Page 37 of It Happened in Vegas

I stepped back, voice shaking. “Did you know she was here? That they were filming? Grabbed me for another kiss to make it look good?”

He reached for my hand, but I dodged it. “No. Of course not.”

“Forget this.” I stalked off only he came up behind me. His arms encircled me, caging me to him. I didn’t fight his closeness.

His whisper, like a desperate plea in my ear, said, “I kissed you because I wanted to. Because I wantyou,Soph. Not the show. Not the cameras.You.“

My heart twanged between longing and fear. Finally, I whispered, “Do you have to go back in there?”

“No. Why? Would you rather we go find our own party? This is Vegas, and not the only party in town, you know.”

“You’d do that for me? Leave all this behind tonight and just hang with me?” I turned in his arms to face him.

“Hell yeah I would, Soph. You’re the only woman I want to be with tonight. In fact, I know a great place, way off the strip. You’d love it.”

We took a car ride to a brewery—of course—where Keaton and I tested several flavors of their brews, critiquing each and laughing at their names while soaking up the atmosphere. The more we talked and joked around and played pool, the more my heart filled, the more I knew it’d be harder and harder to walkaway from him when my consultancy finished. Could I make it out with my heart intact?

In the back seat of the car on the ride to the hotel, we kissed and my world narrowed to the taste of him and the thrum of my heartbeat.

“Mm. Keaton,” I purred. “Your kisses are even better when we’re alone.”

“Sophie, you need to know how much I fucking want you.”

“Spontaneously, or is this something we should negotiate?”

“Let’s leave it open, see what happens, and find out.” His thumb brushed my lips as he stared deeply into my eyes.

Only once we hit the elevator, exhaustion hit me like a tidal wave. My eyelids fluttered shut against the swirl of the world, spinning. I sagged against his chest, and he ended up carrying me to our room. My last coherent thought was relief that I’d survived reality-TV initiation—before sleep claimed me completely.

13

ONE AND DONE

KEATON

I wokeup to a quiet room. The pillow wall was half toppled over, Sophie’s side of the bed empty.

I lay there for a moment, chest rising and falling, head throbbing. Last night, we drank way too much. At least I thought we did. Why was I the only one here suffering?

The first shafts of Vegas sunlight snuck around the edges of the blackout curtains.

My temples matched the dull ache in my shoulder where I’d apparently fallen asleep half on, half off the bed.

Panic lanced through me. I flung the covers aside and sat up—still fully dressed, everything buttoned and zipped. No naked shenanigans, bummer. But where was Sophie?

I snagged my chiming phone and blinked at her message.

Sophie: Went ahead to set up by the pool. Filming starts soon. You up yet?

A moment later, a photo arrived. It showed the hotel’s sapphire-blue pool deck, wallpapered with a Holly Creek Hops banner and the branded cabana, the surfaces gleaming like a beer commercial ready for prime time. My heart eased a fractionat the sight of our chilled cans arranged on crushed ice in a crystal bowl.

I replied as I peeled myself out of bed.

Keaton: Be right down.

Fifteen minutes later, I emerged, showered and with a towel slung over my shoulder. I headed toward the elevator in board shorts that just matched the Holly Creek Hops brand palette. Sophie had chosen them. She’d insisted they “worked with the vibe.”

I didn’t argue. I just wore them. She was the snooty expert. I grinned at the memory of the day I walked into my office and there she was, far from snooty. Beautiful, and unbeknownst to her, setting my world on fire.

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