Chapter 16 What Happens in Vegas #2
“Oh, honey,” Kelsey said softly. “Have you seen the way that boy looks at you?”
“Like I'm his friend. His buddy. His roommate who needed help with kissing practice.”
The women exchanged another round of those looks.
“Artemis,” Trixie said firmly, “I've known those boys most of their lives. I've seen them through crushes and girlfriends and boyfriends and everything in between. The way Gryff looks at you? That's not friendship. That's a man completely gone for someone.”
“Then why hasn't he said anything?” I basically begged him to say it was something more after the first kiss, hadn't I? Oh god.
“Because Kingman men are idiots,” Willa said. “Loveable, wonderful, absolutely dense idiots who need things spelled out for them in neon signs.”
“Sometimes literally,” Kelsey added. “I once serenaded Declan from a stadium jumbotron.”
“And I'm not totally sure Hayes realized just how much I was in love with him until I married him,” Willa added.
“The point is,” Trixie said, “sometimes you have to be the one to make the first move. Or the second. Or the seventeenth. I will admit that as someone who didn't realize they were in love with their best friend either.”
Before I could respond, the guys returned with arms full of nachos and drinks, and the second half started. But I couldn't focus on the game. All I could think about was Gryff sitting next to me, his arm casually draped over the back of my chair, his thumb occasionally brushing my shoulder.
The Mustangs won by ten points, and the suite erupted in celebration. Everett appeared moments after the game ended, still in his uniform and grinning like he'd won the lottery.
“Everybody get changed. We're doing a thing,” he announced. “You’re all coming. No arguments.”
“What thing?” Flynn asked suspiciously.
“You'll see.” Penelope said holding Everett’s hand. “Just trust us. See you in an hour. There will be cars outside.” Then she disappeared along with Kelsey and Declan.
Everybody got dressed and when we stepped outside, a caravan of limos was waiting outside the stadium, champagne already chilling inside.
“This seems excessive for a victory celebration,” I said as we all piled in.
“Vegas gonna Vegas,” Gryff said, but he looked as confused as I felt.
Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to a building with a neon sign featuring a Lobster Elvis in a light-up jumpsuit declaring it the High C Wedding chapel.
“Did we just crash someone's wedding?” I whispered to Gryff.
“Not crashing if you're invited,” Penelope called out, and that's when I noticed the bouquet in her hands and the beautiful white dress she was wearing. Everett stood proudly next to her in a tux.
“Oh my god,” Jules squealed. “Are you—“
“Yup, we are. Just us and the people who mean the most to us.” he said with a meaningful look in Penny’s eyes.
What followed was the most chaotic, joyful, ridiculous hour of my life.
Elvis was Chinese and did an incredible impression while wearing a bedazzled white jumpsuit and carrying a Triton.
Declan gave a best man speech that made everyone cry.
Kelsey, the matron of honor, sang an acoustic version of “Can't Help Falling in Love” that had me sobbing.
During the actual vows, the couple looked at each other like there was no one else in the universe but each other. I felt Gryff's hand find mine. Our fingers interlaced, and he squeezed gently.
I didn't let go.
Not during the kiss, not during the ridiculous Elvis hip thrust dance, not during the champagne toast with sparkling cider for the very pregnant Penny. His hand in mine felt like coming home.
By two a.m., we were all exhausted and definitely too tipsy to drive home.
“Good news,” Flynn announced, looking at his phone. “I got us rooms at the hotel next door.”
“Bad news,” he continued, not looking sorry at all, “they only had honeymoon suites left. Two of them. So Jules is staying with the aunts, and Tempest and I can share one...”
Gryff and I looked at each other in panic.
“We'll take the other one,” Gryff said, his voice carefully neutral.
The honeymoon suite was... a lot. Heart-shaped bed.
Red velvet everything. A mirror on the ceiling that I was definitely not looking at.
Rose petals scattered on every surface. A champagne bucket with a note that said “Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Goatlightly” because apparently that was the alias Flynn had used.
“This is so excessive,” I said, staring at the bed that seemed to be the only piece of furniture in the room besides a chair shaped like a giant high heel.
“Vegas gonna Vegas,” Gryff repeated, but his voice was strained.
We stood there awkwardly, both a little drunk on champagne and wedding feelings, neither knowing what to do next.
“That was beautiful,” I said finally, sitting on the edge of the heart bed. “The wedding. Even with Elvis.”
“Especially with Elvis,” Gryff corrected, sitting next to me.
“They looked at each other like...”
“Like she was his whole world,” Gryff finished softly.
“Yeah.” I pulled my legs up under me, turning to face him. “I want someone to look at me like that someday.”
“Someone will,” he said, and the way he was looking at me right then made my heart skip.
“I'd be terrified though,” I admitted, the champagne making me brave. “Of the wedding night, I mean.”
“Why?”
I took a breath. We'd already crossed so many lines with our trust exercises. What was one more confession?
“I've never... I mean, I can't...” I started over. “I've never had an orgasm with a partner. Only by myself. I can't let go with someone else there. I freeze up or perform or just... disconnect.”
Gryff was quiet for a moment, and I immediately regretted saying anything.
“Sorry, that was too much information—“
“No,” he said quickly. “I'm just... processing. So you've never…?”
“Never. I've tried, I swear, and it's not like I want to fake it.
But my brain won't shut off. I get too in my head about what I should be doing or feeling, and how I need to get my partner off.
Then I'm basically just watching myself from outside my body, and it's...” I shrugged.
“It's why they all said I was bad in bed.”
“They were idiots,” Gryff said firmly. “You're not bad at anything. You just need to learn to let someone else take care of you.”
“That's the problem. I don't know how.”
He turned to face me fully, and there was that look again, the one that made me feel like I was falling and flying at the same time.
“This is just another trust exercise,” he said slowly. “Like the eye contact, like the kissing practice.”
“Gryff, this is... different.”
“Only if we make it different.” His hand found mine. “What if we just approach it the same way? No pressure, no expectations. Just you learning to trust someone else with your pleasure.”
“You'd do that for me?” My voice came out smaller than intended.
“I'd do anything for you,” he said, and the weight of those words hung between us.
“What if I can't?”
“Then we'll figure out why. We'll go as slow as you need. Or we stop. Whatever you need.”
I looked at him, my best friend, the person who knew me better than anyone, who'd already taught me so much about trusting someone else. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
Well okay then. Here we go.