Submitting in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 3)
Since everyone in the room but Laurel now knows that isn’t true, we all let the moment pass and turn our attention to the present opening.
Carly gasps dramatically and pulls a tiny pair of pink shoes out of the box Skylar finally got open. “Wow! Look at these fancy new kicks, Skylar.”
Skylar grins at the shoes and claps—more because of Carly’s enthusiasm than because of the shoes, I’m pretty sure.
Once Rafe sinks into the spot next to Vince, I walk over and take a seat on the floor, placing my present in my lap. I don’t know if I should open it or not, but Carly glances back at me to see if I’ve opened it yet, so I start tearing into it.
It’s a nice MAC eye shadow palette—or, I think it’s eye shadow. There’s a larger round one on the right hand side that may or may not be eye shadow. It’s skin colored, so it could be something else. Highlighter is a thing, maybe it’s highlighter. Well, either way, it is make-up.
“These colors are beautiful. Thanks, Carly, that was so nice of you. You really didn’t have to get me anything.”
“No sweat,” she assures me, flashing me a smile over her shoulder, then turning her attention back to Skylar.
Rafe tells Carly to open her present from him. She tells him she doesn’t think she should in polite company, but she roots around for it anyway. The package she locates is thin and rectangular, like a movie case, so she shoots him a look.
“This isn’t porn, is it? There are little ones present.”
“It isn’t porn,” he assures her.
She seems skeptical, but opens it anyway. It is a Blu-ray of the 90’s classic, Pretty Woman. She gives him a dead-eyed look, and he seems quite pleased with himself as he tells her, “Merry Christmas, Vivian.”
They have a strange relationship. I bet if he had met her before Vince, they would have hooked up. She would have been one more blonde he snuggled in a booth while I took their food order. He probably wouldn’t have knocked up her sister in that case, though one can never be completely sure.
Many, many presents later, the tree is nearly cleared. Laurel got herself, me, and Carly all matching pairs of fuzzy Christmas colored socks. I’m going to wear them in bed later and run my feet up and down Rafe’s legs. Apparently, it was Carly’s turn to buy mugs this year, whatever that means. She apologizes to me that I did not get one, since she had no idea I existed when she was picking them out, but she gives mugs to Laurel, Sin, and Vince.
“No mug for me?” Rafe asks, feigning hurt.
“I told you, you get nothing,” Carly states.
“I actually got you a mug,” Laurel admits.
Carly gasps, as if betrayed. “You didn’t.”
“I did, but you’re going to approve,” Laurel assures her, gesturing to a small, square package under the tree. “Baby, can you grab that box, please?”
Sin grabs it and hands it to Carly, who passes it to Rafe.
“This is going to be awful, isn’t it?” Rafe asks.
“I hope so,” Carly says. “You are not worthy of being part of our mug tradition.”
He makes quick work of unwrapping and unboxing the present, and when he pulls out the white ceramic mug, I bite back a smile. It reads, “Damn it feels good to be a gangster” and has pink and purple flowers all over it.
Laurel is grinning when he looks over at her. “Do you love it?”
Rafe shakes his head, puts the mug back in the box, and hands it to me. “Here you go, Virgini
a. You get a mug this year.”
“Ordinarily I would say mugs can’t be transferred, but if it means you don’t get one and everyone else does, I approve,” Carly says, her messy bun bobbing as she nods.
“Wow, you really hate him, don’t you?” I ask.
“He impregnated my 19-year-old sister. He’s the worst,” Carly answers.
Everyone else opens their mugs. Laurel is delighted when her new mug proclaims, “My husband is hotter than my coffee.”
Sin’s reads quite accurately, “Stop saying words to me.”