KING: Las Vegas Bad Boys(23)

Landon calls as I’m in the drive-thru at Panera getting Sophia a kid’s mac and cheese, while listening to the Frozen soundtrack for the eighteen billionth time.

“Tomorrow at ten,” he says, letting me know when the car will be there to pick me up.

He also says I need to get his credit card to get a new wardrobe.

Great, I’ll squeeze that in after I get Sophia down for a nap. My to-do list is unquestionably out of control. Besides quality time I need to squeeze in with my daughter, I apparently need to have a shopping spree. No way can I do it all.

That’s when Landon begins talking about the sex-potential of the trip. I whisper-yell my sex-boundaries, with the volume cranked up so Sophia doesn’t hear. Landon and I are on such completely different wavelengths at the moment. But obviously I can’t explain that. Not now. I just need to get to England.

Just as I’m about to hang up with Landon, a car starts backing into me in the drive-thru.

“Fuck!” I drop the phone, hang up, and start screaming for the person in front of me to stop their car. Thankfully, just before their bumper collides with my hood, the car stops rolling.

That was way too close for comfort. And I hate it when I’m human and swear in front of my daughter. Mom-fail #35867.

“Mama, is my mac and cheese ready?” Sophia asks.

“Soon, sweet pea, soon.”

I get our food and we eat as we drive, the chorus of Let It Go non-ironically blaring as I swing by the bank, pick up my uniform from the dry cleaners, then pull into Jiffy Lube for a quick oil change.

The last thing I want to do is leave my mom with the car when I’m out of the country, only to have it blow up on her. Which I know is dramatic but everything feels dramatic at the moment.

But honestly, the thing I’m most worried about at the moment is this whole thing blowing up in my own face.





Landon


Later, Claire calls me, calmly stating that, while she wishes she could swing by for a credit card and do some shopping, her responsibilities lie elsewhere. She asks if I would be so kind as to have a personal shopper pick up a wardrobe for her, considering I have “gobs of cash.”

“Uh, of course. That’s no problem,” I tell her. “I just thought women like to shop, you know, try on shoes while sipping white wine?” I have vague memories of my ex-girlfriend doing something similar. Perhaps, though, it isn’t every woman’s desire.

“Right, well … I’m not most women.”

“I never said you were. God, woman, is everything okay?” I can’t have her getting cold feet before we’ve even left the bloody country.

“It’s fine. I just almost got in an accident and it rattled me.”

“Okay, well, I’m glad you’re okay. It would have been tricky to explain my fiancée is in the hospital or some other mess.” When she doesn’t laugh, I get to the point. “I’ll see you in the morning. Just text me your sizes and I’ll get them to a personal shopper.”

“Okay, Landon. Ten tomorrow. Oh, and we need to use the flight to quiz one another. I was thinking I don’t know anything about you ... and if we’re gonna pull this off, we need to know everything. Even the things that aren’t true.”

She’s right, of course. We need to give the appearance of the perfect couple, better than Geoffrey and Fiona.

“We’ll be fine,” I reassure her. “And we’ll have plenty of time on the flight to do all sorts of things.”

“Is your mind always in the gutter?”

“Constantly.”



When I pick up Claire the next day, I’m horny as hell. I played cards last night, of course, but I didn’t take anyone back to my room to bang. I can’t think of the last time I didn’t have sex after I won a hundred grand. Usually, I can’t keep the women off me after I win big.

But last night I kept getting cock-blocked by images of Claire.

Her long legs, her soft skin, her tits so perfect, and her ass bare.

Fucking bollocks, I need her again. Smiling, I wonder if maybe she’ll let me take her into her apartment for a quickie before we head to the airport. My cock twitches at the idea of it.

But, as the limousine pulls up to her condo, I see she’s already on the curb waiting for me.

No quick fuck for me. That’s fine. Maybe she’ll be interested in joining the mile-high club with me.

The driver steps out and opens her door; she slides in, a canvas tote bag her only luggage.

“You packed light,” I say, taking in her slim shape in the stretchy pants she has on. An oversized tee shirt and baggy cardigan sweater, along with a pair of worn Converse tennis shoes to complete the I’m not trying to impress anyone look.