Waking up in Vegas Read online

  All I see in front of me is Wren’s head bobbing up and down—and not in the way I’d like. Her fingernail is between her teeth as we show our boarding passes. I want to grab her shoulders and hold her to the spot.

  “Do you need to pee or something?” I ask her.

  She cuts me a death look and follows Emma to the plane. I watch her legs in some seriously sexy denim shorts as she boards. So much attitude.

  “Ten hours on a plane,” Mason groans.

  “Sleep,” I tell him.

  Mase has never been good at being still.

  “As soon as we get off, I’m going to need a drink and a shag.”

  “Really, Mason?” Felicity scolds.

  Wren pokes his arm. “He’s already tried all of the women in England. He might have better luck in America.”

  “Oh, Little Wren, you’re so not as funny as you think.”

  Right then, she was.

  “Move it, Mase. I need to get a whiskey,” I say, shoving his arm.

  Mason playfully punches my arm, and we finally board the plane.

  “This way,” Emma calls, putting on her leader hat.

  The rest of us let her because none of us can be bothered with online check-ins and fucking seating plans.

  I take my seat in the middle with Wren next to me by the window. Emma and Felicity are in front of us, while Luke and Mason are in front of them. I drew the short straw.

  The engine fires up, and Wren takes a deep breath. Her hands fumble as she buckles the seat belt.

  “Wren?”

  “No,” she snaps, curling her hands around the armrests. She’s gone from shitting rainbows excited to being pale and petrified in the press of an engine button.

  “Wow, Wren Clark is a nervous flyer.”

  Her head twists to me, and she gawps like I’m dense. “Do you know how high and how fast these things go? We’ll die if anything goes wrong.”

  I shrug. “Probably, however I think we’d pass out if it fell from the sky. We wouldn’t actually feel ourselves smashing into the ground.”

  Her mouth parts and her forehead creases. “You are a horrible person.”

  The screens in front of us switch on, and the safety message begins.

  “I don’t know why they bother showing this. Tucking your head between your knees is just going to make your head slam into the floor first.”

  “I’m using your body as a cushion if we fall.” Wren leans back against the chair and closes her eyes. “Don’t talk to me anymore. I’m sleeping until we land.”

  Three

  Wren

  We touch down in Vegas what feels like three days after leaving London. Every second was agony, and I only managed to fall asleep for a couple of hours. The rest of the time I was dead still, willing the plane to stay in the air.

  I love the idea of jetting off on holiday much more than the reality. Who knew ten hours could take so long? I roll my head to the side, the stupid upright seats screwing with my neck.

  That was awful.

  Brody is scowling at the steward who, despite knowing the plane has already stopped, will not let us off. One of Brody’s hands is gripping the seat belt buckle, and the other is clutching his iPhone.

  It’s hardly been a laugh a minute for me, sitting next to him for so long. All he’s done is joke about plane crashes and periodically scowl at me. I’d like to see him be so smug if the plane came down.

  “Come on,” Brody mutters under his breath, tapping his foot on the floor.

  I know I don’t smell. It’s been a long flight, but I used every item in the amenities pack given to me on my one trip to the bathroom, so the only reason for Brody’s impatience is that he is, in fact, an arsehole.

  We’ve never gotten along—ever. At eighteen, I’m three years younger than him and my brother. I’m an adult now. I can vote and I can drink. Well, in the UK, I can. These nine days are going to be amazing, but if I have to deal with Brody totally sober, they might drag slower than women realising Brody is only after one thing.

  Seriously, some are painfully slow on the uptake, believing he will call in the morning.

  He’s so not going to call, love.

  “Chill out! Where’s the fire?” I snap as he curls his fingertips into the seat in front of him.

  His eyes slide to mine. “Don’t talk about fire on a plane.”

  “Why? We can all see that the plane isn’t on fire.”

  “Fucking hell, Wren,” he hushes. “Lower your voice.”

  “Or what? I’ll get kicked off?” I want off.

