Page 57 of Accidentally, Scandalously Yours

I go to the phone, place my coffee down, and call reception. After a quick conversation in which I agree to produce identification once I’m let into my room, the man I speak with promises to send someone straight up.

After ending the call, I turn to thank Bradford and immediately wish I didn’t already have my contact lenses in. There are benefits to short-sightedness, namely not being treated to the good looks of men you’d rather think of as ugly.

I’ve never seen Bradford in golf attire before. It turns out I’m experiencing the desire for many wishes this morning, because I also wish I didn’t have to look at him wearing those clothes.

Dark navy pants that fit exceptionally well over his legs. A lighter shade of navy polo shirt with long sleeves and three buttons that aren’t all done up, drawing my attention to the collar that sits wide and reveals that fucking perfect Adam’s apple and neck of his. Hell, I even like his white golf shoes.

I could stare all day. Especially at the way his thighs wear those pants so well. A littletoowell. It’s frankly all too much to handle. Bradford can take his golf balls away from me, thank you very much.

I pick up my coffee. “Thank you.” I hold my breath while I walk past him. It’s no use, though. I can’t escape that purely masculine scent of his that does things to me I wish it didn’t. Oh, so many wishes and it’s not even seven a.m. yet.

“Kristen,” he says as I open the door to leave. “I’ll be finished with breakfast in half an hour.”

I glanced back at him when he called my name. I could have just made my call and slipped straight out. I could have ignored him. I could have done so many things. But no, I looked at him. And damn him for still owning my butterflies.

I already know my next Google search:the fastest way to kill butterflies.And men.

* * *

I’ll be finishedwith breakfast in half an hour. What an asshole, telling me when I can arrive formybreakfast.

I gave him an hour because I really don’t want to chance running into him again. Thankfully, he was nowhere to be seen and I was able to eat in peace.

The girls are booked in for the spa at nine a.m. I am too. They talked me into it over dinner last night. It was the wine I drank that did it, I think. Not to mention Poppy’s ability to convince anyone to do whatever she wants them to. She’s strategic in her methods and I’m sure she waited until I’d had just the right amount of alcohol before pouncing on me.

My mother texts me right after breakfast. After all the texts I received from her yesterday with the plans she has for me, I’m surprised she didn’t start up with her messages earlier this morning.

Mom: Kristen, what time are you arriving home tomorrow? I was thinking we could get together tomorrow night to take another look at your wardrobe rather than waiting until Monday night. We don’t want to leave ourselves short on time if we need to find a new dress for the gala.

This is the reason I didn’t book a flight home last night. I was torn between wanting to escape Bradford and wanting to escape my mother. The desire not to see her was greater, so here I am, still in Vegas. I’m currently contemplating moving here permanently.

I can’t count on two hands the number of texts like this one I received yesterday while my mother got herself into a giddy state about my chances of meeting my future husband at the gala next weekend.

I reply to her text.

Me: It will be too late for that.

Mom: How late?

Oh. My. God.

She’s relentless.

I look at Jenna whose suite I’m in while she finishes dealing with some work stuff that came up overnight. “I’ve lost my phone, okay?”

She glances up from her laptop with a frown. “Huh?”

I hold up my phone. “I lost it if Mom asks you why I’m not responding to her texts or calls.”

“She’s still bugging you about the gala?” My sister is well versed in our mother and her desire to marry us off. Jenna no longer suffers this, although she’s now suffering throughWhen will you give me a grandchild? This means I now have most of our mother’s attention.

“Yes,” I answer Jenna. “She won’t stop, and I’m done. In fact, I’m so done that I want you to take my phone and not give it back to me until we get home.”

I force her to take my cell.

“Right, so while I fully support you being done with Mom over this, I don’t know that it’s a great idea to go without your phone in Vegas.”

I shrug. “I’ll be with you. And if not you, I’ll be with someone from our group. I don’t need my phone.” When she still looks unconvinced, I add, “I’m not taking it back. I also had to sit through an Insta story this morning of Phillip and Annabelle. I’m tired of seeing all that stuff. I need you to help me stop.”

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