Page 19 of Bet Me Something
“I only did weights, so a run would be good. What, you don’t think a thirty-one-year-old can keep up with a hungover twenty-two-year-old?”
“Don’t worry, today I’ll be quite slow. Let’s get this torture shit show on the road.”
In the elevator on the way down, he turned. “What’s the other word you hate?”
“Moist.”
His brows shot up. “Moist?”
My lips twitched. “Would you like me to use it in a sentence?”
He shook his head, chuckling. “Nope. I’m assuming it isn’t in reference to a cake?”
“No, it definitely isn’t.” I laughed, liking how much fun we could have with any random conversation.
By the time we returned to the hotel, I was convinced I was going to die. The sun was already intense by eight o’clock in the morning. We’d run mostly in silence because I couldn’t spare the breath to speak and according my Fitbit, we’d gone about five miles. Colby gave the impression he could have gone another five.
“How come you’re not the least bit hungover?” I questioned once we got back into our nicely air-conditioned room.
He shrugged, downing some water. “The thought of excess drinking doesn’t really do it for me anymore, especially considering the morning-after hangovers. Don’t go telling anyone that, though. I have a Vegas reputation to protect.”
I thought it odd he wished to perpetuate the stereotype if he wasn’t that person any longer but kept my mouth shut. Considering I was the master of regression, the dutiful daughter who always did what her parents asked, I wasn’t one to talk about keeping up appearances. “Do you still want to tour the city?”
“Definitely. Let’s hop in the shower and then I’ll show you around.”
I arched a brow.
Realizing the way he’d made that statement sound, he backtracked quickly. “I mean, we each separately shower.”
I grinned. “Oh I think one clinical view of the goods is enough for you in twenty-four hours, mister.”
He chuckled while I had to walk slowly toward the shower with now both my brain and my body hating life. Clearly his philosophy of avoiding hangovers was one to take note of.
* * *
Colby turnedout to be an awesome tour guide of the city that afternoon. He was also attentive when it came to ensuring we stopped for lunch and that I kept hydrated.
By the late afternoon, I was feeling almost one hundred percent. Colby had a couple of business calls to make, which allowed me the perfect opportunity to head down poolside and wear the gorgeous bikini purchased for me. It was a deep chocolate brown which matched my eyes and contrasted nicely with my blond hair left long down my back. The high cut on the sides gave a little curve to my hips and showcased my long legs.
I took a seat on a plush lounge chair in the VIP section, sprayed on some sunscreen, and texted my brother. I kept it short and sweet as I wasn’t prepared to tell him I was in Vegas but hoped whatever was happening with him was going better by now.
After I set down my phone, I was unprepared for the two college-looking guys who came up to flirt with me. They were both clean-cut and attractive, but on the heels of a hangover and my death run, I wasn’t really in the mood.
“What’s your name, beautiful?” the taller of the two guys asked, taking a seat beside me.
“Kenzie. And you guys?”
“I’m Chuck, and this is Adam.”
“Nice to meet you both.” And because I didn’t wish to appear rude, I asked, “You two enjoying Vegas?”
“Yes, although we’re looking to enjoy it even more, if you get our meaning.”
I cocked my head to the side. I wasn’t a novice at flirting, but mind-reading wasn’t a talent of mine. Maybe the drinking last night was making me slow. “Nope. ‘Fraid you’ll have to spell it out for me, boys.”
Adam, who’d taken a seat on the other side of me, smiled while Chuck nodded toward him to explain it. “You ever been with two men, honey?”
Jesus. What was it with guys in pairs in Vegas? First the two assholes last night on the dance floor, now this. Despite normally being cool with meeting new people and dating quite a bit, this was my first threesome proposition. That being said, I refused to storm away like some sort of priss. “I can’t say I have.”