“Still hungry?” Brody smirked.
Corey slid away, disappearing back in the direction of the restrooms. By the time he returned, rinsed and refreshed, Brody and I were already halfway through a platter of crunchy, lemony calamari.
We dug in. The food was mostly Italian, with a smattering of traditional American thrown in. Everything was light and flavorful. Salads and antipasto, in a savory blend of oils, dressings, and spices.
For a while we ate, we drank, we made small talk — about nothing in particular. The food was amazing. The company, even better. And it was still early, too. We could do anything. Everything.
Just as it was with New York, the lights never went out in Vegas…
And there it is.
I tried my best not to frown, but tomorrow’s return flight to New York still loomed in the back of my mind. I looked to Corey, laughing into his glass. Over at Brody, smiling so happily he looked like a kid on Christmas. I suddenly wondered if they’d miss me. How much of a lingering impact I’d still have on them, in the weeks and months after I’d gone home.
“So what do you really think of this place?” Corey asked again, this time more seriously.
“The food?” I asked.
“No, the ambiance. The location. The place overall.”
“Why?” I smiled. “You in the market for a restaurant, or—”
The two of them shot each other a quick glance Their look said everything.
“Oh shit, really?”
Brody shrugged and nodded. “Maybe,” he allowed. “Floyd wants out. He’s told us so. Taking the place over from him was something we’ve discussed. Something we’ve saved for, only—”
“Only we can’t decide,” Corey jumped in. “This place is dead right now,” he went on, “but mostly because it’s outdated. It’s entirely off the social media map. But the building itself has charm. Good bones. There are lots of things we could do with it.”
They were looking at me earnestly now, eager for my opinion. Possibly because I was a promoter, a publicist. Back in New York, I dealt with places just like this. But partly, I knew, because they respected my opinion.
I opened my mouth to speak. To tell them what I thought of their potential venture.
“YOOOOOOOO!”
And that’s when another man slid into our booth, so hard and fast he practically collided with Brody.
Twenty-Six
LAUREN
The new stranger was extremely tall and fanatically good-looking. He had handsome, model-like features. Gorgeous blue eyes, framed by magnificently arched eyebrows that gave him a distinctly devilish, bad-boy look.
And his hair…
His hair was jet black and incredibly thick, all gelled and spiked in many different directions. It was made to look randomly ‘tousled’, though I could tell his hairstyle had been carefully constructed and painstakingly manufactured in front of a mirror each morning, no matter what he said to the contrary.
“MASON!”
My two lovers jumped up and clasped the man on the back, ten times harder than they had with Floyd. He hugged them just as hard in return, finishing with Corey before his eyes crawled their way over me from head to toe.
I could feel him judging me. Sizing me up…
“Hi, I’m Mason,” he smiled, leaning past Brody to address me directly. He extended a hand that was strong and attractive and deliciously tan. “And you are?”
“Lauren,” I smiled back, taking it. His skin was soft. Flawless, even.
“My friends are piss-poor at introductions,” he apologized. “Good at other things, but when it comes to—”