Tied (Tangled 4)

Speaking of which, one’s headed our way now. She’s attractive—slim, tall, long dark hair pulled back at the sides, and deep blue eyes with an exotic slant. Her hands are manicured—delicate—the perfect size for a decent jerking-off.

Yes—guys notice things like that.

“I’m sorry, sir, you’ll have to keep your seat belt buckled until the captain turns the sign off.”

I look down at the belt in question, then back up. “Right. ’Cause if we nose-dive from twenty thousand feet, this little piece of fabric is gonna stand between me and certain death?”

Like I said—hypocrites.

She laughs. And the yellow seat-belt sign goes out with a ding.

I grin. “Guess he heard me.”

Full, pink lips smile. “Guess so.”

Blue eyes glance around the first-class cabin. “A little birdie told me you’re all headed to Vegas for a prewedding party—and you’re the groom.”

“That I am.”

She hands me a mimosa. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

She hands Kate a glass as well, then her attention reverts back to me. “So . . . where are you staying?”

I take a sip of the orange concoction. “The Bellagio.”

“Nice.” She leans over a little—close enough that I can smell her cheap, too-sweet perfume—and drops the bomb. “I’m off the clock once we land in Nevada. I’m staying with friends. . . . Maybe we’ll stop by the Bellagio casino tonight? You look like you’d be in the high rollers’ section?”

My friends and I aren’t flashy about our money—most people who have it aren’t. But the signs are there if you know what you’re looking for—quality luggage, Rolex watches, classic but expensive brand clothing.

And yes—this chick just stepped over the line. Her words sounded like a proposition, because they were. Which is pretty f**king disrespectful, considering my fiancée is within earshot.

But I’m not surprised. Even though men are supposed to be the bold pursuers? Women can be so much worse. They’re brazen. Shameless. They’ll stab each other in the back faster than Jason freaking Voorhees.

Just ask Steven. When he and Alexandra were dating? Practically every one of her so-called friends offered to climb on his face and take it for a test ride. Because they were petty. Jealous. Because they wanted what Alexandra had.

Some guys, such as Jack, would welcome crap like this with open arms, always wanting to keep their options open. But not me—not anymore. I play it gracious but firm. Reverently, I pick up Kate’s hand and kiss her knuckles, making sure the ring is in sight. “We’re going to be pretty busy tonight. Thanks anyway.”

She backs off with an offended shrug. “Suit yourself.”

It’s not the first time this has happened, and it probably won’t be the last. Kate handles it well, even though deep down I know it bugs the shit out of her.

I’m not above using that to my advantage, of course. See that devil on my shoulder? Yeah—he’s ready to get busy. Watch.

I lean toward Kate. “So . . . you’re just going to let her get away with that?”

She continues to stare at her magazine, turning the pages harshly. “Get away with what?”

“With that Hail Mary pass she just threw. Trying to eat off your plate. If a guy came on to you like that in front of me? He’d be eating sidewalk.”

“I’m not a teenager, Drew. My days of fighting over a boy are over.”

What I wouldn’t give to have seen those days. With Jell-O on top.

“I’m not saying you should yank her hair out or rip each other’s clothes off”—I chuckle—“though that would be awesome. I just think you should teach her a lesson. Show her who I belong to.”

Kate closes the magazine, shaking her head slightly. Her eyes are shiny with amusement. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re just trying to get me to have sex with you in the bathroom.”

Busted. “A b**w j*b will work too. You’re really good at those.”

She reopens the magazine. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Evans. Least of all into my pants.”

I whine, “Why not?”

“Because all of our friends are here.”

“So what?”

“So they’ll hear us.”

I lie, “No, they won’t.”

“They might.”

“I’ll stuff your panties in your mouth—they won’t hear a thing.”

She snorts. And stays strong. “Sounds romantic. Still . . . not happening.”

It’s so happening. But I admit—this banter? The sexual tension? Having to work for it once in a while? It’s still fun. Exciting. It keeps my skills razor sharp.

Knowing I’ll eventually get my way? That helps too.

I try a different tactic. Guilt. “It’s tradition, Kate. Like tapping the mascot symbol when you exit the locker room before a football game. It’s bad luck to break tradition—something terrible could happen. How will you feel if this plane crashes and burns, all because you didn’t want to give it up?”

“I think I’ll take my chances.”

I look forward and sigh. This is a five-hour flight. There’s no way Kate can hold out that long. Because, when you know how to strum a guitar the right way? That sucker plays.