Chapter 5
Hailey
If pretending I have somehow developed IBS this weekend is what it takes to work on my manuscript and chase my dream, then I guess I’ve developed IBS.
I run back to my room as fast as I can in these stupid damn shoes, pluck my laptop out of my carry-on, and set myself up at the desk.
It’s not my ideal writing set-up—squeezed into a mini dress and wearing mascara that’s irritating my eyes in a Las Vegas hotel room on a Friday night—but I have no other choice right now.
I pull up my Word document, read over Samantha’s email for the hundredth time, and then erase the final two chapters of the novel I’ve spent the past two years working on.
Killing off a main character was always going to be a bold move as a debut author, and especially a debut romance author.
The romance genre thrives on its traditional happily ever afters, so reworking my ending was always something I was prepared to do if push came to shove, and I’d save the more controversial endings for projects later in my career .
. . But first, I need to actually launch that career, so I open up my favorite Spotify playlist and get to work.
When I’m pushing the half-hour mark of being gone, I worry the girls will show up at the room out of concern for my bowels, so I call it quits on this writing session and pack away the laptop.
I spritz some more perfume and apply a fresh layer of lipstick, then begin the long walk to the elevators and back down to the Chandelier.
Addy, Evie and Melissa are exactly where I left them, only now the men have joined them, pulling over more chairs and crowding out our once-comfortable seating area.
I really should check with Liam what their plans for the weekend are, if any, or if they’re simply going to piggyback off of all of my hard work.
“She’s back!” Melissa cheers as I approach the group, and I settle into the remaining empty chair.
Liam has pulled a chair into the space between Addy and me, and he sits with a protective hand on her thigh. On my right, Theodore Sinclair slouches back in his chair and gulps down an entire drink with one single sip of his straw.
He catches me watching him and smiles, setting his glass down with a clink and releasing a satisfied breath. “Hey, Hails,” he says casually.
“I’m so happy you’ve joined us,” I remark dryly, but he knows I don’t mean the sarcasm laced in my words, because his smile widens into a grin.
Just like I’ve grown up with Evie, I’ve also grown up with Theo.
Addy’s younger siblings have been a permanent staple in my life and, as an only child myself, the close bond the three of them share was something I was innately jealous of.
Theo’s always been a rather happy-go-lucky kind of guy with an inflated ego, not to mention rather cute with those blond-hair, blue-eyes Sinclair genes.
It is absolutely no surprise that he was voted Prom King his senior year of high school, much like both Addy and Evie were both Prom Queens of theirs.
“So, what did I miss?” I ask, glancing around the group. There are a ton of empty glasses on the table, which means a lot of drinks have been consumed. It is still so early in the night that I worry how this is all going to unfold.
“Liam headed over to STK and asked them to change our dinner reservation from four people to nine,” Addy answers.
“Oh. Great!”
Not great at all. The bachelor party is piggybacking off my itinerary.
The lazy jerks. It’s weird to me, honestly, that they would rather hang out with us girls than hit up a shooting range or hire a convertible and drive to Hoover Dam or simply drink their way from casino to casino like a bachelor party should.
And speaking of dinner . . . I glance at my watch. Our reservation is in fifteen minutes.
“Maybe we should get one last round of drinks in before dinner,” I suggest, holding up my arm to flag down a cocktail waitress.
“Why don’t we play spin the bottle?” Evie suddenly asks.
I glare at her, disapproving of her juvenile suggestion when I already have a perfect plan for the weekend in place. There will be games later, but fun, cheesy, traditional bachelorette party games—not spin the freaking bottle in the middle of this glamorous bar. “Spin the bottle, Evie? Really?”
Tyler, the only one here drinking beer instead of cocktails, holds out his empty bottle of Corona. And given this is my first impression of him, I instantly decide I dislike him for daring to entertain Evie’s suggestion.
“No, no, no,” I say, flapping my hands.
“Lighten up, Hails,” Theo says.
“Shut up, Theodore.”
“It’s okay, Hailey. We’ll play a couple rounds,” Addy says, and because she and Liam are the bride-and-groom-to-be and this is now their dual party, they get the final decision on things. If Addy is happy to play spin the bottle, then I have to hide my disdain and suck it up.
