Page 97 of Menace in Vegas

I should’ve known this would happen.

The second we got in the car, Connor stretched out like a king, taking up half the seat. Then he looked over at me with that smile that’s ruined my life ever since I met him and murmured, “Comfy, baby?”

I nearly threw myself from the vehicle.

Now, here we are. The air conditioning wheezes weakly as Wanda hauls us toward Vegas, judging me with every rattle. I swear she groans every time I shift in my seat, as if to say,You did this to yourself, slut.

Connor brushes my leg for the hundredth time, and I feel my sanity slip just a little more. Every bump in the road has me clutching my seat—or worse, accidentally landing a hand on his thigh.

He laughs every time.

The second we hit theWelcome to Nevadasign, I snap.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

He glances over, his expression all innocence. “Doing what, baby?”

“You know exactly what.”

“You mean making you squirm, wife?”

“Bite me,” I growl.

His smirk turns feral. “Anytime. Anywhere.”

God help me, I’m not going to survive Vegas.

36

ALLISON

I’m neverdrinking again.

Let me rephrase that. I haven’t had a single drink yet, and I already know this is going to end in flames and felony-level regret.

The second we step into the posh Vegas hotel lobby, all hell breaks loose.

“There’s the pink Barbie car driving psychopath!” Jake’s voice booms through the crowd. “Or do you like the station wagon better?” He wiggles his brows, then crashes into Connor like a golden retriever on Red Bull.

Connor doesn’t budge. Jake bounces off him like a cartoon character.

They do some chaotic handshake that looks more like a TikTok fail compilation, then Jake slaps Connor’s shoulder. “Bro, we seriously thought you died. Don’t ever ghost us again.”

Connor shrugs, completely unbothered. “I’m alive. Though she wishes I weren’t.” He grins at me like he owns me.

I roll my eyes so hard I see my ancestors.

The chaos descends in waves.

Cole, Daltyn, and Ford, who hangs back just far enough to look like he’s evaluating whether to throw Connor into a fountain, descend seconds later.

I spy Gram at the bar, sipping something strong and pink like she’s royalty on vacation.

The second she spots us, she whistles like she’s summoning livestock. “’Bout damn time!”

She slides off her barstool with a glint in her eye that spells absolute fucking doom.

The guys begin piling on the questions.

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