Page 20 of Big Dick Energy

“Congrats on making it out of your room alive,” I said, raising my glass. “Though I still think marriage is just an elaborate pyramid scheme designed to sell overpriced cake and ugly bridesmaid dresses.”

“Dallas,” Brooke warned, but she was smiling.

“What? I'm just saying, why mess with a good thing by involving paperwork and the government?”

“Some of us like the commitment,” James said, kissing Kali's temple.

“I'm committed,” I protested. “To avoiding alimony.”

“You'd have to convince someone to marry you first,” Davina said, her voice dripping with a sweetness that didn't reach her eyes. “And I don't see that happening anytime soon.”

“Wounded, Davidson. Truly wounded.” I placed a hand over my heart dramatically. “And here I thought you were starting to warm up to me.”

“Like frostbite warms up to gangrene.”

Matt clapped his hands together. “Alright, how about we take this delightful exchange to the restaurant before Dallas and Davina cause a scene?”

“Too late,” Kali whispered, nodding toward the blonde from earlier, who was now shooting daggers at Davina.

Yeah. This was definitely going to be fun.

CHAPTER 7

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS, STAYS IN VEGAS

DAVINA

The neon lights of Las Vegas pulsed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the bar. Thirty-two floors up, the Strip sprawled beneath us in a glittering river of bad decisions.

Kali and James had tapped out after dinner. Brooke and Matt lasted until bar number two before Matt started doing that thing where he kept checking his watch, and Brooke kept yawning like she was trying to swallow her own face. But me? I wasn't ready to go back to our shared hotel room. Wasn't ready to navigate the awkwardness of getting undressed with Dallas in the same room as me.

I'd assumed Dallas would leave with Matt and Brooke.

Nope.

“It's not safe for a woman to party alone in Vegas,” he’d announced, like he was narrating a true crime documentary about my future disappearance.

“I'll take my chances with the serial killers, thanks,” I’d replied.

He’d stayed anyway.

Now I wove back to our high-top table from the dance floor, my feet screaming in my heels, to find Dallas treating the bar menu like a whiskey tasting flight. He threw back a shot of amber colored liquid and grimaced.

“You're going to end up with alcohol poisoning,” I said, leaning against the table. The wood was sticky with spilled cocktails. “Normally, I wouldn't care, but unfortunately, that would absolutely ruin my night.”

Dallas set down the shot glass and smirked at me. His eyes were unfocused but still sharp enough to be dangerous. “Careful, Davidson. Someone might think you care about me.”

I opened my mouth to deliver a comeback so devastating it would require medical attention, but a high-pitched squeal cut through the bass-heavy music like a fork on a plate.

“Oh my God.” A blonde woman in a hot pink cocktail dress was bouncing on stilettos that could double as murder weapons. Her eyes were fixed on Dallas. “You're The Dominator!”

Dallas's entire demeanor shifted, and his smile widened. “That's me.”

“I'm like, your biggest fan. Like, biggest. I have a poster of you…” She giggled. “Well, it's in my bedroom.”

I took a long sip of my whiskey sour.

“How about a picture and an autograph?” Dallas offered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a Sharpie.