Page 98 of Menace in Vegas

“What the hell happened? Spill everything,” Jake demands.

“How the hell didyoumiss the flight? We all made it,” Cole says, looking between us like he’s cracking a murder case.

“Are you even the real Connor? Or did Allie clone you after she killed the original?” Daltyn squints, dramatic as hell.

“Are you guys married yet?” Gram asks like she’s placing a bet.

My jaw drops. “WHAT?”

Connor, ever the smug bastard, wraps an arm around my waist and says, “Not yet.” His voice is syrupy smug. His tone screams possession.

I shove away from him and turn to the guys. “Ask him how he liked driving the trauma wagon. Or the pink VW bug.”

Jake’s eyes light up. “You NAMED it?”

“Of course she did,” Cole says, cracking up.

“Petal the bug and Wanda the wagon shouldn’t be disrespected like that.” I fold my arms, a smug look on my face.

Cole howls. “Wanda the Wagon. That’s gonna haunt Connor forever.”

I sniff. “She smelled like trauma. She deserved a name.”

Gram cackles. “I had a car named Lou. He caught fire, but damn if he didn’t get me across three states and to two weddings I wasn’t even invited to. That car had soul.”

Jake blinks. “Did Lou catch fire before or after the second wedding?”

“During. But I still made the open bar.”

That does it. I abandon every resolution I’ve ever made and stalk toward the bar.

I slap my hand down like a woman possessed. “Tequila. Now.”

The bartender blinks, glances at my face, and silently starts pouring.

Good man.

* * *

I don’t knowhow it happened.

One minute, I’m sipping tequila and internally screaming.

The next, I’m on a stage under a spotlight, singing like I’m auditioning for a Broadway remake ofSpiraling: The Allie Payne Story.

The crowd cheers. I curtsy.

I don’t remember walking offstage.

* * *

I’m drunk.Like, “signing my life away and thinking it’s funny” drunk.

“Here, baby,” Connor says, sliding a piece of paper in front of me.

I blink. The words blur, tango, and then waltz.

“What’s this?” I slur.

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