All In (Billionaire Cowboys #5)

Chapter 1

chapter

one

Juniper

The problem with being an Elven princess is that modern luggage is not built for our weaponry.

While I can appreciate having a worthy foe, I’m not sure that a suitcase is … well, worthy of the title foe.

I appreciate even less that in this epic battle between princess and suitcase, the suitcase is winning.

Frankly, it’s humiliating. Even more so because my sister Clover is here to witness my potential defeat.

I lean forward, pressing as much of my body weight as I can on the rectangle of doom. Still, it does not budge.

The zipper remains a solid three inches from reaching the other side, gaping open like it’s personally offended by what I’m asking of it.

And that’s after I unzipped the expansion part.

I blow out a breath. The wisps of blonde hair that have escaped my messy bun (let’s be honest, it’s more like a messy wad at this point!) flutter against my cheeks.

“Juniper,” Clover says in a tone that’s either chiding or teasing.

I glare up at my older sister.

She stands in my bedroom doorway with her arms crossed. She’s staring at me with an expression that is equal parts amusement and incredulity.

“What?” I ask.

“Are the props necessary?”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Define necessary.”

She laughs. “Fair enough.” She walks towards me, her gaze flitting from the suitcase to the various other piles of things on my bed.

“You’re driving, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you fighting so hard to get everything into one suitcase?”

“Because it’s already not one suitcase. It’s this suitcase, plus my hanging bag for my Arwin costume, my case of carrying my sword, and my bag of holding.”

“You mean your backpack?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, oh boring one. My backpack. My point is, I have all of that, plus my cooler bag of snacks and my two cases of La Croix. When I show up at the hotel, it’s already going to look like I’m moving in.

I feel like two suitcases instead of one might push me over the line between obsessive packing and deranged packing. ”

Clover presses a hand to her chest, shaking her head. “Oh, you sweet child. I hate to break it to you, but …”

I wince. “I already passed it?”

“By a sword’s length.”

I exhale the elegant sigh of an elven princess.

“Just bring your stuff in forty-seven bags, if you have to. That’s what luggage carts are for. Oh, and cute bellmen.” She waggles her eyebrows at me.

I glare at my suitcase. “But I am the master packer.”

“Yes, yes, human Tetris, or whatever.”

“I have great spatial awareness.”

“I know. I seem to have none of that.”

We both laugh. My older sister is the self-appointed queen of the hot messes. But what she lacks in organization, she more than makes up for in heart. Because she’s the most generous person in the world. And she’s hilarious.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” I ask, because the only thing more fun than a comic con would be a comic con with Clover.

She shakes her head. “I’ve got my new job starting.”

I don’t even bother asking what this job is. She will likely have a new one by the time I get back from Dallas.

“I would like to see you win the big costume contest,” she says.

“It’s really just a showcase.”

“A showcase for super nerds,” Clover says.

“In the case of a fandom convention, there will be literal super nerds,” I say.

“Yes! So many superheroes. Which, in their defense, makes sense because the costumes are so readily available.”

“You mean not everyone spends half a year making their own costumes?”

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are.”

“Yes, I really am. Also, you’re totally going to win the contest.”

I shake my head. “It’s not really a competition. Just an opportunity to show off some hard work. Normal people,” I say, “don’t spend six months hand-embroidering silk panels with historically accurate Elven floral motifs.”

“Historically accurate?” Clover asks.

I roll my eyes. “Okay, technically that’s not true since elves aren’t real. But it’s as historically accurate as one can get with all of Tolkien’s details.”

My room, I will admit, looks like a fabric store and a Renaissance fair had a disagreement and neither won.

My Arwen costume currently hangs from my closet door, It really is something to behold.

I’ve always loved to sew, but this particular dress was a true labor of love.

Each layer of silk and velvet catches the afternoon light, making the fabric almost look like water.

Clover looks over at the dress. “You truly outdid yourself on that one.”

“Yes, and I have the needle pricks to show for it. Six months of hand-stitching and pattern-drafting… Not to mention that one very dramatic incident involving the silver thread, a seam ripper, and a mug of tea I knocked onto the floor at two in the morning.”

Worth it.

“I still should’ve been able to get everything crucial into the one suitcase. I mean not the dress because I’m not folding that baby!”

“Maybe,” Clover says, picking her way carefully through a minefield of foam pieces and ribbon spools, “leave behind the sword.”

