Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“Jules and Leo, you get new, Bennett and I are going to take old, Sophia and Worth, you take borrowed, Fisher and Jack, you can have blue.”
I look up at Worth and his cool, blue, intent gaze. “Maybe we can work in a bar stop. Or maybe our thing can be a bottle of tequila, which we sample to make sure it tastes okay, and let Jules and Leo borrow a shot each from the bottle.”
Worth smiles, but there’s a question in his eyes.
“You haven’t told them the prize,” Bennett says.
“Oh yeah! The prize is, you get Bennett as your personal butler for the day.” Efa actually jumps in excitement.
“What happens if you and Bennett win?” Fisher asks.
Efa gives a one-shouldered shrug. “Then I get to have Bennett as my personal butler for the day.”
Worth chuckles beside me. It’s catching and I find myself smiling. “We have to win this,” he says to me under his breath.
“Who’s judging?” I ask. Obviously, I need to understand my audience.
“Byron,” Efa says. “Or if he finishes what he’s doing and actually joins a team, we’ll ask a hotel employee to judge so it’s fair. We have four hours,” Efa says. “Oh, and final thing. You have a spend cap of one hundred dollars.”
Everyone groans.
“That makes it almost impossible,” Bennett complains.
“No, it means you have to use your brain and creativity, rather than just your wallet,” Efa retorts. She glances at her watch. “You’re just eating into precious time. See you all back here at one thirty for lunch.”
“Plenty of time for tequila.” Worth grabs my hand and pulls me toward the exit.
We climb into a waiting SUV, and I don’t even have time to ask whether this car was actually meant for us.
“Borrowed?” I say. “Isn’t that the hardest one?”
“Everyone else is probably thinking the same thing. We’ll figure something out.”
“I suppose the first thing we should ask is whether either of us has anything on hand that would qualify,” I say. “And for the record, I don’t.”
“Let’s just drive the length of the Strip,” Worth says to the driver. And then to me, “We might get inspiration on the way.”
Worth’s knee nudges against my thigh. I wonder if it’s normal to feel that touch across my entire body. The guy exudes a certain quiet confidence I don’t think I’ve come across before. I suppose Leo has it a little. Although he’s much more gregarious—more the life and soul of the party. Worth is more reserved, which somehow makes him sexier. His calmness makes me calm. Like nothing is going to faze him, no matter how difficult life gets. I wonder how he’d react if he found out his father had a second family he knew nothing about.
My phone beeps, alerting me to a message from Oliver about Thanksgiving. How can he even think about Thanksgiving right now? I click into the message.
Do you think we’re still celebrating Dad’s sixtieth birthday on Thanksgiving?
What’s he talking about? He can’t think we’re all going to sit around the kitchen table like one big happy family.
Noah replies.
I hope so.
I feel the furnace inside me stoked. How are my brothers casually texting about being with Dad on Thanksgiving like it’s nothing?
Thanksgiving has always been a holiday we go all-out for, because it’s Dad’s birthday around the same time. Dad usually made it home and would cook. Some of our happiest memories with him were from Thanksgivings over the years. I can’t think about any of it now. Not my brothers, not Thanksgiving, not the fact that my dad is a liar. It’s too much, I feel like I’m going to combust if I give any of it more attention. I want to push it all down and make it disappear.
I shove my phone into my pocket, sigh, and glance out the window at the passing cars and chaos. “This is my first time in Vegas.”
“It is?” he asks. “Huh. I wouldn’t have thought that.”
We’re basically strangers, but I like the idea that he’s thought about me enough to form any kind of judgment.
“But not for you?” I ask.
“You know. Guys love their weekends in Vegas.” He sounds unenthusiastic, and I like him more for it.
“You’re not one of them?” I ask.
“Not really my scene.”
Most guys in their early thirties would consider Vegas an adult playground. The gambling, the drinks, the women. “You don’t like to party?”
“I like to spend my time with people who I like equally drunk or sober.”
I smile. “Yeah, it’s easy to like people after a few shots.”
“I prefer New York,” he says. “Or the Catskills.”
“A closet lumberjack?” I ask. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”
A small smile curls at the edge of his mouth. “I just like the peace.”
“Which is why you live in New York,” I say.
“I think it’s okay to like both. New York isn’t everything and neither is the Catskills, but together, they come pretty close.”