Page 50 of All Bets Are Off

“Yeah, his buddies are definitely making him suffer,” Jameson says. “They were pumping him full of sambuca over at the bar an hour ago. Surprised that dude’s still standing.”

Addy opens her eyes and takes a deep, heavy breath. “You know what, Evie? You’re the least of my worries right now. As long as you make it onto that plane home on Monday morning, I don’t care what you do this weekend. I need to focus on Liam.” Without another word, she pivots on the spot and heads back around the corner into the crowds.

“Look at you,” Jameson says, loosely hooking his arms around the back of my neck as he smiles down at me. His hair is tousled from all of my pulling on it. “Arguing with your sister over me? Plot twist.”

I’d like to believe I’m conflicted over Jameson. If he was still holding my bracelet hostage, I’d certainly hate him right now. But the truth is, there is not one single reason for me to actually dislike this man. Having him follow me around? I secretly enjoy the attention. Kissing him? A sensational feeling. His face card? Lethal.

“Can we get out of here?”

Jameson’s brows lift and there’s a devilish spark in his green eyes. “Absolutely.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” I say. “I mean can we go do something else? Something fun. Can we hit the casino again? You did just promise my friend Michael I’d get him his money, so . . . I need to win some.”

“I’m already taking a gamble on you,” Jameson says, throwing an arm around my shoulder and turning me toward the exit, “so what’s a couple more rolls of the dice?”

22

Adelaide

I knew it.

I fucking knew my bachelorette weekend was doomed to be a disaster from the very second Liam first proposed combining our parties. It was inevitable that things would go wrong.

Marshmello has finished his set by the time I push my way back into the crowd around the DJ booth, and Liam is slurring his words more than he was before I left. He yells something unintelligible into my ear with a dopey grin and eyes glazed over. John flashes me a sheepish smile as he throws an arm around Liam to support his balance.

“Sorry, Adelaide,” Tyler apologizes, but he’s snickering. “Guess all those shots really got to him.”

“You guys are the worst,” I say with a sigh. Frowning at my wasted fiancé, I wonder what the hell we’re supposed to do with him. “I think it’s time we head back to the hotel.”

We emerge from the thick of the crowd, gather up all of our belongings from our beach couch, and then head to the ride-share pickup to find the two Ubers I’ve summoned. We’re all drunk and dehydrated and most likely suffering mild forms of heat stroke. I need an ice-cold bottle of water and a cool, rejuvenating shower. Melissa jumps into one car with John and Tyler, and obviously Connor assists me with manhandling Liam into the back seat of the other.

“Stop locking out your legs, dude,” Connor mutters, physically lifting Liam’s right leg and placing it inside the car. He shoves him over into the middle seat, and I move around the car to enter from the other side, leaving a semi-conscious Liam wedged in between Connor and me.

“Were you pouring shots down his throat when my back was turned, too?” I ask Connor, leaning forward to glower at him, unimpressed.

“It’s a bachelor party, Addy,” Connor says with a nonchalant shrug. “Pouring shots down our buddy’s throat is what we’re supposed to do, so yeah. I’m partly responsible for this mess, but there’s a bright side.”

“And what’s that?”

“I think he’s going to pass out,” he says, “and an unconscious Liam is a harmless Liam.”

Oh, for goodness’ sake. It’s no surprise Connor was happy to contribute toward pumping Liam full of alcohol, because I bet this is exactly what he wanted—a Liam Hartman who can’t tell his ass from his elbow, a Liam Hartman who is not going to make it back out tonight. But Liam’s gurgling his words and his neck is slack and unsupportive, and I’m worried.

“Don’t make me charge you guys a cleaning fee,” our driver warns, watching nervously in the rearview, probably wondering if Liam will projectile vomit all over the fabric upholstery.

“Babe,” I say, pinching Liam’s jaw and angling his face toward me. “We’re going to get you some water. A lot of water.”

“I love you, Addy,” Liam says with a grin, but his eyes flicker open and shut. “I love you, too, Connor.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Connor says. “Let’s get you back to the room.”

I hold my breath all the way to the drop-off point at the rear entrance of the Cosmopolitan, where I only release it once we have extricated Liam from the back seat without incurring any cleaning fees. Melissa, John and Tyler’s car hasn’t arrived yet, but we don’t wait around for them. It’s only six, so it’s downright mortifying that Liam is in such a state at this time, like he’s some loser who can’t keep up with Vegas. As Connor guides him through the hotel lobby with a supportive arm wrapped around his staggering body, other guests stifle their amused laughter. It’s ironic that Liam is the one embarrassing himself in public after the grief he gave me last night for simply spilling a drink. I’ve had a lot to drink this afternoon, too, yet I’m still standing. It’s easy to sober up at the speed of light when the people around you need help, like Evie running off with a guy ten years too old for her, and Liam being on the verge of requiring an IV drip at the local hospital.

“I’ll get him back to the room,” Connor says, hoisting Liam upright. He’s so drunk, he’s nothing but dead weight. “You go grab some waters.”

Nodding, I head off toward the casino floor in search of a convenience store. There’s a sense of urgency in my steps, and I grab three giant bottles of water and a pack of Tylenol. I think Liam is going to need it. If not tonight, then certainly tomorrow. I pay the inflated, extortionate prices without even batting an eye, and then make my way back through the hotel, into the elevator, and up to the twenty-first floor.

I rap my knuckles against the door of Liam and Connor’s room. Moments later, Connor opens it and ushers me inside.