"Ty, it's just a rumor. I wanted to address it, make sure there was no truth to it."
He stands up and eyes me with disapproval mixed with disappointment. I recognize the look immediately. After all, my parents perfected that look. I stand up too, looking around to make sure Mikey and Bree aren't witnessing this. I wish the song that was playing in the background wasn't framing this awful moment. I’ll never be able to listen to “I Always Knew” by The Vaccines again and not feel a pang of pain.
"You want me to address this?" he drawls, his lips curve downwards in disgust. "Fine, I will. Off the fucking record, it was Jesse who bought the ’roids. Josh was threatening to expose Jesse when he said he was done buying from him. I didn't want to see my best friend getting screwed now that he’s clean. The XWL has been making us take PED tests after every fight for a while. Great fucking research you did there, huh?" He starts walking toward the door and pushes it with force.
"And it's the last time I want to hear Shane's name. I swear to God, Barbie. Next time he pulls something like this, I'll kill him."
***
Jane and Michael Stern booked two suites in the Las Vegas hotel we are staying, making sure their room is conveniently close to me and Izzy, just in case we need them. Don’t ask me why. We’re twenty-three and Izzy has seen more of the world than the two of them combined.
The minute I open the door to our Vegas room, the smell of fresh pastries makes my mouth water. It's like walking into the best bakery in the world. The bright side of rooming with a supermodel sister. Stuff is on the house, and there's a lot of it too.
Baskets of yummy food, cupcakes, and complimentary robes, soaps and whatnot are displayed on the blonde-wood credenza. A note welcomes Izzy to the hotel and she reads it with a mixture of boredom and mild irritation.
She opens a second card with this annoyed expression, until her eyebrows shoot up and the frown is replaced with a smile.
"What?" I ask.
"It's from Elizabeth's Passion. They sent me a gift."
"Wow," is all I manage. I'm seriously not in the mood for stroking my sister's ego. I usually don't mind, it's just that Ty and I have barely spoken to each other this past week and we haven't seen each other at all.
I get it. He's been holed up at his training camp, with his coaches and sparring partners, working out the best strategy to beat Doherty. From my research, I know it's common practice for a MMA fighter to isolate for a few weeks before a fight and focus on it entirely, eliminating things like family, friends and other distractions. But seeing as the last time we were in the same room he stormed out wearing his I'm-going-to-kill-someone face, I doubt the only reason he doesn't want to see me is his upcoming fight.
Then again, should I want to see him? Shane's vandalized Mustang. Ty punching Josh in the nose. Him covering up for Jesse, who cheated with steroids. I find myself torn between the loving, incredible and sexy as hell guy I am dating, and the mysterious (but not in a good, hot way), dicey guy that occasionally pays me a visit.
“The lead Fairy gets to wear this,” Izzy gushes in the background, holding up a lingerie item that looks suspiciously like a chandelier. “It costs a freaking fortune. The diamonds are real.”
I shrug and fall onto the king-size bed that we will be sharing this weekend. Jesus Christ. I can't believe they left this for her. It's kinda creepy.
"I'm going to try this on and take a few selfies, I'll be right back." She disappears into the bathroom, leaving me to chew on my fingernails and turn on the TV in a quest for a distraction.
Flipping the channels grumpily, I mouth “no” every time I bump into a crappy talk show or a mind-numbing reality show. I reluctantly watch the local news.
“Oh! My! God!” Izzy sings from the bathroom. “I'm smokin’ hot in this! This selfie goes straight to my Instagram account. Jesus, all those squats paid off.”
I shake my head, a thin smile on my lips, and summon the will to pretend to be in awe of how hot my sister is. Izzy stands in front of me wearing the uniform of a day-shift stripper. She twirls around while punching in a caption for the picture she just shared with her Instagram followers on her phone.
I rub my face using the back of my hand. “You need therapy.”
We hear a knock on the door.
“The only thing I need is for the man of my dreams to walk straight into this room right now so I can win him over. Get the door.”