I gasp.

“The sword is for the Saturday photoshoot.”

“The Saturday photoshoot costume already has,” she picks up the list from my bed and reads from it, “a velvet underdress, an overdress, a removable train, a beaded circlet, a cloak, and what you have written here as ‘the sleeve panels (both pairs).”

“Correct.”

“Both pairs.”

“One is backup.”

She sets the list down with a slight grin.

“Clover.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“You’re saying everything with your face.”

She sits on the edge of my bed, moving a spool of copper thread out of the way first. She’s wearing one of her floaty skirts and has her red curls pinned up loosely, a few escaping around her temples the way they always do. She looks effortlessly beautiful and completely as home in her own skin.

I have spent my entire life watching my sister exist in the world with this particular ease that I have never quite managed to replicate. I have long since made peace with the fact that we are simply different kinds of people.

She floats.

I organize things.

“You know most people pack actual clothes when they go on a trip,” she says, eyeing all the costume pieces in my suitcase. Surely you don’t have to dress like an elven princess the entire time you’re there.”

“Well, no. But the rest of the time I’ll be in my hotel room, which only requires my pajamas.”

“You have one pair of regular pants in this suitcase. I can see them from here. They’re under the emergency craft kit.”

I shrug. “I’ll buy clothes if I need them.”

“You won’t. You’ll be in costume for seventy-two straight hours and subsisting on convention center coffee, protein bars, and adrenaline.”

She’s not wrong about that either.

“So how exactly do hook-ups work at one of these? Unless I missed it, you don’t have any sexy lingerie or anything in your suitcase. Aren’t you meeting up with that guy you met last year?”

I instinctively make a grumble of disgust.

Clover’s gaze sharpens. “What does that noise mean?”

“You remember my costume from last year?”

She nods. “Of course, Harley Quinn. You looked fantastic.”

“I think he was a little too into Harley. And maybe not so much into Juniper, if you know what I mean.”

Her gaze narrows even more, and her words come out as a make-my-day kind of growl. “I’m not sure that I do know what you mean.”

“Last year, I was Harley. He was dressed as the Joker. It was all very flirty and fun. But strictly PG-13, because I’m not one to jump into things. For the past year, whenever we’ve texted, he’s hinted at taking things to the next level.”

“Ooookay. Consenting adults and all that.”

“Exactly. Except …”

“Oh, I don’t know that I like where this is going.”

“Then he was disappointed when I described my Arwin costume. He said it didn’t sound very sexy.”

Clover mumbles something under her breath that I’m pretty sure is fucker.

I nod in agreement. “Then he said he was okay with me dressing like a elven princess in public as long as I would still be his dirty little bitch in private.”

Clover shoots to her feet. “He did not!”

“He did.”

“And you didn’t tell me this before now?”

“Well, that was just last night and this is the first time I’ve seen you since then, so…”

“Oh, that fucker!”

“Exactly!”

“He’s okay with it? As if he owns you!”

“Right?”

“Oh, that fuckity-fucker!”

“Exactly!” I say again, honestly, pretty relieved that Clover’s reaction is outpacing even my own. I was worried I was being too sensitive.

“Oh, it’s on. That fucker won’t know what hit him.”

“Wait. What?”

“Well, I’m definitely coming with you now. Now that I know creepy Eric-mc-thinks-he’s-a-joker has gone full-on sexual predator on you!”

I hold up my hands to ward off her vehement attack of Eric. “Whoa there. Settle down. I don’t think you skipping out on your new job is called for.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “It’s just a job. There’ll be another.”

I place my hand on her arm. “Seriously, I can handle it. This isn’t my first comic con. I’ve been handling over-eager creeps at these events for a decade. It’s just disappointing as much as anything.”

She gives me a side eye. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

She sits back down.

“In truth, I learned pretty quickly at my first fandom event that while some nerds are more accepting of big girls like us. They’re also pretty quick to jump to the fetish side of things.”

Clover makes a face. “What exactly does that mean?”

“I guess there are rumors that plus-sized women are wilder in bed. More adventurous and kinky.”

“Eww. But also, that’s dumb. There can’t possibly be a correlation there. I mean, sociologists and Psychologists have been trying to link the level of education or lack thereof with sexual activities for years. And it’s all self-reporting, which you know means it’s utter nonsense.”

I laugh. “You would know that.”