Page 7 of The Last Love Story (Baker Girls #3)

CHAPTER SIX

JADE

A nice shower, curling my hair, and doing my makeup fixes almost any problem I have.

Maybe not fixes , but it wraps a bandage around the wound.

When I get dolled up and dressed up, I end up feeling better. Dress for the attitude I want, not the attitude I have. It’s silly, but it’s always worked for me.

I remember the first time I told Zoey that. She thought I was crazy. But she rarely wears makeup and is one of those people who can wake up with her hair looking perfect. She’s also a mom of two boys who run her ragged, so comfort makes her feel best.

I love that for her, and I love that it makes her feel sexy and confident.

That’s the same vibe I need tonight. It’s about feeling cute and flirty and having fun to take my mind off all the other bullshit in life.

Zoey, Trish, and I landed in Las Vegas almost two hours ago, and in a few minutes, I’m going to meet Justin.

I haven’t mentioned that to them yet. I’m a little worried I’m making it more of a thing than it needs to be.

For all I know, he’ll show up in exercise shorts and an undershirt and be a total tool.

Somehow I doubt it, though.

I went radio silent after getting that letter from my insurance company.

I put do not disturb mode on and ignored the world for a while because I can’t process shit when I feel like there’s something I’m supposed to be doing, or someone I’m supposed to be talking to.

Instead, after my dad left, I finished packing, dug a piece of frozen raspberry chocolate tart from my freezer, warmed it up, and enjoyed every sinful bite, then I went to my room, got out a couple of my favorite toys and had two killer orgasms. It’s hard to be upset about anything when you’re too blissed out to move.

When I finally remembered to turn do not disturb mode off late last night, I had a bunch of texts from Justin checking in.

I didn’t say much back, and he continued to check in today.

None of it felt pushy, but rather like genuine concern.

I reassured him I was okay, and I was looking forward to meeting up with him tonight.

Which I am.

I think he’ll pass the vibe check, but I’m not sure what to expect from this. A friendly hang out? A cute dinner date? A hookup?

Would I hook up with him?

Yes. In a heartbeat. If he’s who he seems to be, he’s gorgeous, sweet, and respectful. Three out of three ain’t bad.

Plus, imagining his sinful drawl in the bedroom…

Okay, I need to stop.

We’re friends. Friendly-ish friend-like people.

That’s all.

But damn if I don’t look sexy as fuck anyway.

I knock on the door that adjoins my room and Zoey and Trish’s. Once we all tried staying in the same room, but we were on top of each other. Waiting for the shower took forever, and planning our schedule around that was a pain in the ass.

Plus, I like my alone time.

Orgasms. I like orgasms.

I rarely go a day without getting off and frequently do it more than once a day. I almost always bring toys with me when I travel, and this trip is no different. Sharing a room with your friends when you’re horny as fuck is not fun.

Trish whistles as she opens the door.

“You look gorgeous.”

I shrug. It’s a simple dress and wedges. Nothing fancy. My makeup is low-key, except around my eyes where I have a pretty pink and orange eye shadow blend that matches my dress.

“This isn’t much.”

Zoey looks over as I walk into the room. “I beg to disagree. But it’s not a surprise. You always look gorgeous. Headed somewhere?”

I clear my throat. “Uh, yeah. I’m meeting Justin down at the bar.”

“Justin Ayers?” Trish squeaks.

“Yes,” I say flatly.

“I love this for you.” She claps her hands.

From behind her, Zoey laughs.

“Is it friends or more?”

“Friends,” I say quickly. Probably too quickly.

“Mhm. I’ll believe that if you’re in your room tomorrow morning when I wake up.” Trish winks at me. She’s an early riser and usually wakes Zoey and me up for early breakfast and workouts on our trips.

“I’ll be there.” My voice is firm, but the truth is, if Justin wanted me in his room tonight, that’s where I’d be.

And now I’m horny. A little bit.

This train of thought needs to stop right now.

“We’ll see,” Trish says .

Zoey shakes her head. “Have fun. Be safe. You’ll just be at the hotel bar?”

“To start. If we grab food or something, I’ll text you.”

She nods. Zoey never exits mom mode, but I appreciate that she’s always looking out for us.

“She’s right. Be safe. We love you. Have fun. Be good.”

As I walk through the door back into my room, Trish calls one last thing.

“Or be bad.”

I shake my head as the door clicks, but I can’t deny being bad sounds fun.

I’m chronically early.

I was late to middle school once, and my principal was on a warpath after being continuously disrespected by a bunch of students, so I ended up with a week full of lunch detention because it was unexcused. As the good girl who always followed the rules, I was miserable.

So, I made it a point to never be late again. Now it’s a problem because I’m often fifteen minutes early.

I’m only eight minutes early to the bar. That’s reasonable, at least.

“What can I get you?” a bartender asks as I lean against the counter.

I’m not risking sitting on one of the sleek but not particularly sturdy looking stools.

I hate furniture that looks nice but is impractical and barely holds any weight.

I also hate that those thoughts ever run through my mind, but unfortunately, the world isn’t built for plus-size people.

Just like how I have to go out of my way when I need a belt extender on an airplane.

It should be able to be requested in advance and waiting at your seat.

But that’s life being a fat person in a thin person’s world.

I glance up at the menu. They have a bunch of fun specials that are meant to be romance-themed, though I wish they’d come up with cutesy names too. It would make them stand out more.

“I’ll have a frozen pomegranate margarita.”

“Coming right up.”

The bartender goes to make my drink, and I instantly feel a presence at my side.

I don’t know how, but I can tell it’s not Justin. Maybe because the energy feels too… smarmy.

“Pomegranate margarita, huh?”

I turn my head ever so slightly and see a tallish decently attractive guy. He’s staring at me with a look that makes my stomach turn.

This is why I rarely go to bars. I’d rather make drinks at home with my friends. Thank God there’re apps for hooking up now, so I don’t have to worry about going to bars for that.

“Yep.”

Ah, the dilemma of how to engage with a guy who clearly thinks I owe him something. Ignoring him or pissing him off can both be dangerous, but anything else can be too inviting. Thankfully, the bar isn’t too busy yet, so I can get the bartender’s full attention if I need it.

“Pomegranate. The fruit of sexual awakening.”

Oh god.

“I hadn’t heard that before,” I say coolly.

I have. But I haven’t heard someone say it in such an icky way.

Smarmy . My first impression was dead on.

“You must not be here for the romance convention, then.”

“I take it you are?” I still don’t look at him, and I keep my voice bored. There’s no way I’m telling this guy I’m an author.

“I am. I’m the romance guy. Darren Corval. I put the man in romance.”

I fight to keep my face neutral. Could he sound like more of a dick?

I recognize the name, though. He’s an influencer who made a name for himself as a male “romance-lover.” I know plenty of people who love his content and know a few authors who have worked with him.

Something about him always made me feel icky, though. Clearly, that was dead-on.

“Here you are.” The bartender sets my drink in front of me and meets my gaze. “Need anything else?”

“I’m okay right now. I’ll let you know if I do.”

He glances behind me, then gives me a curt nod and walks to the other end of the bar to wait on someone.

Ignoring the creep at my side, I take a sip of my drink.

“Taste good?”

I jump as his voice tickles my ear and his hand lands on my ass.

Then a booming voice rings out from my other side.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”