Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Xander, 16.
Ben, 17.
Tom and Luna, 19.
Eliot, 20.
Charlie, Beckett, and Sulli, 21.
Jane, recently turned 24.
Missing in action are the four youngest girls: Winona and Vada, 15—and Kinney and Audrey, 14. You’ve been wondering why. What you don’t know: the girl squad wasn’t invited to the bar, just on the fact that they’re under-16. It wasn’t just my rule.
That was all of our parents.
I had a bachelor “brunch” this morning with the younger girls so they could feel included.
Luna jogs up to the wicker lounge area. “Xander, come dance!” She tries to pull my brother off the couch.
I leave my lemonade and stand up.
“There are people watching.” Xander reluctantly shakes her off. He wants to dance.
“Pleasepleaseplease,” Luna begs. “I’ll block you. Human shield.” She outstretches her arms. My smile grows, and my brother is smiling too.
I grab his hand. “Come on, Summers.” He rises as I tug him up, and I sling an arm around his toned shoulders and mess his hair.
“Just one song!” Xander shouts, but he’s bouncing his head to the beat. He has really good rhythm like Luna, and alone at our house, he’d be breakdancing by now.
Right as we step onto the sandy floor, heads start whirling—but not in our direction. Everyone’s attention and bubbling excitement is plastered at the entrance. On a parade of familiar bodyguards.
SFO is here.
And you know them now. All seven.
“OH MY GOD!” girls shriek.
I try not to smile or act too eager. But subtly, my eyes graze over the masses, hunting for him.
Farrow weaves between bodies, his radio mic attached to the collar of a black button-down. Sleeves rolled, tattoos cascade down his arms. His shirt molds his lean, muscular build—stop staring.
My brain receives the message and denies the order.
Is he coming over here or going to the bar?
I can’t tell, and suddenly, all my cousins bum-rush the dance floor, joining me and my siblings. We jump together as a remix of “Space Jam” plays, and my pulse thumps in anticipation.
He’s not coming over here.
I lose sight of Farrow in the bouncing throngs. He probably just stopped by to talk to the temp bodyguards.
Shoving away disappointment, I shake my brother’s shoulders. He smiles at me and bobs his head more.
Jane hooks her arm around my shoulders, the muscle no longer sore. “You’re going to be married in four weeks!”
My smile aches my cheeks. “You sure we’re not in another universe?”
“Definitely not! This universe is decidedly reserved for happiness! And you deserve that and more!!”
“Toi aussi!” So do you. I kiss her cheek.
She squeezes me in a side-hug before letting go, and that’s when SFO joins the dance pit. Thatcher catches Jane’s hand and twirls her into his chest. She collides into him and looks up at his towering height, breathless.
Where is Farrow? I jump slower and scan the bodyguards for the missing one.
“Looking for me?” Farrow whispers against my ear.
My face revolts against me. I instantly smile. And I force my lips down, somewhat, before rotating to him. Only an inch shorter, we’re pretty eye-level.
“No,” I retort, his mouth too close to mine.
His brows rise.
“Not even a little bit.” I stare at his lips. “I was admiring the lights.”
“Okay.”
My eyes drift to his cheekbone where little x’s are marked on his skin. I press my hand to his cheek like my fingers are drawn there by some invisible pull. “What’s this?”
He grins. “A game.”
A game?
Longing pumps in me. I wish I had been there with him. But I’ve played enough party games to connect some of the dots. “I take it these are all the times you lost.” My hand falls to my side. “I thought the object of the game is to not lose?”
“You’re such a smartass.” But he’s looking at me like I’m that and more. “I won more than I lost.” His smile recedes suddenly, his concern brushing over me. “You’re doing okay?”
I feign surprise. “Didn’t you hear?” I have to shout as the music booms. “I got a lap dance from Magic Mike!”
His face falls.
My stomach clenches. “Just kidding!”
Farrow glances to his left, then back to me. His concern tighter on me. “He touch you?!”
I lick my lips, almost smiling. I don’t know…it feels good that he cares. Not a lot of people really do when it comes to unwanted hands on me. “No, I’m okay!”
He checks me out, then nods.
To avoid shouting more, I lean into Farrow, and his hand caresses the back of my head—Christ. Blood pools south, throbbing me. I say against his ear, “I just don’t know who hired the strippers.”
His jaw skims my jaw as he replies. “Security found out already. Some random dipshits online ordered them.”
My brother was right.
It wouldn’t be hard for fans to figure out which bar we’re at in Key West and send the strippers here.
“Are you all staying?” I ask Farrow.