  Brody’s chest expands as he takes a long, deep breath. It’s one of those inhales you take so you won’t kill someone. While I don’t intentionally set out to piss anyone off, it sure is satisfying when it’s him I annoy.

  The steward stands taller, speaking into a phone, telling us that we can unbuckle our seat belts and grab our things. Brody rips open his like it was burning him, and he leaps to his feet.

  Hard not to take that personally.

  I take my seat belt off and grab my bag from under the seat in front of me. Everyone else has already squeezed into the aisle as if you’d get shot if you didn’t leave the plane within ten seconds.

  We’re allowed off—finally—and I follow my siblings and Mr Happy towards passport control.

  It’s hot as Hell already, but that might just be because there are a lot of bodies around. Not dead ones. People race ahead of us, gunning to be the first in the queue.

  We’re British, for fuck’s sake.

  “What?” Brody asks as we come to a stop with about fifteen groups ahead of us.

  “They ran for this.”

  He shrugs. “They want to get to Sin City.”

  “Of course, you would understand. You must be desperate to sleep with some woman who will forget you the following morning.”

  “First, she won’t ever forget me. Second, you’re off the plane now, so no need to be grumpy.”

  “Do women actually tell you you’re the best thing since the Rabbit, or do you just assume?”

  In front of us, Mase and Luke laugh.

  “All their moaning tells me enough.”

  “Right, and I suppose women never fake it.”

  He looks over his shoulder. “Is there a return flight leaving soon that you can be on?”

  “I’m just saying, Brody, women are stereotypically very good at saying one thing and meaning another.”

  “You can’t fake screams like those.”

  “Tell that to every horror actress.”

  “It’s a different type of screaming my women do.”

  “I sincerely doubt that.”

  “Will you two stop arguing?” Emma hisses.

  It takes a little while until we’re through after being questioned as if we were smuggling drugs—we’re not—but then we’re free to collect our bags.

  I only brought one medium-sized suitcase and my carry-on with me. Emma and Felicity brought two large cases each. For a little under a week and a half.

  Luke, Brody, and Mason have a holdall bag each. So, basically, I’m somewhere between a girl and a guy.

  “Come on. Let’s go and get a taxi to the hotel,” Emma says. “Wren, you stay with me.”

  Right, because if I don’t stay right beside my big sister, I’ll get lost.

  I tug my suitcase behind me and smirk at Emma and Felicity as they try to navigate pulling two cases and their oversize handbags. We have three guys with us, and like me, they’re watching on with amusement.

  Luke throws his arm around my shoulders. “She’s like a mum. I’m glad I got one cool sister.”

  I am much cooler than Emma. “You’re welcome.”

  We grab two taxis and head towards the strip. Bright lights flash every-fucking-where, and it’s glorious. The desire to get a fake ID is overwhelming, but I’m too chickenshit to do it.

  They have guns here.

  Emma and Felicity stare out of the window much the same as me. We’re all in awe of
Vegas.

  It’s baking hot out. The cabbie is a legend and has the air-con blasting ice-cold air at us.

  “What is the first thing we’re going to do?” Felicity asks.

  Emma grins. “I need to shower, change, and then get a massive cocktail.”

  I turn my nose up. “I can only do the first two things on the list.”

  Felicity laughs. “Ah, babe, I’m sure they have non-alcoholic cocktails.”

  “Oh, good.” I shrug. “Whatever. I don’t need to drink. Besides, it’s kinda fun to watch drunk people when you’re sober.”

  We pull up outside our hotel, which is like a mini Rome, complete with a replica Colosseum. It wouldn’t have been my first choice, but apparently, the price was right on the dates we wanted. I’m so not going to complain. Especially not when I’m in their spa.

  The guys beat us to reception, and we all check in to our rooms. I’m classed as a damn minor, so I’m sharing with my sister and Felicity. All of the guys have their own. I don’t really want to think about why.

