Page 35 of Betting on her Best Friend
Chapter Eleven
Alyssa and Trent burst through the main doors of the Masquerade to the bustling semicircular drive. She looked to where the taxi line was three rows deep. “We’ll never make it if we have to wait that long.”
“Gimme a sec to see what I have to work with,” he said as he scanned the area while Alyssa tried like hell not to tug on his sleeve like an impatient child. “Bingo.”
Grabbing her hand, he pulled her toward an old pink Cadillac convertible the length of a yacht. An Elvis impersonator, who was just as much a “late model” as the car, wearing a white jumpsuit bedazzled to the gills that stretched uncomfortably over his ample belly sat behind the wheel. A Marilyn Monroe in her iconic white halter dress opened the passenger door just as Alyssa and Trent practically barreled into the side of the car.
The couple’s initial surprise turned to elation as they granted Trent with the kind of enthusiastic handshake and hug a long-lost friend received. Trent made quickie introductions. Either he didn’t think she could retain new info in her anxious condition—which was probably accurate—or they’d legally changed their names to Elvis and Marilyn. After Trent gave them the Cliff’s Notes version of her predicament, they insisted on giving them a ride to the airport before Trent had the chance to ask, beg, or grovel on Alyssa’s behalf.
As she climbed into the back and pulled the yards of fabric in behind her, relief and hope flooded her system. Thirty seconds later that feeling was replaced by nausea as Elvis navigated the crazy Vegas traffic with the all the finesse of a stunt driver.
The only thing that kept her from detailing the white leather with her lunch was Marilyn’s game of 20 Questions. The woman asked about her and Dylan and the events that led up to the need for a NASCAR escort to the airport. Alyssa was thankful for the distraction and found the couple’s sincerity and comedic back-and-forth endearing. That, and the fact that Trent had known them for years, helped her feel at ease with them, despite Elvis’s driving.
Fifteen harrowing minutes later, they pulled up to the departing terminal and jumped out of the car. Elvis tossed the keys to a waiting valet and they rushed through the automatic sliding glass doors. They’d no sooner crossed the threshold when they came to an abrupt stop. Hundreds of eyes were now staring at them as though someone had announced their arrival. Alyssa imagined the stories that would be told for years to come. So, Elvis, Marilyn Monroe, a bride, and a gay Hugh Hefner walked into the Vegas airport… It sounded like a bad joke.
“It’s a ball gown,” she muttered under her breath.
Marilyn leaned closer. “What was that, dear?”
“Nothing.” Verbally arguing with people about their assumed future conversations was probably a good indication of a nervous breakdown. Perfect. “Now what?”
“There he is. Come on.”
“There who is?”
Trent grabbed Alyssa’s hand and led their foursome over to a gorgeous blond. The sleeves of his polo shirt hugged his muscular biceps, and the security badge dangling from a lanyard around his neck drew attention to the defined pecs underneath. Add in the not-a-hair-out-of-place cut, evenly tanned skin, and ice-blue eyes and the guy looked like Barbie’s other half.
“Alyssa, thisis Will. If anyone can get us where we need to go in this airport, it’s him. He’s the most manipulative man I know.” Will arched a brow in Trent’s direction as if to say And…? Trent released a resigned sigh and finished with, “He’s also my ex-boyfriend.”
Alyssa blinked her surprise. O-kayyyy. Big, hunky dude was apparently Trent’s other half. Or used to be, anyway.
“Guilty as charged on all counts,” Will stated with a quick wink, then cut a look over to Trent. “Though I’d rather the ‘ex’ part was left off that last one.”
Trent shot him a warning with narrowed eyes. “Don’t start.”
A smile and deep chuckle transformed Will’s stunning good looks to downright panty-melting. Or brief-melting, as it were. He turned and held Alyssa by the shoulders, his hands as large as Dylan’s, but missing the rough calluses that caused her skin to tingle. “You, my dear, are absolutely stunning. Come on. Let’s get you to your Prince Charming.”
She exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”
As apparently everyone was wont to do with her tonight, Will grasped her hand and led her through the throng of travelers milling in the airport. “If I’d known a damsel in distress would get me a phone call, I would’ve sent one your way weeks ago, Trenton.”
“Seriously?” Trent pressed a hand to his chest and gave Will a look of disbelief. “I’m the one who got a Dear Trent letter with a P.S. I’m taking the cat. Which, BTW, was total BS because I picked out Sinatra in the first place.”
Will smiled over at the rest of them. “I named him, though. He has the most beautiful blue eyes.” Then back to Trent said, “You can’t deny you didn’t think living together wasn’t working out.”
The small group clipped along, rounding a corner and just barely sidestepping an old couple toddling along the windows of a gift shop.
“All I said was stop drinking all the damn Grey Goose. You’re the one who blew it out of proportion.”
“Maybe I wanted you to stop me.”
Trent whipped his gaze over, clearly shocked by his ex’s statement. He opened his mouth to respond, but Alyssa jumped in with a question of her own before things got too heavy. “How do we get through security?”
Will nodded at a Salma Hayek look-alike. “Connie Garcia.”
“She’s going to let us through?”
The woman winked in response and began winding her way toward a human version of Oscar the Grouch in a TSA uniform shirt that strained at the buttons. “No, she’s going to work her magic on Henry.”
