Page 9 of Brewer Family Collection, Part 1

Blakely

“ W ould you like anything else?” Gerald asks, glancing around the table.

Renn sits back, rolling up his sleeves. The motion draws attention to his thick, muscled forearms and the tattoos etched into his skin. His smile hints at debauchery.

“Need anything, Blakely?” he asks.

His question is an innuendo, one I think managed to slip by Brock and Ella. But it didn’t miss its mark … me .

Renn has made me feel like the center of the universe this evening—giving me all his attention, prioritizing our conversations, and not missing a moment to tell me that I look beautiful.

I sweep the lingering notes of overpriced tequila and toasted almonds from my lips. “I’ll have another one of these.”

He lifts a brow. “ Really ? You’ve had two.”

“I’m glad you can count.”

Renn smirks and turns to Gerald. “She’ll have another one of those, and I’ll have another scotch and soda.”

“Yes, sir. What about your companions?”

Renn takes in Brock and Ella’s canoodling and shakes his head. “I think they’re good.”

“I’ll return shortly. Thank you.”

The restaurant pulses around us, the air filled with laughter, music, and excitement. Vaulted ceilings and deep wood tones blend with twinkling lights and walls of flowers to create an illusion of being indoors and outdoors at the same time. It’s comfortable luxury —and I’m here for it.

My skin tingles from the tequila. It better tingle . I tried to order a cheaper brand, but Renn insisted I try the most expensive version on the menu. It should’ve come with its own bartender for what he will pay for it.

“It’s still fairly early—for Vegas, anyway,” Renn says, glancing at his watch. “What else do you want to do tonight?”

I trail my fingertip around the edge of my glass. “Well, Ella and I did have plans.”

“Yeah, about that,” Brock says, returning to our conversation. He looks at his girlfriend, then at me. “What were you two planning?”

“You wanna tell him, El?” I ask, teasing her. “You said you wanted him to know.”

Her face flushes. “I was mad at him then.”

Brock’s jaw sets. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I have a feeling you might be revisiting that emotion soon, El,” Renn says, then downs the rest of his drink.

“What was it, Ella?” Brock asks, unamused. “Let me know what you planned on doing when you were mad at me.”

“You know what? I don’t care. You went to Miami and did who knows what with Renn ,” Ella says, sitting taller.

Renn gasps. “I’m offended.”

“Shut up.” Ella gathers herself, setting her attention squarely on my brother. “We had plans to see a bunch of ripped, oily men take their clothes off.” She leans closer. “ And I was really looking forward to it .”

Renn bursts out laughing.

“ Me too ,” I say, taking my drink from Gerald. “Thank you, buddy.”

Gerald tries not to laugh. “You’re very welcome.” He places Renn’s drink in front of him. “There you go, sir.”

“I won’t make this awkward and call you buddy,” Renn says, getting a full-bellied laugh from our server. “But thank you. Also, please bring the check to me.”

“Of course.”

Ella takes a small sip of her drink, looking expectantly at Brock. “If you have something to say, say it .”

Renn and I hold our drinks and air toast, settling in for the show.

Ella and Brock banter back and forth, their voices sharp yet hushed.

It’s impossible on a good day to follow along when they’re like this.

But I don't bother trying after the two tequila drinks I’ve already consumed—two more than usual.

Instead, I swirl my beverage around the glass and watch Renn across the table .

Damn, he’s gorgeous . His black shirt makes his hair appear darker and his eyes more mysterious. His lips more kissable .

My heartbeat quickens. A welcome warmth spreads like a full-body blush, eventually pooling the heat between my legs. My shoulders fall, giving up any tension still in them, and I sigh happily. Maybe I should drink tequila more often .

Renn sets his glass on the table, his brows pulling together. “You good, Blakely?”

“Yeah. I’m great .” I smile from ear to ear. “Nice and relaxed.”

We exchange a grin that amplifies the fire in my veins.

“Are you two about ready to head back to the room?” Brock asks, intruding into our moment.

I snort. “I’m not leaving this drink. There’s one hundred fifty dollars’ worth of alcohol in here. Besides, tonight is supposed to be fun. Remember?”

“Well, your brother put an end to that,” Ella says, giggling as Brock grabs her thigh. “Or maybe not.”

“You want a show? Let’s buy a bottle of oil on the way to the room,” Brock tells her. “I’ll give you a fucking show.”

Ella grins back at him. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“ What’s that gonna do for me ?” I ask, quickly lowering my voice. “It’s always Ella, Ella, Ella . It’s my freaking birthday.”

