Page 3 of Breakaway Bet

Those are fighting words. They’re enough to make me tear my gaze off the Bradley girl who’s commanding every ounce of my attention even from across the goddamn room.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, old man,” he says, goading me on.

My eyes—and my ego—light up at the challenge. “Bet.”

He grins as he punches the air in celebration. “Fuck yeah! Stakes?”

“A thousand bucks says I can get her in my bed.”

He sticks his hand out. “You’ve got yourself a deal. I’ll need proof, obviously.”

I nod as if that goes without saying, and I stand with resolve. I turn my hat around. I pick up my glass of 1942 and head toward the dance floor.

CHAPTER 2: Ivy Bradley

Twenty-Two

“Twenty-two!” I scream as the Taylor Swift remix by the same name starts to play. I laugh with my best friend since we’re here celebrating my twenty-second birthday, and I bet she’s the one who made the song request.

Twenty-two.

I feel different. Like things are going to happen for me this year.

It’s been a lot of heaviness lately. My mom got sick and died last December. My dad’s on trial for a whole bunch of crimes related to illegal gambling, which will hopefully wrap next week. It doesn’t feel like there’s been much to celebrate lately.

I know that’s not true.

I graduated from college. I just moved to Vegas to work with my sister, who recently got married. My best friend married my brother. There are tons of things to celebrate, but the heaviness has felt overwhelming at times despite it all.

So tonight, I drink.

I ring in twenty-two at a club with my best friend and a drink in hand.

I rarely drink, to be honest. Two drinks and I’m gone. Three and I’ll probably end up vomiting into some bushes. Maybe four since I’ve built up my tolerance a bit after arriving in Vegas a few weeks ago.

And that’s why Dex isn’t refilling my vodka Sprite with three cherries and an extra splash of grenadine to hide the vodka flavor. It’s both Ainsley’s and my drink of choice, but my big, stupid brother who married my best friend last year is protecting both his wife and his sister. And by protecting, I mean acting like a goddamn father when I just want to let go and have some fun.

Because I’m the youngest, every single one of my siblings acts like they’re in charge of me. While it does have its benefits—like being offered a job at two of their companies after I graduated college and decided my degree in fashion merchandising would be useless since I have zero interest in actually working in that field—it also has many, many drawbacks. Like this. Tonight. I just want to party with my best friend, and instead, my brother is keeping a close watch on how many drinks I’ve had.

Just let me throw up in the goddamn bushes.

Let me live my freaking life.

This isn’t my first time going out with Ainsley in Vegas, but the first time was exactly a year ago when I turned twenty-one. We got a little wasted, and Ainsley drunk-texted my brother, who completely misread the situation and assumed we needed to be saved.

And that’s pretty much why he decided he needed to join us tonight despite not being invited.

I catch the eye of a super-hot guy standing near a table talking to another super-hot guy. God, I love Vegas.

The first one turns his hat backward, and holy shit, he somehow upgrades by at least twenty-five percent. Why is that? He was already attractive, but good Lord, my skirt and my panties are about to just drop off in the mere presence of such attractiveness.

I’ve spent twenty-two years now as a virgin. It’s not like I’ve never done anything. I’m not untouched, but I am unfucked, and that’s starting to become a real problem for me. It’s like this big deal now when that’s never what I wanted it to be.

I’m in a new city. It’s a new me. My story is unwritten, and I’m ready to add some good, hot sex to it.

It’s not like I’m this sweet, innocent girl. I’m not particularly religious. I just haven’t been in a relationship where I felt like I was ready. I haven’t come across a good opportunity for one hot night.