“Only dares. No truths, because that’s boring,” Evie tells the group, assuming her self-appointed role as game host. She places the empty beer bottle on the center of the table and with the kind of skill expected from a college student, sends it spinning in a perfect circle.
As it begins to slow, she taps her index finger against her lips and thinks carefully.
“Whoever this lands on, I dare you to knock back three tequila shots.”
Please don’t be me.
The bottle points to Liam. We all cheer with delight, because the only thing better than the bottle not pointing to yourself is the bottle pointing to either Liam or Addy.
He takes it in his stride, however, and heads up to the bar to order himself three shots of tequila.
When he returns, he doesn’t even bring back any limes to sweeten the bitterness, he just sucks down the trio of shots in four seconds flat.
I should really try harder to wipe the grimace from my face, but I hate, hate, hate binge drinking, and dares are my worst nightmare, and I think I’ll die if this bottle comes my way.
With a quick flick of his wrist, Liam spins the bottle, and it lands on his best friend and best man, Connor, much to my relief.
“When we hit the casino later, I dare you to throw a hundred bucks all on red,” Liam tells him.
“I was going to do that, anyway,” Connor says with an eye roll, then it’s his turn to spin the bottle.
It whirls around and around until it slows to a stop and suddenly I’m the one staring down the rim of the bottle.
My face falls as the group cheers at my misfortune, because anyone that knows me knows I’m the incredibly shy, sensitive one.
I like things to be a certain way. Spontaneity sends me into a heightened state.
Having all eyes on me makes me so unbearably uncomfortable.
“Hmm,” Connor says, and I wonder if he senses my fear and decides to go easy on me. He must surely remember from our days in high school together that I am far from wild. “I can’t think of anything. Anyone else got some ideas?”
“Oh, I know. I dare you to spend the rest of the night,” Melissa says with devious glee as she roots around inside her purse, “handcuffed to Addy’s little brother.”
Before I can register her words, she has leaned forward and slipped a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs onto one of my wrists.
She grabs Theo’s arm and locks the other cuff around his, and I stare down at our connected wrists in absolute horror as the group howls with laughter.
These handcuffs aren’t even the cheap plastic novelty kind.
They’re metal and sturdy and are giving me the sense they aren’t easy to break free of.
“Oh, c’mon. This isn’t a dare,” Theo points out. “This is Hailey’s dream come true. Isn’t it, Hails? An entire night with me. You lucky woman.”
If Theo wasn’t so damn cute and charming, I’d really begrudge him the cockiness we know and love him for.
There are worse people to be handcuffed to—John or Tyler, for example, who I have only just met for the first time—but who I’m handcuffed to isn’t the problem.
The problem is being restricted in the first place.
How the hell am I supposed to escape to my room to work on my manuscript now?
“We better head for dinner,” Evie says, checking her phone for the time. “I’m starving, so everyone finish up your drinks and let’s get moving so I can tuck into some steak.”
Both Theo and I reach out for our drinks at the same time, pulling each other in different directions. I glower at him; he smiles.
“We need to be coordinated in order for this to work,” he says. “Drink with your free hand, okay?”
I do as instructed, grabbing my cocktail with my left hand instead of the right that is currently handcuffed to Theodore Sinclair.
Everyone else gets to their feet around us as they finish off the final dregs of drinks and gather up phones and purses.
They all meander off together to STK, blissfully unaware that Theo and I are still working out the kinks of our new situation.
“Okay, everyone’s gone,” I say, standing up from my seat and yanking him with me. I hold up our connected wrists between us. “You’re strong. Break these. Right now. Please and thank you.”
“I’m flattered that you believe I’m capable of snapping metal,” Theo says, and I really wish he would drop the joyful, smug expression he’s sporting.
“It’ll be fine, Hails. Fun, even. We’ll get to dance together all night!
Eating dinner with one hand may prove challenging, however .
. . And when I need a piss, that may be a problem, too . . .”
“You don’t understand,” I groan. At this point, the exasperation is etched into my forehead as deep, scary lines. “I have important things to do tonight.”
Theo tilts his head to one side and purses his lips at me. “You think I’m important?”
“Theo,” I scold. “I am being so totally freaking serious right now. This”—I shake our hands around—“is the last thing I need. There’s stuff I have to do this weekend that isn’t compatible with being handcuffed to you.”