Tied (Tangled, #4)(19)

My mother’s head whips around. “Oh, really, John?”

He coughs. And clears his throat. “Yes . . . well . . . you know . . . for the sports betting. You know how I enjoy sports betting, Anne. And we don’t have that . . . here . . . in New York.”

Nice save, Pops. Nice save.

My mother nods skeptically. “Uh-huh.”

At which point the old man deflects my mother’s negative attention toward a more obvious target. Which would be me, of course.

“You boys have fun this weekend, but be safe. Remember the last time we were in Vegas, Andrew? Let’s not have a repeat.”

When I was seventeen, my father had business in Vegas. He and my mother thought it would just be a wonderful idea to make a family trip out of it. But I was seventeen. A time in a guy’s life when he doesn’t even want to admit that he knows his family—let alone spend time with them. So, while my parents, Alexandra, and Steven were off visiting the Hoover Dam, I was forced to occupy myself with other . . . activities.

“I’ve said it a thousand times, Dad—I didn’t know she was the ambassador’s daughter.” They should make them wear dog tags or tattoos on their foreheads or something. I roll my eyes and say to no one in particular, “One international incident and they never let you forget it.”

Kate appears at my side. Her gorgeous face is contemplative, digesting what she has just heard. “Do I want to know?”

Don’t even have to think about this one. “It’s probably best if you don’t.”

She nods. “Good enough for me.”

Next to arrive is Erin Burrows. She’s still my secretary, but in the last two years she’s become much more. At times my schedule is so packed, Kate talks to Erin more than she talks to me. At other times, when clients want both members of the dynamic duo at the conference table, Erin takes over James duty. Even though she’s technically an employee, Erin calls it like it is. In other words, she’s a friend. One of the gang. And cool to hang out with. So when this soiree was slapped together, Kate and I couldn’t imagine not inviting her to come along.

After greeting James, Erin joins the rest of us near the kitchen table. She’s changed her hair. It’s shorter, straight, and has tasteful honey-colored streaks.

Kate approves. “Your hair looks great, Erin.”

She fingers her tresses. “Thanks. I had it done yesterday. I’m pulling out all the stops—this is my weekend to meet Mr. Right. New York men are hopelessly defective. I think Nevada will offer more suitable options.”

Erin dates a lot, but as far as I know, she’s never been in a serious relationship. Las Vegas isn’t exactly the smartest place to find a stellar boyfriend, however. Might as well try your luck at AA or Gamblers Anonymous.

Sex-addict meetings are always a safe bet.

Steven wanders over. “Take my advice, Erin—stay single. Life is less complicated that way.”

Alexandra flinches. Even though he’s one of my oldest, dearest friends, I have the urge to reach into his mouth and rip out his tongue. That’s not wrong, is it?

I let it go. For now.

Matthew offers sagely, “Keep your head up, Erin—it’ll happen. When the time is right, when you least expect it.”

“Yeah—I’m staying optimistic. You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find a prince.”

Alexandra responds, “They’re all frogs, Erin. Just try and find one with the least amount of warts.”

I elbow Jack. “If we’re talking about the genital variety, you should talk to O’Shay. You’re kind of the in-house expert on those, right man?”

He flips me the bird.

Then the last member of our traveling circus arrives. Care to hazard a guess?

“Yo, party people in the house! Who’s ready to rock?!”

Yep—it’s the douche bag. For Kate’s sake, I try not to hate him as much as I used to—but some things just can’t be helped. It’s like when you have the tail end of a cold and one loogie hangs on to back of your throat. You cough, you hawk, but no matter what you do, you just can’t f**king get rid of it.

That’s Billy Warren. My personal, annoying ball of phlegm.

Kate and Dee-Dee squeal and hug the dumbass.

He hugs them back. “I’ve missed you guys.”

Kate says, “But you didn’t have to fly all the way out here. You could have just met us in Vegas.”

“And miss the preparty? No way.”

I was hoping his plane would get hijacked by bloodthirsty terrorists. The kind that like to cut off body parts and FedEx them back to the family, one by one. Oh, well. There’s always the return flight. It’s important to stay positive about these things.

His attention turns toward me. His eyes look me up and down stiffly. “Evans.”

I raise my chin. “Warren.”

He turns around and zeroes in on James. Warren scoops him up and exclaims, “What are you feeding this kid, Kate? He’s so much bigger than the last time I saw him.”

Yeah. Shocking. ’Cause babies don’t usually grow or anything.

Moron.

“I brought you presents, tadpole. A shiny, noisy set of drums. You’re gonna freak when you see it.”

James giggles. To the casual observer, it might seem that my son is actually fond of the f**kface. But I know better. Animals can sense when a person’s a few cards shy of a full deck. When they’re on the lower end of the bell curve. Kids can do that too. James doesn’t like Warren—he pities him. Because he knows that, even at two years old, he’s smarter than Jackass can ever hope to be.