask Nevaeh as a few more people enter our pod at the High Roller. She glances at me and proceeds to the railing without a word. “Nevaeh?”

I stand next to her, my eyes coasting over the Las Vegas Strip. The glowing buildings and streets spread out before us. The city’s energy is full of vivid colors, intensified by the never-ending sounds of nightlife. The night sky creates an astounding background, making the city lights even brighter. My lips stretch into an involuntary smile, lightness filling my body. It feels good to be here, to not think about all the things that usually bother me.

“What do you think?” Her voice is quiet and a little distant. I squint at her, meeting her gaze.

“It’s beautiful,” I reply as the pod slowly starts to move.

She collects her hair and puts it over her shoulder, combing her fingers through it. “I just thought ten p.m. was too early to go back to our room. And since tomorrow we’re planning to go to the Bellagio all day, we might not have time for the High Roller. And you definitely don’t want to miss this when you come to Vegas.”

“It was a great idea. Thank you.”

Lifting her shoulder in a tiny shrug, Nevaeh focuses her gaze on the view in front of her. I take it in too. Other people chat around us, laughing and joking, but it doesn’t bother me. If anything, the noise quiets my inner voice, keeps me from focusing on my past. It’s good to be here.

“So, was that girl from the lobby your type?”

Blinking, I turn my head and stare at Nevaeh. She’s not looking at me; her gaze is still glued to the view outside the pod. “You mean that Zoey girl?”

“If that’s her name.” Nevaeh sneaks a glance at me and looks away immediately. “Was she?”

Furrowing my brow, I keep silent, racking my brain for an answer. I didn’t expect her to bring that up, especially not now. At dinner she was a bit pouty and hostile at first, but once the waiter finally brought her penne basilica with a glass of prosecco, her mood changed. She told me about her work at the magazine and the articles she’d been working on, including a recap of a Taylor Swift concert she went to with Angie, Drake, and his sister, Layla. She even talked about how she loves cats. That was actually hilarious, especially after she started rambling about Angie’s dog, Cooper, and how he helped her change her mind and become a dog person too.

The conversation was fun and light, but this question right now isn’t.

“She was pretty,” I say, and Nevaeh’s eyes instantly fly to me. A little scowl crosses her features, darkening her gaze. “I don’t really have a type.”

“Everyone does,” she counters, shifting from one leg to the other.

“What’s yours then?”

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