Chapter 1
Sydney
“Sydney! Over here!”
Addison’s squeal cut through the chaos of McCarran International Airport. As I stepped off the escalator into baggage claim, I scanned the crowd. Her frantic waving and bouncing caught my eye, and I couldn’t help but grin.
Classic Addie, bursting with energy, even after my three-hour delay thanks to a thunderstorm that rerouted half the country’s flights.
I hustled over, and she tackled me in a bear hug that nearly knocked me flat.
“Oof! I’m happy to see you too, you bridal psycho!”
“Oh, shush. I’m not that bad,” she laughed, smacking my arm before stepping back, hands on her hips. “Damn, girl. Look at you! Rocking the ‘hot librarian chic’ as always.”
She then raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’re ready to let loose? You didn’t sneak any grad school applications into your suitcase, did you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Haha. Very funny. I’ll have you know I’m one hundred percent ready to par-tay. Besides, I finished those months ago.” I gave her a shimmy. “This is your big bachelorette blowout, and I’m here for it.”
“Excellent.” She linked her arm through mine as we headed toward the taxi line. “Because you’re about to get your socks knocked off, Miss Wells. I’ve got plans. BIG ones.”
“Why does that scare me?” I laughed, knowing Addison’s flair for drama, especially with weddings. We were in for one hell of a weekend.
“Okay… bring it on, bitch.”
I’d been dreaming of escaping my one-stoplight hometown since I was old enough to realize that the “Welcome to Green Oaks” sign basically meant “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”
Okay, I know, it sounds dramatic. But it was true.
Being one of “the smart ones” in a flyover town where ambition peaked at assistant manager of the only big box store around meant sticking out like a sore thumb. After years of helping my brother, Rowan, care for our grandparents, I was overdue for a weekend away. I needed this Vegas trip like oxygen.
“Viva Las Vegas, baby!” Addison squealed as our taxi pulled up to the Bellagio. It was an opulent, glittering beast in the neon jungle of the Strip. We spilled onto the sidewalk in a tangle of luggage and laughter, breathing in the hot desert air and the intoxicating scents of tequila and sweat.
The lobby was peak sensory overload: towering ceilings, gushing fountains, and Dale Chihuly glass exploding across the ceiling. I’m pretty sure my jaw dropped cartoon-style as I craned my neck to look at the lavish decor.
Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.
“Holy shit, Addie!” I gasped. “How the hell did you swing this place?”
She smirked. “Perks of being a wedding planner to the rich and infamous. Now come on, time’s a-wastin’.”
She grabbed my elbow and steered me toward the front desk. “The girls already checked in.”
After grabbing our room keys, we headed up to the suite, which would be our home base for the weekend. Inside, Addison’s twin sister, Avery; their college bestie, Chloe; and my other childhood BFF, Mia, were sprawled across a velvet couch in swimsuits, margaritas in hand, Real Housewives blaring from the wall-mounted TV.
“There she is!” Avery cheered as we walked in. “Our adorable little bookworm, ready to shake her bonbon!”
“About time you got here, babe,” Mia laughed, hopping up to hug me. “Addie was about to send out a search party.”
“Bite me, all of you,” I teased, hugging the rest of them. “Some of us actually had to work up until the last second.”
“Well, get your booty into a bikini, missy!” Chloe commanded. “We’ve got cabanas waiting, and they ain’t gonna trash themselves!”
I ducked into the bathroom to change. A few minutes later, I emerged in a black two-piece, feeling self-conscious but trying to fake confidence.
“Ta-da!” I declared, striking an exaggerated pinup pose.
The girls whooped. Mia handed me a margarita roughly the size of my head.
“Yaaas, queen!” Addison said. “Phones out, ladies. We’re documenting this. No one back home will believe that straight-laced Sydney Wells went full Vegas.”
We laughed and shimmied as Avery snapped pictures of us toasting and clowning around. The margarita helped. So did the warm buzz of being with people who knew me better than anyone else.
The Bellagio pool scene was in full swing: beautiful people were draped like ornaments, Tiësto thumping from the speakers, and the air thick with coconut oil and heatstroke. We snagged a VIP corner near the swim-up blackjack tables and sent Chloe to sweet-talk the cocktail waitress into keeping our drinks coming.
Once we were settled, Avery raised her glass.
“To Addie and Jake! May your marriage be full of love, laughter, and fat babies for me to spoil rotten!”
“Hear, hear!” We chorused, clinking glasses.
“And to my ride-or-die besties,” Addison added, looking at me. “Especially Sydney, for keeping me sane while I go full psycho bride mode. I couldn’t do this without you.”
