One
Jenner
UCLA was ahead by twelve points with a half still left to go. I needed them to beat Baylor University by at least fifteen to cover the spread, or I would lose the ten grand I’d wagered on this game.
March Madness—my favorite time of the year.
The boys and I always spent at least a week of the tournament in Vegas, where we planted our asses in the sportsbook, only leaving to eat dinner and go to the club, each day the same until it was time to fly home.
What would make day two even better was if UCLA pulled out a win.
And I knew the guys agreed—we’d all taken the same bet, wagering different amounts—some of us more vocal than others each time Baylor scored.
Ford was the loudest, slurring, “Fuuuck,” after the most recent dunk. He got up from his seat, pointing at the wall of TVs. “This game is making me fucking crazy.” He looked at me and then at Dominick. His head moved in slow motion, his knees almost buckling. His first mistake had been drinking on an empty stomach this morning. “I’m hitting the head. Need anything?”
Unlike my younger brother, I was pacing myself after waking up with an unbearable headache from last night’s shenanigans.
“You all right there, buddy?” I asked. “Do you need someone to hold your hand on the way to the restroom?”
He flipped me off. “Asshole.” When his arm dropped, he had to grip the back of the chair, so he wouldn’t collapse. “Jesus, I’ve turned into a lightweight. What the hell happened to my tolerance?”
I laughed. “Everly happened.” I set my empty beer in the bucket and grabbed a fresh one. “Don’t worry; by the end of the week, we’ll have you right back to where you need to be.”
“But it’s going to be painful as hell to get there,” Dominick added. “Tomorrow will be even uglier than today.”
“Fuck me,” Ford groaned, carefully taking a step back but almost tripping. “Need anything? Last offer.”
“I’m good,” I answered.
“Dude, we have a waitress,” Dominick reminded him. “She’ll get us anything we need, but I’m thinking we should ask her to get you some food.”
“Good idea,” I agreed.
“Hot fucking mess,” Dominick joked the moment Ford stumbled to the restroom.
“I really hope you’re not talking about Miami,” a girl replied to Dominick. From the corner of my eye, I watched as she took Ford’s seat. “I can’t afford for them to be a hot fucking mess.”
A breeze of her perfume found its way to my face.
With hints of cinnamon and pumpkin, she smelled like fall.
“Oh good, they’re up by fifteen,” she added. “You’re definitely not talking about Miami, then.”
She turned toward me, and I almost spilled my beer.
Fucking hell.
There was gorgeous—celebrities, models, social media stars.
And then there was her.
She had long black hair that seemed to never end. A petite, trim, well-taken-care-of body. Pouty, thick lips with a breathtaking smile and these screaming blue eyes that wouldn’t let you look away.
A kind of beauty that made my mouth part, but nothing came out of it.
“So, who’s the mess?” she asked me. “Or more importantly, who’d you take?” She grinned as she waited for my response, the glossiness of her lips taunting me. When I still said nothing, she continued, “I’ve got five hundred on Miami. I took the moneyline, parlayed the bet with the over.” She pretended to fan herself. “I’m trying not to sweat it out, but it would be a serious travesty if I lost.”
She knew gambling and basketball.
Goddamn it, that was sexy.
All I wanted was to keep her talking, so I could continue gazing at her mouth—the way it almost pulsed as she inhaled, how her tongue licked the corner of her lip, how they widened to take in the straw, sucking the plastic as she took a drink.
My dick was so fucking hard.
“I think you’ve got yourself a safe bet,” I told her, suddenly finding my voice.
Her eyes dropped down my chest before she glanced at the wall of TV screens, her profile just as beautiful. A small, sloped nose, a stunning jawline, a collarbone that jutted out, begging me to lick across it.
I needed her attention on me again, so I asked, “Why Miami?”
“I live there.” She tapped her heart. “I could never bet against them.”
“Fair enough.”
“And I go there, so I’m slightly proud.”
A college student.
Twenty-two—maybe.
If my guess was correct, I was eleven years older than her.
At eleven, I had already been telling my teachers I wanted to get into law. Even prior to middle school, I had known I was going to follow in my parents’ footsteps and take over their firm the moment they retired. A role I would share with Ford and Dominick.
But this one—this fucking beauty—wasn’t even out of the womb.