Page 2 of Third Time Lucky

Aaron was too young to have ever met Lucy.

My siblings and I are all five years apart, so we didn’t really keep up with one another’s friends.

He and I weren’t more than average brothers until after he graduated high school and neither of our parents showed up to watch.

That’s when I stepped in. I doubt he remembers anything about Lucy.

‘Twelve years,’ she repeats my words under her breath, staring at the floor. ‘It’s gone by so fast.’ When she looks up at me, it’s with sadness and I know exactly what’s going through her head.

I’m glad our last memory together wasn’t Kris’ funeral, but instead her prom.

Though with her eyes glazing over the way they are and the excessive blinking to prevent tears from spilling over, maybe she’s not as over him as I expected.

It’s a hard thing to forget, that much I know.

Perhaps I’m not the only one he haunts over a decade later.

Does she talk to him like I do, as if he’s guiding her through life? I doubt it.

‘Very fast. But, no,’ she says suddenly. ‘I promised myself I wouldn’t think about him this weekend, so I’m changing the subject; how’ve you been? Why are you here?’

She promised herself she wouldn’t think of him?

Jeesh. Now my heart hurts. I rub my chest uncomfortably.

Thus far, the tragedy that brought Lucy and I closer together has been the worst day of my life.

I honestly hope it always is – and that’s selfish as fuck on my part. Grief and me, we aren’t besties.

‘I’m not here to?—’

‘Lose your virginity?’ She finishes my sentence with a chuckle. ‘I wasn’t buying it for a second.’

I laugh. ‘Good. No, he signed me up for a blackjack game.’

‘You’re a professional gambler?’ she asks with surprise, now sipping a drink one of her friends has handed her.

I shake my head. ‘Professional chef. First-time blackjack competitor. Aaron thought, win or lose, playing in a tournament would be a thirtieth birthday I’d never forget.’

She sips her drink through a tiny straw, nodding her head. ‘Huh. When’s the tournament?’

‘Tomorrow night.’

‘Ooh. So, are you free right now? Because I have a sure-fire way you’ll have a birthday eve you’ll never forget.’

‘Indeed, we are free right now,’ Aaron says, popping in out of nowhere like a fucking genie in a bottle.

Does the man have super hearing? Jesus. I wish he listened like this when we were at work.

He slings an arm over my shoulders to remind me that anywhere we go this weekend will be as a duo. Whether I like it or not – because he paid for our plane tickets this time around.

Lucy opens a white glittery wallet-type purse.

‘How do you feel about partying Vegas style tonight at Brandon’s bachelor party?

It’s the talk of the town. Mitzi paid for everything, as usual, and she spent lavishly.

’ She holds out a gold key card. ‘Penthouse suite: this will get you there; just scan it in the elevator. And you should come to the wedding tomorrow! It’s been so long; I’d love to have you there! ’

‘Um—’

How do I feel about watching this woman get married – on my birthday – after sitting graveside next to her after losing our best friend and being so severely heartbroken? What if Kris was meant to be standing at the end of that aisle and our stupidity fucked up her whole life? I can’t watch that.

‘We’ll be there,’ Aaron says, happily taking the key card from her.

My God, why didn’t I see that coming?

‘Well then, there you have it. I guess we’ll be there,’ I say, slightly unsure.

She hugs me again. ‘It’s seriously so good to see you. I’ll find you tomorrow after the wedding, and we’ll catch up!’

‘Alright,’ I say, a little stunned for words. ‘I look forward to it.’

What are the odds I’d see someone from Portland in Vegas and have a history with her? About as high as me winning this blackjack tournament tomorrow.

‘Come on,’ Aaron says,grabbing me by the bicep and practically dragging me from the bar.

‘I can’t believe you knew someone who could get us into a penthouse party.

Damn, bro! You got connections.’ He slaps me on the back as we enter the elevator, then kisses the key card like it’s real gold before swiping it across the reader.

The doors close, and our destination flashes in lights on the screen above the door frame: Nobu Penthouse.

But my emotions are sword fighting within. ‘Listen, I don’t know if this is a great idea,’ I say as we ride upward. ‘I knew Lucy in high school and haven’t seen her in over a decade.’

‘So?’

‘So, it feels weird to hang out with her new fiancé, whom I’ve never met. I can’t picture her with anyone but the boyfriend I once knew.’