  We all end up on the same floor with Brody next to us, Mason opposite, and Luke a couple of rooms down. It’s all pretty convenient, but if I hear any noise coming from Brody’s room, I’m going to beat him with a stick.

  I don’t want to hear that. I’m also hoping that Emma and Felicity have enough manners to go back to the guy’s room if they hook up with anyone.

  Me? Well, I’m hardly going to meet anyone when I can’t even go to a bloody bar.

  “I’m starving. Meet for lunch in thirty?” Mason says as we all reach our doors.

  Brody adds, “I’m sure most restaurants have a kids’ menu for Wren.”

  “Fuck you,” I quip back.

  Mason laughs, backhanding Brody in the chest. “I think you’re allowed a glass of wine with dinner, Wren.”

  “I don’t think that’s the rule here,” Emma says, shooting me a sympathetic smile.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Brody roll his eyes. “Can we all stop pretending she’s an alcoholic in need of a fix?”

  Huh. For a second—and because I know him—I thought that he was going to take the piss out of me. Maybe our little ten-hour plane bonding softened him to me. Or maybe he’s bored of hearing a thousand conversations about how I can’t drink. I know I am.

  “Lobby in thirty,” Felicity says, ending the conversation and letting us into our room.

  Four

  Brody

  We’ve been in Vegas for about forty minutes and I’ve already seen at least twenty women I would sleep with. Why do women back home not look like this?

  I’m standing in the massive lobby with its shiny floors, gold walls and pillars that stretch up to an arched, hand painted roof. We’re waiting for the girls, not at all shocked that they’re late. Mason and Luke are drooling over women, too. Fuck, I love Vegas.

  “Man, I’m not going to bed alone this week,” Luke says, his eyes following a very short miniskirt.

  Neither am I.

  “You’re disgusting!” Wren says, slapping the back of his head.

  He turns to her, scowling. “There’s no need for violence. And why is your dress so short?”

  “Why do you get an opinion on what I wear?” she counters, pushing past him and heading for the restaurant.

  Luke shakes his head, following his youngest sister. Wren is a nightmare wrapped up in a wet dream. Not that I’ll ever tell Luke, but I’m a big fan of the short royal-blue dress. Her hair is plaited to the side a bit like the chick from The Hunger Games.

  So, why can’t I stop being pissed off with Wren? She doesn’t even have to do anything, and it winds me up. We’ve always had to include her, often bending what we’re doing to suit her. That’s hardly her fault.

  Even though I know that, I still get irritated.

  Emma and Felicity are standing behind her with their arms crossed, still scowling at Luke over his sleeping around comment. It’s not like they don’t know that Luke puts it about. He’s young and single. We all are.

  I hate the thought of Felicity getting naked with anyone, but I know it happens. And Emma is no Virgin Mary.

  People need to be a little less judgmental.

  “Come on. I’m starving,” Wren says, pointing in the direction of a restaurant.

  And so, it starts. Wren needs feeding, so we all go eat. Wren can’t be out as late as us, so we all come home early. Granted, that second one hasn’t been in effect for a good few years.

  I walk behind her, my jaw tight and fists clenched.

  We end up all ordering burgers and beer—Coke for Wren—and we sit outside in the blistering Vegas heat. There is, thankfully, shade.

  I’m at the end of the table, next to Mason, and Luke is opposite me.

  Mason raises his beer. “Happy birthday, bro. May tonight bring you a lot of sex.”

  Luke and I raise our bottles. Emma and Felicity glare. Wren rolls her eyes.

  “You think there’s anyone already drunk enough to do him?” Wren asks, smirking at me.

  “It’s Vegas,” Luke replies.

  True, but women don’t need to be drunk in order to sleep with me. They don’t.

  “Babe, no need to be jealous. When you grow boobs, maybe I’ll give you a go,” I say.

  Luke’s head snaps in my direction, but Wren has it covered.

  “My boobs and I would rather die of the bubonic plague than be subject to your teeny weenie.”

  Teeny?

