BONUS CHAPTER
George
Azure Tides Resort
Santa Barbara Coast, California
The reception is still loud and glowing when I settle onto a stool at the bar.
Azure Tides went all out. The entire ballroom opens straight onto the beach, glass walls folded back so the ocean air moves through with the music.
String lights hang over the patio, gold reflections stretching across the dark water.
Waves keep rolling in steady down the shore, completely ignoring the circus happening inside.
Newlyweds Trevor and Becca are out in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by half the guests. Some drunk relative from Becca’s side is attempting breakdancing in dress shoes like a complete idiot. Vince looks two seconds away from throwing hands every time someone bumps into Adrian.
Normal wedding shit.
A woman in a deep red dress beside me has been trying to flirt for the last twenty minutes. I’ve humored her with the barest minimum to pass for polite, but my attention keeps finding him across the room anyway.
To that dumbass on the dance floor.
Lance has been out there with Sierra for a while now. Suit jacket pulling tight across his shoulders every time he spins her. Tie already loose, sandy blond hair falling into his eyes. He’s smiling wide, head tipped toward her as she laughs at whatever he’s saying, completely in his element.
Lance does this everywhere we go. Bars, parties, weddings, even the damn grocery store. He talks to strangers like they’re old friends. Women fall into step with him without even trying. Meanwhile, I’m usually leaning against a wall, perfectly happy not talking to a single soul.
It’s always worked fine for us, until Trevor’s bachelor party blew the whole dynamic to hell.
Maybe it’s the resort, or the week we’ve had here. Maybe it’s watching Vince and Adrian drag the entire group into some kind of sexual identity spiral no one knew we needed.
Then the vibe around Lance has felt…different all week. Not bad, just shifted.
We still give each other shit like always, but ever since those nights with Adrian happened, touching feels too intimate. Sitting too close feels loaded. Even eating together feels too damn domestic now.
For some fucking reason, that’s been the main theme for almost this entire trip. Probably because we’ve been stuck in the same damn resort.
Lance finally peels away from the dance floor and drops onto the stool beside me. He’s flushed from dancing, warm from the alcohol, his collar open.
Before he can ask, I slide the fresh whiskey toward him.
His eyes flick down to the glass, then back to me. A small smile pulls at one corner of his mouth.
“Thanks,” he says.
I grunt.
That part’s automatic by now. Always has been. Half the time I do shit for him before he asks. And in times like this, I make sure he gets back to the room alive after drinking too much.
Lance takes a long swallow and leans both elbows against the bar.
“Sierra told me she’ll wait for me upstairs if I wanna come by later.”
“Congratulations to Sierra.”
“She’s great,” he says. “Exactly my type too. Nice body. Great legs.”
“Tragic. Sounds like you’re suffering.”
“Right?” He rotates the whiskey glass between his palms, then his voice dips lower. “But…you know what I realized tonight?”
I glance sideways at him.
“I didn’t hook up with a single woman this whole trip.”
I have to actually stop and search my memory for a second before I realize he’s telling the truth. “End times really are here.”
“I’m serious.” He points the glass at me. “This should’ve been peak Bradford conditions. Luxury resort. Wedding guests emotionally compromised. Bridesmaids everywhere. Becca’s cousins walking around like a goddamn HR violation. This should’ve been my Olympics.”
“More like a public health concern,” I mutter.
“And yet,” he says dramatically, spreading his hands like a magician who just pulled an empty hat out of his ass. “Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Not even a handjob somewhere behind a decorative plant, when this trip has everything for me to commit historically significant levels of sluttiness.”
“You had Sierra hanging off you five minutes ago.”
“I know,” he says, spinning the glass slowly. “But that’s what’s throwing me off. I’m still me, I still notice women, but something’s been nagging inside me for a while now. And then Adrian happened, and it was like—yeah. Like I saw something on the other side of it up close.”
That gets my attention more than it should. I raise my glass to my lips.
Lance looks drunk, loose enough that the filter is completely gone.
“So anyway,” he continues casually, like we’re discussing the weather, “I’m just saying I want cock tonight instead.”
I choke on my whiskey so hard it burns straight into my lungs.
Lance blinks at me. “You okay there, G?”
“What the fuck?” I cough roughly into my fist. “Did you just say ‘cock’?”
“Yeah.” He squints at me. “Drink slower before you aspirate and die, man.”
I stare at him, waiting for the punchline.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, he takes another drink and continues like this is a normal conversation to be having at my stepbrother’s wedding reception.
