Page 117 of Menace in Vegas

“If you call me Ken, I swear to God?—”

She takes another sip, shrugs, and then smirks.

“Okay, Daddy.”

I. Am. Deceased.

45

CONNOR

I’m going to murder Ford’s Gram.

Everything that led to this godforsaken moment is her fault.

Now I’m driving a goddamn pink Cadillac through the middle of Vegas like some flamingo-suited freak while my wife is actively trying to destroy me.

She’s lounging in the passenger seat like a damn movie star—sunglasses on, one leg propped up, sipping her iced coffee like she isn’t single-handedly ruining my entire reputation.

She taps the dash like she’s greeting an old friend. “Priscilla’s loving this weather.”

I stare at the road. “You need therapy.”

She beams. “Wanda would be proud.”

I grunt in response.

Then she commits the ultimate betrayal. She pulls out her phone and hits the live button.

“Hey, guys!” she chirps into the camera, full of sunshine and smugness. “Live from Vegas with my new hubby, who’s looking mighty fine in this pink ride.”

My soul and dignity are in flames.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

She’s live streaming this. To the internet. To hockey fans.

I’m combusting in the damn driver’s seat.

“Wow, babe. The chat is exploding,” she grins, scrolling casually like my career isn’t extinguishing in real-time.

I debate crashing the Cadillac into the nearest cactus.

She starts reading the comments out loud as we stop at a red light.

@hockeyfan42:HOLY SHIT IS THAT CONNOR BYRNS?

@puckbunny88:I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE ATTRACTED TO A MAN IN PINK

@teamchaos:HE LOOKS LIKE HE WANTS TO DIE. LMFAO

@gram4president:LOOKIN’ GOOD, ADOPTED GRANDSON

@alliepayne:Named the car Priscilla. She’s iconic.

@gram4president:TELL PRISCILLA I SAID HI. LOU WOULD’VE LOVED HER. SHE’S GOT THE SAME SLUTTY SPIRIT.

“Oh my God,” I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “This is my legacy now.”

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