CHAPTER 2 Ivy Bradley
Twenty-Two
“Twenty-two!” I scream as the Taylor Swift remix by the same name starts to play. I laugh with my best friend since we’re here celebrating my twenty-second birthday, and I bet she’s the one who made the song request.
Twenty-two.
I feel different. Like things are going to happen for me this year.
It’s been a lot of heaviness lately. My mom got sick and died last December. My dad’s on trial for a whole bunch of crimes related to illegal gambling, which will hopefully wrap next week. It doesn’t feel like there’s been much to celebrate lately.
I know that’s not true.
I graduated from college. I just moved to Vegas to work with my sister, who recently got married. My best friend married my brother. There are tons of things to celebrate, but the heaviness has felt overwhelming at times despite it all.
So tonight, I drink.
I ring in twenty-two at a club with my best friend and a drink in hand.
I rarely drink, to be honest. Two drinks and I’m gone. Three and I’ll probably end up vomiting into some bushes. Maybe four since I’ve built up my tolerance a bit after arriving in Vegas a few weeks ago.
And that’s why Dex isn’t refilling my vodka Sprite with three cherries and an extra splash of grenadine to hide the vodka flavor.
It’s both Ainsley’s and my drink of choice, but my big, stupid brother who married my best friend last year is protecting both his wife and his sister.
And by protecting, I mean acting like a goddamn father when I just want to let go and have some fun.
Because I’m the youngest, every single one of my siblings acts like they’re in charge of me.
While it does have its benefits—like being offered a job at two of their companies after I graduated college and decided my degree in fashion merchandising would be useless since I have zero interest in actually working in that field—it also has many, many drawbacks.
Like this. Tonight. I just want to party with my best friend, and instead, my brother is keeping a close watch on how many drinks I’ve had.
Just let me throw up in the goddamn bushes.
Let me live my freaking life.
This isn’t my first time going out with Ainsley in Vegas, but the first time was exactly a year ago when I turned twenty-one. We got a little wasted, and Ainsley drunk-texted my brother, who completely misread the situation and assumed we needed to be saved.
And that’s pretty much why he decided he needed to join us tonight despite not being invited.
I catch the eye of a super-hot guy standing near a table talking to another super-hot guy. God, I love Vegas.
The first one turns his hat backward, and holy shit, he somehow upgrades by at least twenty-five percent. Why is that? He was already attractive, but good Lord, my skirt and my panties are about to just drop off in the mere presence of such attractiveness.
I’ve spent twenty-two years now as a virgin. It’s not like I’ve never done anything. I’m not untouched, but I am unfucked, and that’s starting to become a real problem for me. It’s like this big deal now when that’s never what I wanted it to be.
I’m in a new city. It’s a new me. My story is unwritten, and I’m ready to add some good, hot sex to it.
It’s not like I’m this sweet, innocent girl. I’m not particularly religious. I just haven’t been in a relationship where I felt like I was ready. I haven’t come across a good opportunity for one hot night.
I just…haven’t.
And neither had my best friend until she gave it up to my brother.
The thought still grosses me out.
But this guy whose eyes are still on me and now he’s walking toward me? He seems like the perfect candidate.
He’s got that swagger that tells me he’ll take good care of me. He’ll know exactly what to do, and he’s probably had sex with dozens of women. Hundreds, even.
He’ll make my first time memorable and exciting.
But then I’ll want more, I’ll want it again, or I’ll want a relationship because maybe after all this time, it’ll mean something—and oh, God, I’m already getting in my head, and I’m not even totally sure he’s walking over to talk to me. It could be someone behind me. Hell, it could be Ainsley.
He gets closer, and my brain absolutely short-circuits.
Oh. My. God.
He is hands down the hottest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on in my life.
V card? Gone. In his hands. He can take it and keep it as he carves a notch in his bedpost tomorrow morning, and I don’t even care if he doesn’t call me.
Holy shit.
Dark hair beneath that backward ballcap. Dark eyes. Dark stubble. Broad shoulders, athletic build. All dark and mysterious and maybe a touch of brooding. I’m swooning. Legitimately. I may pass out from how good-looking he is. Is that too over the top?
I want those eyes heating my body. I want that scruff between my legs. I want him between my legs.
Oh, God, I might climax right here.
I need this.
We stare at each other for a beat, and my mouth forms into a smile as I await his pickup line. His eyes meet mine, and the heat that passes between us is un-freaking-real.
His lips form into a slight smile bordering a smirk, and his eyes are just the slightest bit narrowed at me as he studies me.