‘Time marches on, my friend.’

‘Real empathetic, Aaron.’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Why would that offend you?’

‘She dated Kris.’

His eyes go wide. He knows the story. But he doesn’t know the details. ‘Ah. Kris.’

‘Yeah. We were teenagers,’ I say. ‘And that’s just it – how well do you know a teenager? What if I was a serial killer now? I mean, chances are slim but not zero. Maybe her judgment isn’t what it used to be, and this Brandon is a total psycho? I don’t wanna know if he is.’

Aaron is bouncing in his spot but suddenly stops, frowning at me. His disappointment practically oozes off the walls around us.

‘Who fucking cares if he’s the next Ted Bundy? Don’t spend alone time with the guy, and I’m sure we’ll be back in our room by sun up. Jeez. The older you get, the less fun you are. Who says no to this?’

‘You don’t feel the slightest bit awkward walking into a party we weren’t actually invited to?’

‘It’s what you go to Vegas to do,’ he insists. ‘Party with people you don’t know and never speak of it again.’

I laugh. If I even say the word Vegas back in Portland, he shushes me like we’ve got secrets. Trust me, all we have is a collection of bad memories and paid fines.

The elevator dings as it stops, and the doors slide open to a private suite filled with so many people I momentarily check the elevator status to ensure we haven’t ended up at a bar. Nobu Penthouse flashes again on the screen above the doors.

Christ on a pogo stick.

‘ This is her fiancé’s bachelor party?’

‘Ha!’ Aaron motions to the crowd. ‘Dude’s not even going to notice us because half of Vegas is here. This is insanity,’ he says, leading me out of the elevator and into the loud, packed room.

‘Absolute insanity,’ I say, leaning into him so he can hear me over the music playing. ‘Jesus.’

‘Can I get an Amen?!’ is Aaron’s response as he lifts his hands into the air.

‘What? No. I mean, Jesus, this place easily violates the hotel’s fire code with the number of people here.’

He rolls his eyes dramatically. ‘My God, Grandpa, stop thinking lawfully and start channeling Sin City. Look at the number of strippers!’

They are everywhere. Literally, there isn’t a crowd of people that isn’t accented with a scantily clad woman dancing.

A curved staircase with a second-story terrace is front and center – including a stair-top stripper.

Sleek leather sofas are filled to the brim with people dressed to the nines – some getting lap dances – all holding a fancy drink.

Everywhere you look there’s more and more people.

Out one window, I spot dozens mingling on an outdoor terrace overlooking the strip.

A few people are in the hot tub, and the private pool is far from vacant.

The music is loud, and every room is jammed full. The place is mad.

‘Can I offer you a drink?’ A man in a tuxedo approaches us with champagne on a silver tray.

‘Seriously? A fucking butler?’ Aaron practically dances as he freaks, then elegantly takes two champagne flutes, one in each hand, never offers one to me, downs them one at a time, and then places the glasses back on the tray.

‘Thank you, my good sir—’ He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of one-dollar bills.

I wonder what those are for. ‘This is to keep them coming.’

‘Sorry,’ I apologize to the man as he stares at a handful of ones. ‘Vegas him is kind of a monster.’

His pinched smile says he knows very well what Vegas does to people.

‘Word of advice,’ Aaron says as we approach a loaded bar. ‘Put that Lucy Loo girl on speed dial right now.’

‘I don’t have her number,’ I say, ordering a Jack and Coke.

‘Get it,’ he demands, taking the Corona he asked for. ‘Maybe she’s into you?’

‘She’s getting married tomorrow.’

‘Which means she’s still single tonight.’

‘Not how that works.’ I heave a sigh. ‘Go. Party. We’re in room 4007 – do I need to write you a note and put it in your pocket, just in case?’

I know he’s going to disappear because we’ve been to Vegas before. I’ve learned to stay ahead of him.

‘Text it to me,’ he says with a wide grin as he backs into the room, disappearing into the crowd.

Get her number. Yeah, I’m sure her husband-to-be would love that. Of course, looking around it’s clear he didn’t just invite guys to this party, so I doubt one in her phone would worry him. And he knows a lot of people. Damn.

I wonder who he is. She said his name is Brandon.

Who here looks like a Brandon? I’m picturing a teenage football quarterback superstar, maybe the coach’s kid, who models for GAP commercials on the weekends and hangs out at REI downtown, even though he’s never stepped foot off the city sidewalk.

