Give Me More (Salacious Players Club #3) (58)

“It was never because I was judging you,” I say, not ready to give him more than that yet.

“What now?” he asks, his voice still laced with impatience.

“We start our drive back home tomorrow. I don’t know what will happen when we get back to Briar Point. That’s up to you and Iz.”

“What do you want?”

This whole trip has been about what I want. But if he’s asking, then I’ll tell him. “I don’t want this to end.” I force myself to swallow. This is so fucking uncomfortable to say out loud, but I’m going to royally fuck this up if I don’t try express myself. “And I want a second chance.”

His eyes find mine again as his clenched jaw relaxes. But as soon as the hard look is gone, it comes back. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he whispers.

Everything in me shatters and I feel like that lump of broken flesh on the floor again, just like I was in my dream. Then, Drake stares at me as he tugs Isabel a little closer. “But I agree. I don’t want this to be over either.”

I know he’s talking about Isabel, and maybe I should feel territorial, snatch her back into my arms, and remind him who she belongs to, but I brought this on myself. Plus, I’m holding on to hope that if he still wants her, there’s a chance he still wants me too.





Rule #25: Sometimes you have to take the long way home.





Isabel



There are two thousand miles between Nashville and Briar Point. And so far, every single one is awkward and quiet. After the first day of driving, we stopped for the night in a hotel, but Drake insisted on his own room.

On the second day of our long drive, I sensed a hesitation in our traveling. We made more frequent stops. More detours, and I think Hunter drove slower than he usually does. What should have taken two twelve-hour driving days is quickly turning into three.

No one wants to return to reality. No one wants this fantasy to end, but we’re also too hesitant to talk about it or touch each other.

By the morning of the third day, my period is gone, and I’m starting to feel like a feral cat in heat, and I can’t take another second of this insufferable tension. We stop for gas in northern Arizona, and while I’m waiting by the pump and the guys are inside, I see a road sign ahead that makes me pause.

Los Angeles, 318 miles.

Las Vegas, 107 miles.

I’ve never been to Vegas. The idea plants itself in my head, and I keep brushing it away. We have to go back home at some point. We can’t keep avoiding reality. No matter how many detours we take or stops we make, the impending reality is waiting for us, no matter what we do.

“You driving?” Drake asks as he returns from the gas station and hands me my energy drink.

“Yep,” I reply, eagerly jumping into the driver’s seat. Hunter returns a moment later to find Drake and me in the front seat. With a shrug, he climbs in the back.

“Thanks, babe. We’re only about four hours away.”

“Mh-hm,” I mumble.

But that idea is still implemented in my mind, and once I get an idea, it’s impossible to get it out, until I just do it. So, as we get back on the freeway, I’m faced with that fork in the road—literally.

West…or north?

It’s the memory of the night handcuffed to the bench that turns the steering wheel on the car. It’s the feeling that we’ve only scratched the surface of something. And I’m too afraid that we won’t ever go down this road again once we get back home. So I’m putting all my chips on the table now.

“Hey, Red…where are you going?” Hunter asks from the back seat, when he notices me taking the wrong exit.

“I’m going to Vegas,” I answer with a shrug.

“But we don’t live in Vegas,” he replies.

“I know that.” I glance over at Drake, who’s staying quiet through this, chewing on his bottom lip in contemplation. “But we have everything worked out with Drake’s apartment. We don’t need to go back to work until Friday. And I’m just not ready to go home yet.”

There’s a subtle weight in the car now. Because everyone knows exactly what it is I’m not ready to go back to. After a few minutes of driving toward Sin City, Drake finally jumps in.

“I’ll look up a hotel,” he says as he pulls out his phone.

I do a silent little dance of excitement in my seat. And I hope, this time, he actually does find one room.





Drake finds us a hotel on the strip for two nights. It’s a double room with two beds, and it’s perfect. After checking in, I jump in the shower to get cleaned up and send the guys down to the bar after they get dressed. I’m a woman on a mission.

I brought a long black gown on our trip, in case we had a formal event to go to. It’s hanging safely in the garment bag in the hotel room. And after I curl my hair, apply the makeup that’s sat mostly unused all week—except for the essentials: mascara and lip gloss—I slip the sleek black fabric over my body. It hugs my chest, low cut enough to show off my barely-there cleavage.

Once I’m dolled up and ready, I head for the elevator with a subtle pulse of nerves just under my skin. I squeeze my clutch close to my body, and when the elevator pings on the casino floor, the doors open to reveal Hunter and Drake waiting in their all-black suits. My men.