I open my mouth to introduce myself when my brother steps in between us.
“Oh, hell no, Maddox,” he says. His voice is venomous.
Maddox? He doesn’t look like a Maddox, but I guess that’s his name.
“Fuck off, Bradley,” he says.
Okay, so, apparently these two know each other. Vegas isn’t that big of a city, I guess. And Dex is famous. Everybody knows him.
“Hi, I’m Ivy. Ignore my idiot brother,” I say, and I move a few steps away so Dex is out of earshot.
“Ivy,” he repeats, his voice low and sexy. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Cash.”
“Cash Maddox?” I guess.
He nods, and there’s an air of cockiness about him after I say his name that makes me think I should recognize it. I don’t. Still, it’s a hot name to match the hot voice, hot face, hot everything.
I need another drink.
As if he can read my mind, he nods to my glass. “Can I buy you another?”
My smile widens and my eyes warm. “I’d love that.”
“She’s done, and we were just leaving,” Dex says, stepping in between us.
I glare at my brother. “I don’t want to leave.”
“Ivy, this is a bad idea,” Dex says, turning to me. “He’s a hockey player known for headlines. Don’t you think we have enough of that shit to contend with?”
A hockey player?
That’s why I didn’t recognize his name. I follow football since four of my brothers play, and I watch my other brother when he’s got a baseball game. My life is filled with sports as it is. I haven’t made the leap to hockey yet. But if this is what hockey players look like…
Maybe I should start.
“It’s my birthday,” I say to Dex. “I decide when I’m leaving.”
Cash raises a brow. “It’s your birthday?” When I nod, he says, “Let’s get this girl a drink!”
The people dancing on the floor around us cheer. Clearly they know who Cash Maddox is, and somehow I’ve been living under a rock or something because I should know who this man is.
He leans in toward me a little, which has the effect of my brother stepping back, and I get a whiff of his scent.
My brain that was short-circuiting before seems to explode at his proximity. The heat rolls off him, and the warmth wafts toward me. It’s too much heat for one man to bear, and it’s leaping off of him toward me, roping me in.
He smells fucking amazing. Like a literal fantasy. It’s all clean and masculine, and I’m too many drinks in to actually identify what the scent is, but goddamn. It’s something.
I want to leave his place tomorrow morning smelling like that.
I focus long enough to hear his words as they heat near my ear. “Happy birthday.”
I shiver at the feel of his breath too close to my neck.
Oh my God, I want his lips on my skin. Right there. My thighs press together to try to quell the ache between them, and my stomach is doing cartwheels so close to him.
Okay, fine.
I’m a little drunk.
One more won’t hurt, right?
Before I can thank him for his all-too-sexy birthday wish, my big, dumb overprotective brother steps in. “We’re leaving,” he grits out.
Ainsley links her arm through mine, and Dex is on my other side, his hand gripping my bicep as the two of them literally escort me out of the club. I think about kicking and screaming, but honestly, throwing a tantrum will only legitimize the way he’s treating me.
“Let go of me,” I say, ripping my arm from his grasp. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I’m just looking out for you,” Dex says calmly.
“This is ridiculous. You’re not my father.” I huff out a sigh. “You have to let me live my life, Dex.”
“I’m your older brother, and I will always look out for you.”
“As if I needed the reminder.” I roll my eyes.
“That guy is close to the same age as me, Ivy,” he says. “Way too old for you, and he’s a fucking player. He’s an asshole. You deserve so much better than what he could ever possibly give you.”
“He’s too old for me, but Ainsley wasn’t too young for you?” I point out. “He’s a player and an asshole, as opposed to you before you found Ains?”
Dex clenches his jaw.
I purse my lips at him. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“He was at Dad’s club the night it was busted. He may have talked to the feds when they were investigating. You don’t want to be around him. He’s trouble.”
“As opposed to Maverick? Your new best friend? The man who married our sister?” I point out.
He sighs. He knows I’m right. Maverick was at Dad’s club the night it was busted, and now he’s married to my sister, and I’m staying with them while I figure out where I want to land in Vegas.
It’s the same thing.
I think about just running back into the club, but my brother is a professional football player. There’s no way in hell I’d outrun him, especially not in these black heels.
So even though I want to fight and kick and scream and yell, I don’t.
He’s probably right, not that I’d ever admit that to him. Giving up my V-card to the first hot guy who comes along maybe isn’t the smartest idea. It’s probably something I wouldn’t do if I were sober.
So it’ll be another night alone. But this time, I’ll most certainly be thinking about Cash Maddox.
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