Page 11 of The Hero + Vegas = No Regrets

For a moment I think she’s talking about Worth, but then I remember she doesn’t know that Worth starred in the dream I had the night after brunch. The one where he was bare-chested, wearing a blue-and-black flannel shirt—unbuttoned of course—and jeans tight to his muscular thighs.

Even now, despite what’s happened with my dad, I’m feeling like I need some air just thinking about how Worth might look with fewer clothes on than is polite for dinner.

Oh, but he wasn’t on the plane.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll get to know everyone a little better.” I’ll be fake-smiling my way through this entire weekend.

FOUR

Worth

I’ve never considered myself a weak man. I like to confront my problems head-on; avoidance is just another form of weakness. But there was no way I was going to share a ten-passenger Gulfstream with Sophia. I didn’t trust myself. So I made an excuse about a meeting and flew commercial to Vegas. On my own. With only the thought of Sophia for company.

I checked into my hotel suite, ignored the group chat going off every five seconds, took a shower, changed, and headed down to the private room where I booked dinner for us all. There’s no best man this weekend, but I’ve made sure we have transportation at our disposal, the restaurants are booked, and Leo’s favorite wine is available at all times. Bennett figured out the plane. Fisher has got VIP passes for every club in town, and Jack organized suites for everyone. We all have our part to play.

We’re here to celebrate our friend and brother getting married. I couldn’t be happier for him.

The Monday after the brunch where I met Sophia, we had our normal get-together. I kept my ear to the ground, waiting for Fisher to mention Sophia, but he didn’t. I know for a fact that ifhe were into her, I would have heard about it. I’m not sure if that makes my infatuation better or worse. Maybe she’s super into him and will be disappointed when nothing happens.

If I don’t speak to her again, I’ll never know. And despite the fact that avoiding Sophia reveals a weakness inside me I don’t want to confront, it’s taking all my strength to stay away.

I arrive at the private dining room in the restaurant early. I’m not putting name cards anywhere, but I want to make sure I’m seated at the other end of the table from Sophia. I pull three jewelry boxes out of my pocket and set them beside three of the place settings—a keepsake of the weekend. It’s a ploy to direct the women of the group to the seats farthest away from mine—a way to make sure Sophia’s not sitting near me tonight. That’s all. It’s not like I’m buying gifts for a woman I met once. It’s nothing like that.

At a bar in the corner of the room, I order a whisky neat. I’m going to need a couple of drinks to get me through tonight.

I tip back the whisky and enjoy the burn as it trails down my throat. That feels better already. But it doesn’t stop my pulse straining in my neck when I hear the rattle of the door handle.

I turn to see Bennett and Efa.

I slide my drink onto the table next to the seat I’ve claimed.

We greet each other and everyone get drinks. Fisher and Jack arrive together. They’realwaystogether.

My heart begins to throb in my chest and I grip my glass unnecessarily tight.

She’ll be here in a minute.

I’m not sure what frightens me more: that I’ll feel the same need for her—the same visceral urge to possess her that I did when we first met—or that I won’t, and those feelings were a temporary, passing madness.

“You okay, Worth?” Efa asks. “You seem a little…”

“More uptight than usual?” Bennett suggests.

“I’m not sure you should be lobbing stones from where you’re standing in that glass house,” Efa replies.

Bennett grins and shrugs, then Fisher asks about the menu. I’ve escaped further scrutiny. For now.

The door opens and I know before I glance over that it’s her. My vision tunnels until Sophia is all I see. She shifts slightly in her tight black dress. Her collarbones are visible above the fabric and my fingertips heat with the need to press against them, up her neck, over her lips. Her blonde hair is up, with wavy tendrils framing her face, her lips a soft pink. Need coils in my gut.

What’s wrong with me?

What’s with this woman?

It’s like I’ve taken some kind of drug and my thoughts are no longer my own. I’m possessed. I have this unshakeable feeling I’m meant to be with her. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve thought about her way too much these last two weeks, even dreamt about her a couple of times, but I feel like I know her. Like she knows me.

But it’s all in my head.

Our gazes catch and her expression turns from anxious to happy. She steps toward me, places her hand on my shoulder, and without thinking, I place mine on her waist as we greet each other with a kiss on the cheek.

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