“You can stay with me,” I remind him.
“She wants to stay at a hotel,” Dad replies. “Give her boys their space. Keep me from nagging you too much, I think. And the Beverly Wilshire is slightly better than that townhouse you moved into.”
“This from the guy who lived in a shack at the beach just so he could flirt with a girl.” My dad bought a teardown semi-detached house so that he could live next to my mom when he was playing in San Diego.
They have since bought both sides of the place and turned it into one, gorgeous home. We grew up there until we were twelve and Dad retired. Then we moved back to Canada and only spent summers there. Now he and Mom spend winters there, to avoid the snow in Canada so they can pop in and watch our games whenever they want.
“Dad, what are the chances the media know the Quake is here?” I ask him.
“In Vegas?” Dad replies. “Pretty high. I mean at least the hockey blogs and stuff. Why?”
“I just… I just met someone and it felt… too easy.”
There’s a pause and I wait outside the suite door for him to respond. I’m holding my breath. I really tend to not talk to my dad or mom about my personal life. That changed when I went temporarily insane because of the split with Anne-Marie. Mom and Dad showed up to fix the mess I’d made, and I confessed my darkest secret to them. That I’m bisexual. They told me they loved me unconditionally. Always. So I guess now I’m making a bigger effort to open up to them.
“Trust your gut, Crew,” Dad replies. “Even if it’s hyper-active because of the Anne-Marie drama. It might just mean you’re not ready to meet someone new.”
"Oh, I'm not," I promise. "I am not settling down ever again. This is just… I mean I want some fun, but this guy felt like he… I don't know. He came on strong."
“He?” Dad repeats and I hold my breath. “Crew, I don’t know… he could just be confident and know what he wants and it’s Vegas so he’s you know, just letting it all out there. Or he could be a reporter for a blog or TMZ Sports or some shit. You never know. But if it feels off, it’s best to trust your instincts.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“And for the record, you will get serious about someone again one day,” he tells me. “And I want you to. And if it’s a guy, I don’t want you to think you have to hide that. You don’t. And I will have your back.”
"Thanks, Dad." I smile and pull my key card from my pocket. "But you don't have to worry about that. I'm not getting serious about anyone. Ever."
“Crew… then she wins.” I know he’s referring to my ex.
“Nope. I win,” I reply as I swing open the door and find Tate Garrison and Duke Hendrix standing at the bar in our living room pouring tequila into a blender filled with fruit. “Gotta go. Boys are here.”
“Okay. Have fun! Make good choices! Or bad ones with no consequences!”
"Okay, Dad."
I hang up. Tate grins at me over the blender. “Heard you went to the gym, nerd. Thought we’d make you a fruit smoothie.”
“Vegas style!” Duke yells.
Tate turns on the blender and my laugh is drowned out. I walk over and happily take the drink from Tate after he pours it.
“Let the games begin!”
Chapter3
Liv
“You look hot,” Tenley insists and swats at my hand as I tug on the top of this scandalously skimpy strapless dress. It’s hers and I have no idea why I let her talk me into wearing it. “Stop fussing and drink your drink.”
I put the chocolate espresso martini to my lips and sip. Tenley has already finished one and is on her second. She's wearing an equally teeny dress but in a loud fluorescent pink color. Her long thick blonde hair is slicked up into a high, lush ponytail. Her makeup looks like a fairy barfed glitter all over her but in a good way. She glows. She looks like a supermodel. I'm pretty sure I look like her little sister playing dress-up. I feel like it. And I keep wanting to rub my eyes but that will smear all the black liner Mallory spent half an hour applying on me.
I sip the martini again. It’s dangerously delicious. I’m not a big drinker. I stick to wine and beer normally because when I was seventeen Tenley and my other cousin Harlow snuck a pitcher of spicy margaritas off the outdoor bar at the family Fourth of July barbecue and I got drunk for the first time and barfed for three hours. Spicy margarita out the nose? Zero stars. Do not recommend.
"So, like, are you sure you're good?" Tenley asks over the din of the music. "Because I'm cool with heading back to the room, ordering room service, and?—"
“No you aren’t,” I interrupt and swallow down the anger I feel bubbling up toward my nearest and dearest relative. “You’ve been looking forward to this trip since Tate mentioned it at the beginning of the summer. You invited yourself, without even asking him. You had a bucket list of things to do on this trip. Dance till dawn, pool shenanigans, find an Elvis impersonator, and possibly get a tattoo.”
“I know, but like, now that we’re here?—”