“I’m just saying…especially after last night, it feels like this week opened some other door in my brain.”
My eyes flick automatically toward Vince and Adrian across the room. Adrian’s laughing at something Trevor said while Vince stands behind him with one hand hooked loosely around his waist.
Lance follows my line of sight.
“This may be alcohol talking,” he says, “But have you ever thought about what it feels like to get fucked?”
“I do the fucking,” I say flatly.
Lance laughs loudly. “You goddamn walking lumberjack fantasy. Big dick energy, you scream top.”
I lower my voice and glare at him. “Will you stop saying this shit so loud?”
“What?” Lance asks, grinning like an asshole. “Dick? Cock?”
Two women farther down the bar glance over.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Lance Bradford.”
“I’m serious, though.” He leans closer, voice lower but still warm from the whiskey. “Normally by now I’d be halfway through planning the greatest one-night stand in recorded history, then disappearing before breakfast like some six-foot blond fuckboy legend.”
“You’re just blond. And a fuckboy.”
He drinks again before staring out toward the ocean through the open ballroom doors.
“I think maybe my body’s trying to settle down,” he says, half-laughing at himself. “Like I actually want to wake up next to the same person. Have someone’s toothbrush next to mine. Fight over who gets the last piece of bacon in the morning. That kind of boring, domestic shit.”
“Like dating.” The words come out slower than I intended. Funny thing is, half the stuff he’s describing sounds a little too familiar to me.
I shut that thought down immediately. It obviously has nothing to do with me.
“That, yeah.” He nods slowly. “Might wanna try that with whoever. I mean, if I’m suddenly trying new life experiences, feels closed-minded not to expand the customer base a little.”
I stare at him.
“You talking about dating men or women?”
“Both,” he shrugs, then his mouth curls slightly. “No way to know unless I try.”
The music shifts slower behind us. People move closer together on the dance floor. Outside on the patio, somebody cheers loud enough to echo across the water while Trevor spins Becca under the lights again.
Lance turns on the stool to face me more fully.
“How about this, Big Guy,” he says, eyes burning with mischief. “Tonight, being the last night here before we all go back to our boring lives, why don’t we do something extremely insane?”
I thought last night was the most insane thing we ever could have done. Apparently, this dumbass is not done.
“Pretty sure Vince’s not sharing Adrian tonight.”
“Well,” Lance says, “Whatever happened last few nights felt like the universe accidentally unlocked premium content for a limited-time event. Don’t think that buffet’s reopening anytime soon.”
I snort into my drink.
“And I’d never go after Adrian like that,” he adds immediately. “Holloway scares the absolute shit out of me sometimes. He looks like he’s killed before.”
“Then you better stop drinking and go pick somebody up before your dick taps out for the night,” I say, exasperated now.
“I can absolutely still get it up drunk,” he says, looking deeply offended. “My dick has the stamina of a long-haul trucker running on three-day-old gas station coffee and pure stubborn American willpower.”
“Fucking hell.”
“And there’s no need to go look somewhere else. I’ve got a man sitting right in front of me now, don’t I?”
Everything in me locks up tight, nerves snapping into sudden, rigid focus.
Slowly, I turn my head toward him.
The noise around us keeps going—music, laughter, waves crashing outside, glasses clinking. But here at the bar, it suddenly feels muted.
Lance’s tie hangs loose around his throat. His suit fits him too fucking well. His face is flushed from drinking, eyes twinkling under the low reception lighting.
And he keeps looking straight at me.
“Lance,” I warn him.
“What, G?” he says softer now. “Feels kinda inevitable after last night.”
I don’t answer.
This is dangerous, but some part of me has been thinking the exact same thing all fucking day.
Lance finishes the last of his whiskey, sets the empty glass down against the bar with a soft thud, and stands.
“I’ll be upstairs. If you’re there in ten minutes,” he says evenly, “I stay in that room tonight.”
My stomach knots tight.
“And if I’m not? You going to Sierra’s?”
His mouth twitches into a slow, dangerous smirk. “Now, that sounds like a challenge.” He leans in close, breath warm against my ear as he whispers, “We’ll see how you go first.”
He holds my gaze for one loaded second, then turns and walks toward the elevators, weaving through the crowd in that navy suit like he owns the damn place.
The elevator doors slide shut behind him.
I stay where I am, still holding my drink and staring at the spot where he disappeared.