Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
They may think damn when they see a hot guy, but it's not until that hot guy shoots them bedroom eyes that they start to think about dropping their panties.
It's a common problem. Usually, it's considered one of socialization, though there is some biological basis. It takes longer for the pelvic muscles to relax enough for penetration than it does for blood to flow to an erection.
On average.
Right now—
Fuck, I really need to fuck someone.
And I really want to fuck Jackson.
There's no maybe. Not anymore.
I need to do it.
I will do it.
The show ends. I clap and follow the crew out of the theater. I steel myself so I'm ready to manage my lust for the next phase of the night.
Then Zack says, "Time to dance, huh? We better pick buddies. I call Kenji."
Kenji laughs and reaches for his husband-to-be. Even though Kenji is short, with dark hair and dark eyes, and Nathan is impossibly tall, with hair, eyes, and skin so light he glows like the moon, the guys look just right together. It's not their matching suits, either. It's something about them. Some sense they belong together.
Laurel nods. "You can't dance with your spouse at your bachelor party. I've got Nathan." She looks to Cassie and Damon. "Obviously, there's a pair. And, uh"—she motions to us—"that leaves you and Daphne."
And Rome.
But something tells me he won't be dancing alone for too long.
"Show her a good time, huh." Laurel winks.
Jackson offers his hand shall we.
I take it.
We're dancing, but I already see the two of us grinding in a horizontal position.
Chapter Thirteen
Daphne
We go straight from the air-conditioned lobby to the stretch limo waiting at the valet. The car isn't all that different from the casino, really.
It attempts to project an aura of fun and sophistication, but it comes across as a teenager trying too hard to have a good time. Purple lights, throbbing music, expensive bottles of cheap sparkling wine.
It's too loud to hear myself think. Or to hear the conversation happening around the grooms.
Somehow, I end up next to Jackson, my bare thigh pressed against his slacks, the soft linen fabric the perfect friction against my skin.
Damon shoots me a go for it look.
Cassie sends her brother a mental message I can't explain. Is it you should also go for it. Or don't even think about it.
No.
I don't have time to consider it. Zack starts a game of Never Have I Ever. It's all aimed at taking down the grooms.
Never Have I Ever fallen for a cute Japanese guy.
Never Have I Ever told my parents I met my fiancé at the library when I met him on Tinder.
Never Have I Ever felt the sort of love that inspires people to write sonnets.
He and Laurel are surprisingly romantic about the whole thing.
By the time it's almost my turn, we're at Freemont, and everyone is sipping bad, cheap champagne.
I raise my glass to toast to love, down the terrible sparkling wine in two gulps, and follow the crew out of the limo.
Big parties aren't my scene. Any parties, really. I prefer one-on-one. But there's a certain anonymity to a crowd.
With an instigator like Zack leading the charge, I can easily fade into the background. I can easily check out and think about other things.
Like when I'll be alone with Jackson.
With the sun down, the air is cooler. The vibe downtown is the same, really. There's an old-school grime that feels both authentic and fake.
Here, the tackiness is on purpose. Here, the tacky light shows and big neon signs are symbols of the Las Vegas that once stood for sleaze, not an attempt to look classy.
There's a giant LED dome with a light show set to The Doors. People zip line between souvenir carts. Instead of walking around with plastic Eiffel Towers or Empire State Buildings, they sip their slushees from plain cups.
Yes, everything still smells like smoke and sweat and stale air, but it's honest about it.
Disneyland for people who think dirty martinis are a clever order at the bar. Only cheap.
After half an hour of taking in the atmosphere, we head to a popular club, one in the back of a casino.
Half is inside, half is outside, all of it is rainbow string lights, potted palm trees, cheap liquor, and excess.
No one is here to show off their designer outfits.
Everyone is here to drink and dance the night away. People sip punch and beer from red Solo cups, slam shots at the bar, laugh as they pour cheap sparkling wine into plastic champagne flutes.
We don't go straight to the bar.
Instead, we dance.
Zack does, in fact, dance with Kenji, and Laurel with Nathan, and the rest I don't see. Because Jackson offers his hand, and then I can only see him.
And when he pulls me closer, I can only feel him.