Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 102683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“You sound like you’re from 1812.” Someone laughs in the corner. “None of yee blithering knobs are going.”
“I don’t sound Scottish, you moron.”
I set about ignoring them all; it’s damn near impossible. They’re gathered around, discussing all the things they’re going to do on their fictional trip. Gambling and shows and drinking at the pools on the Vegas Strip. Strippers and showgirls.
My lips press into a straight line.
I just won’t bring it up anymore; if they don’t know the dates we choose, they won’t be able to tag along, will they?
Nope.
In a bit of a rush to get home, I hurry through the task of dressing, each piece of clothing getting damp from the water still clinging to my skin.
“Can I get a ride home?” someone asks, and I immediately shoot them down with a no. I’m in no mood to make small talk or be a prisoner to more Vegas chitchat in the comfort of my own vehicle.
“Oh come on, man!” he shouts after me. “We have to plan our trip!”
That puts a smile on my face, and I smile again as I toss my black duffle bag into the passenger seat of my truck, body relaxing once I’m behind the wheel and buckling myself in.
Georgia is at the counter when I walk in the door, a sight for sore eyes, beaming for all she’s worth.
She gets up and runs over to hug me, then bounces up and down on the balls of her feet, still buzzing with energy.
“Oh my gosh, can you believe it? I could pinch myself.”
“What have you found out?” My bag gets dropped to the ground. Shoes come off too.
There are take-out containers of Chinese food on the counter, rice and whatever else she ordered, my nose twitching from how good it smells.
“We can pick our dates—it just has to be within a certain time frame. We book the flights and send them the receipts for that and get reimbursed. Rental car is paid for, we can leave whenever we want, four-night maximum. There’s a drink package at the hotel, food is paid for, and it includes tickets to one show.”
She makes an eek sound, positively red-faced.
“This is your dream come true.”
Vegas. Of all places.
Lord she’s way too easily impressed.
I wonder how she’d feel about the Eiffel Tower in Paris.
Or Big Ben in London.
Or the great pyramids of Egypt.
She’s getting all that in one place in Vegas.
I pause, the realization dawning on me—my privilege dawning on me. She doesn’t think she’ll ever see the real things in person so she’s willing to settle for what are basically theme park imitations.
Dang.
Now I feel like a colossal arsehole.
“You still want to go, right?” she says hurriedly, pulling out a barstool at the counter for me. “I mean—I know we made the bet that I wouldn’t win, but if you don’t actually want to go, I totally understand. You’re busy. Plus it’s the middle of the semester—this is crazy.”
She gives her head a little shake.
“I’ll go.”
“I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”
That almost makes me roll my eyes; she practically bamboozled me into this trip in the first place by betting me she wouldn’t win and using my attendance as the stakes.
“Do I look like the type of bloke who gets forced into doing things he doesn’t want to do?”
Georgia rakes her bold gaze up and down my body, landing on my legs, tattooed arms, and chest before returning to my eyes.
“No?”
I sit at the island and begin spooning up rice, broccoli, beef, and shrimp. An egg roll, sauce. Load it up as if I haven’t had a meal in days and the food is going to run out.
“Thanks for dinner.”
She nods, helping herself to food. “I thought it was a good way to celebrate—not having to cook. Not that I cook, ha ha.” Georgie is babbling nervously. “I’m just so”—she squeals—“happy!”
I lower my head to fork rice into my mouth, hiding my smile.
“So when do you want to go?” I chance asking, knowing the question is going to create an onslaught of more rambling.
“As a matter of fact, I already checked my schedule because if I have to wait five months, I’ll die. Plus, it’s so hot in Vegas in the summer, so like, soon. If you can go—soon, that is.” She giggles nervously. “I feel like I’m being a freak.”
Kind of.
But I don’t mention it; don’t need to make her feel self-conscious.
“My season isn’t done until the end of the semester, but I can tell you what weekends we don’t have matches. I think there’s a bye week coming up.”
Georgia nods, staring at her mobile. “And I’m free two weekends from now, and then next month.”
Another squeal.
My glance shifts to the fridge—to the calendar hanging there with my schedule—eyes trying to read it without having to haul my arse off this stool.