Page 49 of Menace in Vegas (Pucked Up Hearts #2)
49
ALLISON
T he second I shove the last bite of pancake in my mouth, I realize I’ve made a horrible mistake.
My stomach is too full, my vision is blurry, and across from me, Connor grins like a smug bastard who just won the Stanley cup.
“You good, sweetheart?” he purrs, leaning back in his chair like he didn’t just eat twelve pancakes in five minutes.
I groan. “Shut up.”
Gram is howling with laughter, clapping like she just watched Hamilton live. “Well, well, well. Looks like someone underestimated her husband!”
“You cheated,” I hiss at him.
Connor raises an infuriating brow. “How exactly does one cheat in a pancake-eating contest?”
“I don’t know, but you did. I can feel it in my syrup-soaked soul.”
Gram sighs, shaking her head. “Tragic. I really thought you had this one, darling.”
I turn on her. “You were supposed to help me!”
“I did! I bet on you, didn’t I?”
Connor barks out a laugh. “You bet on her?”
“I had faith. Turns out, it was misplaced.” She shrugs like she didn’t just betray me with her entire soul.
Connor smirks, sliding his hand up my thigh. “Pack your bags, Mrs. Menace. We’re going north.”
“No.” My stomach drops. “Oh no. You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would. Hope you like snow. And frozen lakes. And?—”
Gram claps her hands and stands. “Now that the pancake preliminaries are done—on to phase two!”
Connor and I freeze.
“What do you mean, phase two?” I ask warily.
She just beams. “Come along, my beautiful buffoons. We’ve got a tight schedule.”
Dear God. Please don’t let it involve more of her driving.
Judging by the glint in her eyes, Gram’s driving might be the least of my concerns.
* * *
We’re standing outside a building that says “Viva Las Vows” in giant neon pink letters.
Connor squints. “Is that… an Elvis chapel?”
“Oh, it’s not just any Elvis chapel,” Gram says, her eyes practically glowing. “This is the chapel. The holy land. The site of today’s very special vow renewal extravaganza!”
Connor and I turn to her in perfect, horrified unison.
“What?” I choke out.
“Vow renewal? But we’ve only been married?—"
“Exactly!” she chirps. “Time to spice things up before the flame dies.”
Connor mutters, “How would it even have time to die when?—”
Gram gives him a sharp look, and he clamps his mouth shut.
He stops cold as we step inside. “There’s a drunk showgirl playing the harp,” he says flatly.
“I tipped her with vodka. She’s fabulous,” Gram replies proudly.
I tug on his arm. “That’s Marilyn Monroe over there.”
“Technically, it’s Gary from Cincinnati,” Gram clarifies. “But he’s very committed.”
I look around in horror.
There are tourists filming us.
Elvis is adjusting his wig.
There’s a guy in a banana costume with a sash that says Best Man #2 . I have no idea what happened to Best Man #1.
“Gram,” I whisper. “What did you do?”
She grins, accepting a sequined gown from Marilyn. “I paid for the deluxe Viva Las Vows package. Includes impersonators, live kazoo music, a backup dancing cowboy, and a tiebreaker competition.”
Connor and I say in unison, “Tiebreaker?”
Gram slaps two crumpled notecards into our hands. “Write your vows. Elvis, Marilyn, and Showgirl Wendy will judge. Winner picks the honeymoon destination.”
I stare at the blank card. “This is insane.”
“Insanely romantic,” Gram corrects. “Now get to work. I’m off to get dressed.”
Connor’s already scribbling and muttering to himself. “Snowball fights… hot cocoa… freezing her ass off…”
Meanwhile, my card is still blank. I’m digesting a mountain of pancakes and the horrifying realization that a kazoo player is warming up in the corner while the backup dancing cowboy swivels his hips.
Dear God. Am I hallucinating from all the pancakes I ate?
I glance over at my smirking husband.
Focus, Allie. You need to win.
I want beaches, sun, and sand.
Not a frozen ass or a black eye from a snowball fight with my husband.