Or, based on this party, I’m looking for a Scott Disick type.

Which is sort of what I’m afraid of, and pretty much accounts for the whole damn room. Hell, the man himself might be here.

Why do I know who Scott Disick is? Freaking Alyssa, my older sister, a fan of all things reality TV – that’s why. And since she pretty much raised Aaron and me when our mom was too self-occupied, I can’t complain about the girly shit I’ve watched because of her too much.

‘Hey cutie,’ a woman’s voice earns my attention. ‘You bored? ’cause I could help with that,’ she says, running her fingertips down my arm, her eyes glued to my many tattoos.

The last thing I want to ask is how.

‘Nope,’ I say, downing my drink. ‘Not interested.’

The brunette huffs at my response before disappearing into the crowd.

I promised myself after the arrest, that Vegas would be for drinking, gambling, and babysitting my brother.

I learned my sleeping around lesson last time I took advice from Aaron.

That’s his game, not mine. But, drinking alone is no fun, so I stay for a while, but after way too many strippers offer me a private show as I meander around looking as lonely as a guy can get, I hop onto the elevator and swipe my card to get to my room.

I wonder where Aaron is. Actually, I probably don’t want to know. I search my pockets for my phone, but I left it in my jacket, which is on a table in the penthouse. Shit.

I jab the doors open button and emerge at the party once again.

‘I guess I don’t understand why you’re getting married if this is your hobby?’ A woman’s voice catches my attention as I stroll into the suite.

Oh? This sounds interesting. What sort of hobby is she referring to?

‘She’s paid her dues, honey. She’s earned it. But that doesn’t mean the fun is over,’ a man says, his hands all over the very scantily clad young woman – the same woman who offered me a way out of boredom earlier.

It doesn’t?

There it is! My jacket. I grab it from the table, slide it on, and pull my phone out to text Aaron before he ends up in the lost and found.

Asher

Sleep? Room 4007

If I know Aaron, he’ll mistake that as ‘sleep with,’ and he’ll be back before midnight if he’s not successful at bagging a secret.

‘I can’t get emotionally involved. But I can spend my money any way I like.’

‘Which is why I charge you double,’ the woman says with a snicker.

Charge what to who now? I glance back to look at this dude. Designer suit. Gel. Possibly an hour of skin care before bed every night.

‘Come on, honey, time to pay the piper…’

Ew. Man to man, this one’s a douche.

I act as if I’m just checking out the suite, but when I turn to where this couple is chatting, I notice her hand on his package, and much to my dismay, what I’m seeing is not an optical illusion – he’s beyond into her.

‘Oh, Brandon,’ she says with a giggle, allowing him to lead her into one of the bedrooms, closing the door behind them.

Brandon?! Holy shit. Is this Lucy’s Brandon?! Please, God, no.

Luckily, the door didn’t catch, and when I lay my hand on it, it pops open just enough for me to be a total perv and peek in.

Please don’t get caught. Please don’t get caught .

Whoa. I step back. I didn’t realize that position could happen so quickly. And aggressively – my God. This cannot be the Brandon Lucy – sweet little Lucy Gray – is marrying.

Breathe, Ash.

I pace the hallway like I’m waiting on the bathroom.

Man, I hope there’s a bathroom over here; otherwise, this looks so sus.

What do I do? I guess I should find out if it’s him for sure.

But if it is how could I prove it? Only one thing pops into my head, and I don’t like it one bit.

Videos don’t lie – but do I want this video on my phone?

For Lucy, Ash. You have to do this for Lucy.

Carefully, while glancing around with worry, I hit record on my phone and slip it through the crack.

I look only long enough to make sure he’s on-screen then look away, pretending everything is normal, but honestly, I might be in over my head here.

This could land me in jail. If I’m not careful, I’ll soon be on a first-name basis with the Vegas PD.

‘Sexy Lexy, you are hot as fuck,’ Brandon growls the words, making me look at my phone with sheer disgust. He slides a hand into her hair at the back of her head. ‘Can I hire you to give my Lucy girl some tips?’

I gasp. No. Fucking. Way. The words alone are offensive and disgusting, but the worst part is the creepy chuckle afterward that says he’s not kidding. I pull my phone from the door and hit stop, swiping out of the camera and heading straight for the elevator. Lucy cannot marry this asshole.