“Is there a reason Sammy is driving in the opposite direction of the airport?”

I need another beer. Need something to help numb the nonsense in my head telling me I really want this. Want her.

Fucking Rylee.

“I’m not that drunk. I do know the difference between east and west,” Becks says as he tips his own bottle back again. “You can’t pull one over on me.”

“She’s got a hot friend,” I repeat, hoping the idea will shut him the fuck up and let me enjoy my buzz.

“Her ass better be fucking blazing and her tits better be perfection if you’re actually dragging women—walking vaginas—to Vegas with us … land of free-balling, free-wheeling, The Hangover fucked-upness. Seriously, dude? You’ve lost your fucking marbles. Or handed over your balls.” He shrugs with a chuckle. “They’re about the same size.”

“Fuck off, Daniels.” I grunt at him as I lay my head back, the black interior of the limo all starting to fuse together as it spins like a fucking car doing donuts on the track.

Or the Tilt-A-Whirl at the carnival with Rylee.

How I wouldn’t like to take her for a spin right now.

“Fucker? Are you listening to me?” Becks’s voice breaks through my thoughts. The ones Rylee commandeers even when she’s not even around.

“Yeah, what?” I angle my head over so that I can see him. “I was just thinking about … stuff.”

“Dude, get the voodoo pussy out of your head for a second.”

“Becks, there’s nothing more I’d like right now than to have my head in her wet, willing voodoo.”

“You are a disappointment to all men! Not only did you break the no barebacking pact, but you are fucking grinning about it.”

“I need another beer if I have to listen to your whiny ass. Shit, we’re going to the City of Sin and I’m putting a hottie on your arm … so quit your bitching, pact broken or not.”

“I know you’re riding without a saddle now because it’s obviously fucking with your head,” he says, holding up his hands to stop the retort he knows from years of friendship is on my tongue. The one about how much I want one of my two heads fucked with.

“Really chaps your hide, doesn’t it,” I say, fighting the laugh I want to release because fuck, even if I’m well on my way to getting drunk, I still know that was pretty damn witty.

“Fucking hilarious,” he says sarcastically, shaking his head. “Sooooo … how are you going to handle Vegas with a chick on your arm?”

I’m instantly irritated at the comment. And now I’m wondering why. What is it about what Becks says that angers me?

“Don’t look at me like that!” he says, and I can tell he’s getting into Becks-knows-all mode. Fuck! I so don’t need this right now. “Vegas is usually a flesh feast, so tell me how that’s going to go over with Wonder-Rylee there? Did you think of that, cowboy?”

I close my eyes and emit a sliver of a laugh. “The only all-you-can-eat-buffet I’ll be fucking dining at will be Ry’s Thighs.” I quirk my eyebrows up at him, challenge given. Got a comeback to that one now, fucker? “Besides, I wouldn’t doubt she’d throw down if someone got in her way. She fights for what’s hers.”

And the words are out there before I can fucking take them back. Goddamn alcohol in my brain.

“What’s hers? Did you just officially acknowledge—admit—what-the-fuck-ever that you’re taken?” Becks spits out his beer. “Stop the car, Sammy!” he yells.

The limo swerves quickly to the side of the road and stops with a jerk. I know Sammy thinks Becks is gonna hurl. Did he really drink that fucking much? Lightweight.

Becks opens the door beside him and climbs out. “Hey, Wood?”

I’m confused by the amusement in his voice when he’s supposed to be getting sick. “Yeah?” I ask as I angle my head out to look at him, beer in hand, lights from passing cars flashing over his face.

“Feel that?” he says, lifting his face up to the sky. “That’s the fucking arctic chill right there!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He’s starting to ruin my buzz here so I’m getting pissed.

“Dude, you’re barebacking, we’re taking chicks to Vegas with us, and that has to mean Hell is most definitely freezing over. What in the fuck is this world coming to?”

I just shake my head at him. “Get in the car, Beckett. If I’m gonna be around a pussy, it sure as fuck needs to be one I can get enjoyable use out of … and you, my friend, are being one but hell if I’d enjoy you.”

He slides in the car next to me and just stares at me, a smirk on his mouth and amusement in his eyes.

Me and my fucking mouth.

“Okay, Sam, we’re good to go!” Becks says with a chuckle, and the car starts to take off.

I open the top of another beer. I think I’m going to need this to deal with him tonight. I’m not fucking hers. Becks is just out if his damn mind if he thinks I’m a kept man.

I’ll tire of her. I always do. Shit, one woman isn’t going to be able to change my MO. There’s not enough game in the world that can change this player.

We drive for a bit, both of us staring out the window to the world beyond until he finally breaks the silence. “Really?” he asks with a shake of his head, meeting my eyes. And I know what he’s asking. Are you sure? Is she really worth it? Is Rylee really going to Vegas with us?