  I arch my eyebrow. “You know the attitude isn’t fooling anyone, right? You talk a good talk, Wren, but you’re no different to anyone else trying to protect themselves.”

  “Brody, that’s enough,” Felicity says.

  Taking a breath, I tear my eyes away from Wren’s reddened cheeks. “Let’s eat. I want to hit the casino before we go out tonight.”

  Pale blue eyes glare at me. I feel them burning a hole in my head. Little Wren won’t be able to come. I’m not changing my plans to suit her. There’s plenty for her to do. She knew the deal before we booked the trip.

  “We can take a walk and see what’s around,” Emma says.

  Wren shakes her head. Her voice ice cold. “No way. You go to the casino. I’m fine to explore.”

  “On your own?” Emma deadpans.

  “There are lots of people walking around Vegas on their own. I don’t think you’re fined for not being in a group.”

  “I don’t like leaving you,” Felicity says.

  This is why I originally didn’t want Wren to come. I knew it would be like this, having to change our plans so she’s not left out. Pre-twenty-one is a stupid age to come to Vegas. We just had to include her. Family rules. Gritting my teeth, I tighten my grip on the bottle neck. I should have ordered something stronger than beer.

  “Well, you should because I like rolling solo. I’ve already done my research, and there are things I want to do that don’t involve gambling and drinking.”

  She’s only saying that so the others won’t feel guilty when we’re gambling and drinking. I don’t relish the idea of leaving her behind, but we’re in fucking Vegas, and I’m sure as hell going to live it up.

  “What are you going to do today then?” Luke asks. His eyes are hard, like a father questioning his daughter about boys.

  “Rock wall climbing and swimming. I’ll probably read by the pool, too.”

  Emma frowns. “That’s what you want to do?”

  “There’s plenty for under twenty-ones. You just have to look past the obvious that Vegas has to offer.”

  I shrug. “Fine. We’ll meet you for dinner tonight.”

  She grins. “Sounds good.”

  After food, we go our separate ways. Emma and Felicity head to the spa to book some shit for a couple of spa days, and then they’re going to find us in the casino. Wren heads to climb a big wall.

  We left things on shitty terms, as per usual.

  I swallow acid as I watch her walk away.

  “Slot machines,” Mason says, sla
pping me on the back as we head into the hotel’s casino. We plan on hitting up as many as we can while we’re here. “That’s where I’m going to make my fortune.”

  Luke chuckles. “Please. The only thing you’re leaving this casino with is shame.”

  “Fuck off. I bet I win more than you.”

  “Want to actually bet?”

  “You’re betting on gambling?” I shake my head and leave them to it.

  I’ll show those fuckers who can make the most money here.

  The casino is much what I expected—bright, loud, and addictive. That’s what it’s all about. With a wallet full of dollars, I head to the slot machines with Mase and Luke following.

  We have a plan: start small, do these first, and when the hotties in skin-tight dresses come out in the evening, hit the poker, blackjack, and roulette tables.

  We’ll never go back to our rooms alone.

  The call of drinks, gambling, and a whole heap of shagging makes me forget my… disagreement with Wren.

  “This is insane.” Luke bounces on the spot. “So many hotties in here already. Can you imagine what it’s going to be like tonight?”

  I grin. “Yeah, I can.”

  I raise the first coin and slide it into the machine. Wrapping my palm around the lever, I pull.

  And lose.

  “This looks so much easier on TV,” I groan.

  Mase and Luke have taken a seat on either side of me, trying to win big on theirs.

  “You need a machine that someone has given up on,” Luke says.

  “Who wants to come to Vegas and spend hours watching what other people are doing?” I would rather keep losing.

  Luke snorts. “Mate, you once ate a whole chilli for a fiver.”

  My back straightens. “Big money when you’re thirteen and saving for the new Grand Theft Auto.”

  “You cried though,” Mase says, his monotone voice showing his willingness to interact with us still but only so far.

  “I didn’t cry. I was sweating!”