Page 38 of All Bets Are Off

His mouth fits perfectly with mine as he kisses me softly, deeply, slowly. It’s almost like he’s terrified I’ll pull away if he makes one wrong move, so his movements are careful and tentative. A current of electricity soars up my spine, and there’s no way in hell I want to pull away first. Goosebumps flare over every inch of my skin.

Theo attempts to move his other hand toward my face, but the handcuffs between us abruptly lock tight, his movement restricted by my wrist.

“Fuck,” he whisper-laughs, breaking the kiss, and it is the hottest thing in the entire world. “For the first time all night, I’m now wishing we had the key for these cuffs.” He exhales a shaky breath, almost like he’s a little nervous, too. His free hand that cups my jaw gradually falls to my waist beneath the sheets, and he immediately wraps his arm around my body and holds me tight. “You’re shaking.”

“It’s the AC,” I lie, but I am indeed trembling like a leaf thanks to the adrenaline rush. Luckily, Theo’s body warmth is like a blazing fire, and I happily snuggle into him. I don’t even notice the discomfort of the handcuffs anymore. Before he can say one more word that’ll have me blushing more than I already am, I quickly say, “Goodnight, Theo.”

“Night, Hails. I’ll dream of you,” he mumbles into my hair. “I always do.”

“Do I even want to ask what those dreams entail?”

“You don’t need to ask,” he says, and I can just sense it through the darkness, the cocky little smirk on his face. “One day I’ll show you.”

18

Evelyn

I wake with a terrifying, sobering jolt of realization.

I am in a random man’s hotel suite, and by random man, I mean Jameson.

Bolting upright, I gather the sheets around me protectively and glance left and right, but the spot either side of me is empty. My shoulders sink with relief and a flash of memories from last night works its way through my hazy brain, instantly settling the wave of nausea in my stomach. For starters, I certifiably did not have sex with Jameson—whether that is a relief or a disappointment, I’m not sure. We did not kiss for a third time, and he did not sleep in this giant king-sized bed with me. What we did do was actually incredibly lame—we sat on the end of the bed, sipping water to sober ourselves up, and talked.

Talked.

About our grandparents, his college days, my nursing dreams, his lonely childhood with no siblings compared to my chaotic one as the youngest of three. Admittedly, it was nice getting to know him on a level deeper than simply just “rich tech guy from Atlanta.” It made him feel more human to me, and only deepened my guilt for trying to rob him. In hindsight, I blame the alcohol for my momentary lapse in morality. My parents didn’t raise me to be a thief.

I stretch out for my phone on the bedside table and check the time through one eye as the screen’s brightness nearly blinds me. It’s after nine, and I have three percent battery left. Ugh. What are today’s plans on Hailey’s itinerary, and what time do those plans begin? I fear I may already be late.

I spring out of the bed at lightning speed—I even slept in my dress, oh my God, how tacky—and raid the bedroom for my belongings. Peeking into my purse, I ensure my broken bracelet is safely inside and then slip on my heels and emerge out of the bedroom.

It’s eerily silent. Morning sunshine slivers into the suite through a gap in the curtains, and despite the AC whirring rhythmically, the room still feels stuffy and stale. On the couch, Jameson is deeply asleep on his stomach, face pressed into a cushion.

Drunk Evie certainly makes interesting choices. Trying to rob a man, then coming back to his hotel room, listening to him pour his heart out, and staying the night when he asks her to . . . I can’t say sober Evie regrets those decisions. Well, all but the first.

Perhaps I should wake him and politely tell him I’m leaving, but also, I’m a damn mess. My eyelashes are stuck together with hardened clumps of mascara and I have vodka-sponsored morning breath. I’d rather Jameson didn’t see me in this state, so I quietly creep my way out of the door.

I hightail it back to my own room, keeping my head down in fear of scathing judgment from my fellow hotel guests, and when I scan my key card and push open the door to mine and Melissa’s room, I nearly jump out of my skin when Addy is right there on the other side of the door.

“Adelaide,” I gasp, clutching my purse to my chest. She’s in her PJs and carrying some of her belongings in her arms. “What are you doing here?”

“Thank God you’re alive,” Addy says, and I ignore the way she casts a disapproving look over me, in the way only an older sister knows how to do. “I’m not even going to ask, because I don’t want to know. And I hope you don’t mind, but I slept in your bed.”

“Um. Why?”

From over Addy’s shoulder, Melissa appears. “I couldn’t find the keys for the handcuffs, so Hailey and Theo had to spend the night together, and . . . Well . . .” With a bashful smile, her words trail off and she holds up a tiny metal key. “I must have just been wasted and therefore visually impaired when I searched for them last night, because I just found the keys in my purse.”

“That’s hilarious,” I say, and also a relief that I’m not the only one on this bachelorette party who spent the night with a guy. I’m now claiming Hailey as my partner in crime. We can form an alliance as the only single gals on this trip, and even though she’s sharing a bed with my brother, I’ll hype her up all the way.

“I’m off to release them and get glammed up,” Addy says, taking the keys from Melissa. As she heads out the door, she calls back, “Eggslut at ten. Don’t be late!”

I turn apprehensively toward Melissa, wondering if she’s going to bombard me with questions about what exactly I got up to last night after I ditched her at the slot machines.

“I’m definitely getting old. I have a raging headache,” she says, much to my relief. “When I was twenty-one, I could pound tequila slammers all night and feel as healthy as a horse the next day. Now? Yeah, you can definitely tell I’m a wife and a mother.” She rubs her temples and takes long, deep breaths, and I wonder if she’s going to hurl.

“You sure you’re going to be able to survive this pool party?” I ask, eyeballing her with skepticism as I move past her toward my suitcase.

It’s going to be another long day of plowing through drinks, but perhaps worse than yesterday, because we’re going to be outdoors in the blazing sunshine, fighting off imminent dehydration. I’m mostly just tired rather than hungover, but even I’m wondering if I’ve got the stamina for three whole days of boozing.