Renn smirks. “We’ll buy a bottle of oil too. Don’t worry.”

Count. Me. In.

“The hell you will,” Brock says before downing the rest of his drink and setting it down with a thud. “All three of you are giving me a fucking headache.”

I sigh dramatically. “ Again , you weren’t invited to this party. You’re free to leave, and Ella and I can pursue our objective of making this a night to remember.”

Renn chuckles, sharing in my amusement. “How about this? Brock, why don’t you and Ella go back to the suite. Make up so we can have a fun day tomorrow.” He turns his attention on me. “And I’ll stay with Blakely. We’ll finish our drinks and maybe get some ice cream since we promised her that?—”

“That’s not due until tomorrow,” I say, trying to point at him, but my finger hangs unsteadily in the air. “My birthday is tomorrow. Tonight is my birthday prelationship.”

Ella groans, holding her forehead.

“Your what ?” Renn asks.

“My birthday prelationship. It’s the stage …” My brain is too cloudy to make it make sense—even though I’m sure it does. “It’s the lead-up to my birthday where expectations are met. Or not. Or … something.”

I cock my head to the side and try to think that through. I swear it makes sense .

Brock looks at me warily. “Why don’t you go back with us?”

“Because I’m finishing this drink,” I say. Because I don’t want to give up this night because you want to go fuck my best friend.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay with Renn?” he asks.

Renn’s leg moves beneath the table and brushes against mine. I shift in my seat, pressing my palms against my thighs in an attempt to quell the heaviness building in them.

“I think I can handle it,” I say smugly.

“I’ll take care of her.” Renn’s eyes are trained on me. “I promise I’ll get her back in one piece.”

“See, Brock? We all get what we want this way. Stop being a spoilsport and get out of here.”

Ella slides her hand onto Brock’s lap—and that does it. She looks at me and winks.

“I’ll get the bill tomorrow night,” Brock says, helping Ella out of her chair. They start to leave, but he pauses and turns back to the table. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“ Oh, come on ,” I say. “Stop it. What do you think we’re going to do? Go streaking down the Strip?”

“Hey, I actually haven’t done that before,” Renn says, impressed. “We could give it a go.”

I laugh. “ No , because you signed a good boy clause , remember?”

His eyes sparkle. My stomach tightens in a worthless attempt at rebuffing the trouble dancing in them.

Brock lifts a brow, lets it linger on both of us for a long moment as if to seal his point, and then follows Ella through the restaurant.

As soon as he’s gone, Renn and I laugh.

“I love him,” I say before taking a quick sip of Gerald’s concoction. “I really do. But I think I will always be a seventeen-year-old little girl to him.”

“That’s how old you were when your mother passed, right?”

“Yeah.” I set my glass down and release a breath. A heaviness settles on my chest at the reminder. I need a distraction . “Tell me about your family. I’ve gathered the basics over the years, but you never really say anything about them. Just superficial, searchable stuff.”

“Do you ever look them up?”

I half laugh, half snort. “Um, no. Not taking anything away from you all, but it’s never occurred to me to look them up. Should I? I mean, besides Tate, of course.”

He lifts a brow. “I’m not talking about Tate again.”

“I checked out his Social,” I say in a sing-song voice. “He’s very … shirtless .”

Renn crosses his arms over his chest. “But you don’t follow him.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I checked.”

What ? I laugh, not sure whether to believe him or not. “ No, you did not .”

“Yes , I did . And you know what else?”

I hum, enjoying the playful look on his face.

“ You follow me ,” he says, almost beaming.

I try to hide my amusement by taking another drink, but the bottom of the glass appears. Damn, this stuff goes down too easily .

Gerald returns and hands Renn a bill. He scribbles something on the paper and thanks Gerald for his help. I don’t know what Renn wrote, but Gerald’s eyes widen.

“Thank you, Mr. Brewer,” Gerald says. “I … I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Thank you for taking care of us this evening.”

“Of course, sir. It was my pleasure.”

Renn smiles as Gerald walks away with a pep in his step. Once he’s out of earshot, Renn holds out a hand.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says.

I lay my palm in his. The warmth of his hand and the roughness of his scars from rugby send a myriad of sensations through me.

My legs are a little wobbly as we make our way to the exit. He never lets go of my hand, never eases his grip. And I like it way more than I should . I expect him to release me once we’re out of the restaurant, but he doesn’t.

We wander down the long corridors of shops inside the hotel. Name brands I recognize but have never owned hang with authority over large, intricate doors. Storefronts highlight shoes, jewelry, and handbags—anything you want or need can be obtained without leaving the hotel.