Page 202 of Menace in Vegas

And then the front door opens.

Daltyn walks in, and beside him is Peyton.

I raise a brow, watching him.

The room goes suspiciously quiet.

Peyton’s eyes scan the chaos. She’s wearing jeans and an oversized hoodie that I’m 99% sure belongs to Daltyn.

Gram gasps so hard I think she might choke on her chardonnay. “You’re official!”

Daltyn’s brows lift. “What! No?—”

“Yes, we are,” Peyton says sweetly, clapping her hands before sipping the drink Harper hands her. “Didn’t he tell you?”

Daltyn turns to her like she just kicked him in the soul. “What? When?”

Peyton grins. “Sorry. I suck at keeping secrets.”

I nudge Allie and wiggle my brows.

She bites her lip, trying not to cackle.

Gram clasps her hands like she just watched a royal engagement. “FINALLY! You two were radiating so much sexual tension, I had to use my hormone patches.”

Ford mutters, “You’re not on hormone patches.”

“I am now. You think this natural glow just happens?”

Gram claps again. “Speaking of men who make my estrogen dance. I have a boyfriend.”

Everyone freezes.

Chloe nearly spills her wine.

“Captain Jimmy?” Allie asks.

Gram waves a dismissive hand. “That was a fling. Good hips. Great stamina. But no follow-through.”

I stop breathing.

“His name’s Eddie,” Gram continues, beaming. “He’s an Elvis impersonator. We reconnected in Boston. Remember I told you I gave Elvis a blow job in Vegas?”

Ford groans. “Jesus Christ. Not again.”

“Wait, what?” Chloe and Cole say in unison.

Jake is howling, leaning against the wall.

Tara pumps her fist in the air. “Go, Gram.”

Gram bows before she adds proudly, “I bumped into him at Trader Joe’s. He was in the frozen foods section. One thing led to another, and we ended up in my apartment, bumping uglies.”

Tara chokes on her drink.

Jake is crying.

Ford is whispering prayers into his whiskey.

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