Page 5 of Third Time Lucky

Get her number. Yeah, I’m sure her husband-to-be would love that. Of course, looking around it’s clear he didn’t just invite guys to this party, so I doubt one in her phone would worry him. And he knows alotof people. Damn.

I wonder who he is. She said his name is Brandon. Who here looks like a Brandon? I’m picturing a teenage football quarterback superstar, maybe the coach’s kid, who models for GAP commercials on the weekends and hangs out at REI downtown, even though he’s never stepped foot off the city sidewalk. Or, based on this party, I’m looking for a Scott Disick type. Which is sort of what I’m afraid of, and pretty much accounts for the whole damn room. Hell, the man himself might be here.

Whydo I know who Scott Disick is? Freaking Alyssa, my older sister, a fan of all things reality TV – that’s why. And since she pretty much raised Aaron and me when our mom was too self-occupied, I can’t complain about the girly shit I’ve watched because of her too much.

‘Hey cutie,’ a woman’s voice earns my attention. ‘You bored? ’cause I could help with that,’ she says, running her fingertips down my arm, her eyes glued to my many tattoos.

The last thing I want to ask is how.

‘Nope,’ I say, downing my drink. ‘Not interested.’

The brunette huffs at my response before disappearing into the crowd.

I promised myself after the arrest, that Vegas would be for drinking, gambling, and babysitting my brother. I learned my sleeping around lesson last time I took advice from Aaron. That’s his game, not mine. But, drinking alone is no fun, so I stay for a while, but after way too many strippers offer me a private show as I meander around looking as lonely as a guy can get, I hop onto the elevator and swipe my card to get to my room.

I wonder where Aaron is. Actually, I probably don’t want to know. I search my pockets for my phone, but I left it in my jacket, which is on a table in the penthouse. Shit.

I jab the doors open button and emerge at the party once again.

‘I guess I don’t understand why you’re getting married if this is your hobby?’ A woman’s voice catches my attention as I stroll into the suite.

Oh? This sounds interesting. What sort of hobby is she referring to?

‘She’s paid her dues, honey. She’s earned it. But that doesn’t mean the fun is over,’ a man says, his hands all over the very scantily clad young woman – the same woman who offered me a way out of boredom earlier.

It doesn’t?

There it is! My jacket. I grab it from the table, slide it on, and pull my phone out to text Aaron before he ends up in the lost and found.

Asher

Sleep? Room 4007

If I know Aaron, he’ll mistake that as ‘sleep with,’ and he’ll be back before midnight if he’s not successful at bagging a secret.

‘I can’t getemotionallyinvolved. But I can spend my money any way I like.’

‘Which is why I charge you double,’ the woman says with a snicker.

Charge what to who now? I glance back to look at this dude. Designer suit. Gel. Possibly an hour of skin care before bed every night.

‘Come on, honey, time to pay the piper…’

Ew. Man to man, this one’s a douche.

I act as if I’m just checking out the suite, but when I turn to where this couple is chatting, I notice her hand on his package, and much to my dismay, what I’m seeing is not an optical illusion – he’s beyond into her.

‘Oh, Brandon,’ she says with a giggle, allowing him to lead her into one of the bedrooms, closing the door behind them.

Brandon?! Holy shit. Is this Lucy’s Brandon?! Please, God, no.

Luckily, the door didn’t catch, and when I lay my hand on it, it pops open just enough for me to be a total perv and peek in.

Please don’t get caught.Please don’t get caught.

Whoa. I step back. I didn’t realize that position could happen so quickly. And aggressively – my God. This cannot be the Brandon Lucy – sweet little Lucy Gray – is marrying.

Breathe, Ash.

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