“Aww, I got you, girl,” I smiled, blowing her a kiss. “You know I wouldn’t miss this. Even if it means signing up for the Hangover-meets-Bridesmaids chaos you’re about to unleash.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” Avery snorted. “Better hydrate now.”
We settled into the easy rhythm of the afternoon, rotating between gossiping poolside, splashing around like kids whenever we got overheated, and placing reckless bets when Chloe’s flirting scored us an extra hand’s worth of chips.
I felt lighter than I had in years, like maybe letting loose every once in a while wasn’t going to make me fall off track.
As the sun dipped behind the skyline, we headed upstairs to glam up for the night. Hair curled. Lashes applied. Glitter deployed.
We rolled out as a sparkly mob to Hakkasan at the MGM Grand, which was, according to Addie, one of the hottest spots in Vegas.
The place was a sensory riot. Strobe lights pulsed, aerialists writhed overhead, and bartenders breathed fire. Celebrities lounged behind velvet ropes pretending to enjoy themselves. Somehow Avery had scored us a semi-secluded banquette with prime views of the action.
Bless that girl’s uncanny ability to get us the hookup.
We got properly positioned and supplied with bottle service. Right away, a herd of eager suitors tried to catch the bride tribe’s attention, but we didn’t care. Instead, we hit the dance floor.
At that moment, with all the adrenaline and top-shelf vodka, I felt amazingly free. No work at the library, no family obligations, no small-town gossip mill waiting to catalog my failures. Just me and my girls and this glittering alternate dimension where anything felt possible.
Hours went by in a euphoric haze of laughter, dirty dancing, and way too many Red Bull vodkas. I only knew how far I’d slipped when Avery’s Snapchat story reminded me: I was wearing a Santa hat, voguing on a table, doing body shots off Chloe while Britney blasted in the background.
Who was this magnificent party goblin?
The DJ dropped a chest-thumping EDM remix, and I realized my head felt like a helium balloon. My mouth tasted like a tequila-flavored desert.
I grabbed Addison’s shoulder and shouted, “Bathroom!” She nodded, mid-grind with a Ken-doll clone, and blew me a kiss without breaking rhythm.
I pick-a-path puzzled my way through the sweaty throng toward the far wall, where I hoped the restrooms were, dodging strangers fooling around and waitresses carrying sloshing cocktails. By some miracle, I found the ladies’ room, or at least, a door with a sort of stick figure person who looked vaguely female-shaped.
I elbowed through the line, apologizing, and finally made it into a stall. I pressed my cheek against the cool tile and waited for the room to stop spinning.
You’re okay, I coached myself. Just get some water, maybe a Red Bull for electrolytes, and rally like the bad bitch you are!
A few minutes later, feeling almost human, I freshened up at the mirror. I was re-glossing my lips, half-heartedly grooving to the muffled bass thumping through the walls, when a sudden commotion made me glance toward the door.
At that exact moment, a pack of howling bros came crashing in. They were dragging a tall, gorgeous, very drunk specimen of masculinity between them, like hunters with an unwieldy human trophy.
“Yoooo, Hunt-errrr!” one of them hollered, slapping him on the back. “You fucking legend! I can’t believe you said that to the bouncer!”
“That’s why he’s the main man!” Another added, throwing up a gang sign that looked suspiciously like a drunk Vulcan salute.
Their voices only grew louder and more garbled, all drunken guffaws and alpha male posturing. But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the “main man” at the center of the pack. He looked like he was grappling with his zipper, his broad shoulders and artfully tousled hair backlit by the fluorescent glare.
Then, as if he could feel the weight of my eyes on him, he turned his head and locked eyes with me.
The moment slowed down, his eyes looking straight at me despite his intoxication. The corner of his mouth hitched up in an arrogant little smirk when he noticed me looking at him, causing an involuntary shiver to run through my overheated body.
Sweet baby Jesus.
I snapped my mouth shut and turned back to the mirror, cheeks burning.
Get it together, Sydney. You didn’t come to Vegas to be the sloppy hookup for some pretty boy player. This weekend is all about Addie… Even if he is so hot, he probably should be illegal.
I adjusted my dress, gathered my dignity, and started for the door. One last glance over my shoulder.
He was still watching me, his head cocked slightly to the side. He still had that infuriating, panty-dropping smirk. He inclined his chin at me and mouthed, Later.
Not fucking likely, I thought, strut-stumbling back into the neon-lit room.
This ain’t that kind of party, baby.
But even as I found my girls for another round of glitter-soaked chaos, I couldn’t shake the feel of his eyes on me.
Oh, what the hell. I shrugged, downing something smoking and electric green from the tray of a passing waitress. What happens in Vegas...
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— Cat
