Knot so Lucky (The holidates series Book 2)

eleanor

We’ve been in the back of the car for what feels like an hour because Crew and I are entrenched in silence as we drive to his penthouse. Apparently, the hotel room I thought was a five-star honeymoon suite was his actual house.

It seems wrong to go back to the scene of the crime, but alas, here I am.

My phone is still vibrating, more messages flooding in. I know my sister and Millie are having a field day. He was such a dick. And they ate it up. Because if the charming, cocky guy is my kryptonite, the asshole dickhead is my 3:00 a.m. “you up” destiny. So says my sketchy hookup record.

I sneak my cell from my purse, looking up discreetly to make sure he’s not looking at me before I open the message thread.

Samantha: Hundred bucks says she folds in the first week and does the dirty with him.

Mills: Oh, that’s a guarantee. There’s no bet there.

Samantha: A week is generous now that I think about it…

Mills: I give her two days, tops. If there’s anything we know about Elsinore it’s that there’s no if you’re a bird, I’m a bird shit—she’s an if you’re a turd, I’m a pooper scooper kind of girl. And Crew Matthews is definitely a little shit.

My fingers type so fast I have to correct three typos before I hit Send.

Me: The ways in which you are both DEAD wrong. Neither of us is remotely interested in even sitting next to each other at this point. He’s not even that hot in person. Forget about the fact that his personality cancels out any interest I had from before.

Samantha: Mmmkay…

Samantha: *GIF of an old lady on a stripper pole

Mills: ha ha that’s going to be your pussy in a week feeling dusty and thirsty ya’ whore. No way you share a space with that piece of meat and not cave. I have no faith in your willpower.

Samantha: Zero.

My mouth falls open as I laugh, drawing Crew’s attention next to me. So, I give him a mildly dirty look, making him look away as I go back to my conversation.

Me: I have self-control.

Samantha: Funny. Earlier it was—He’s not even that hot in person. His personality sucks. Now it’s—I have self-control…which is it, Elle?

Mills: Ha ha ha. Caught.

Me: Shut up. I’ll bet both of you I can last the whole month without even touching him. Whoever wins gets a thousand bucks.

Samantha: Done. But you might get fired. So you’re not good for the money.

Oh nice. Jerk.

Mills: I want your new sparkly boots WHEN I WIN.

I gasp. The gravity of this bet deserved the gasp. Again, Crew’s eyes meet mine as I glance up before huffing a “What?” at him so as to not even remotely let on that we’re talking about him.

I splurged on those boots. After she and I had watched Urban Cowboy for the millionth time and then happened upon them at an upscale thrift store in San Francisco. I negotiated for over an hour and threatened to cut the leash of some woman’s dog and set it free in the Bay because she tried to butt in and offer more.

Those Betsey Johnson rhinestone cowgirl boots are my fucking precious, and I’m their Gollum.

Me: Now you know you’re going to lose, Mills. I would go to jail for those boots. I almost did. That Pomeranian was about to be a free doggie.

Samantha: Perfect, then wagering…I don’t know…admitting to Mom, to her face, that you accused her fucking the whole cul-de-sac, shouldn’t be a problem.

My eyes almost pop out of my head.

Me: You terrible whore of a sister. Karma’s giving you a yeast infection for that treachery. You know I would rather chew glass than let our saint of a mother know what a menace she raised.

Me: You know what? You’re both on. If Crew Matthews touches me…

My forehead wrinkles as I specify, unfortunately thinking of all the parts on him he could touch me with.

Me: …If his giant cock touches my holy grail then I will become the worst shoeless daughter in history.

Samantha: Fingers count too.

Mills: And his mouth.

“Oh my god.” I inhale sharply before waving off his curious face.

Me: If any part of his body sexually touches my body, I lose.

Samantha: Mills…friends too?

Mills: Yep…his friends count.

Me: Not the Tweedles. How could you? You fucking hate me.

Me: Then you know what…I hate you dirty cockblockers too and I hope you both get syphilis.

I can hear their scream-laughs in my mind. Because that’s exactly what they did the minute they read that. And it’s making me smile until I look up directly into Crew’s face, who narrows his eyes.

“What’s so funny?”

Nothing you ever get to know. My head draws back, my eyes looking him up and down, searching for my words carefully.

“None of your business.”

It’s not inventive, but it gets to the point.

“You were talking about me, weren’t you?”

He looks amused as he reaches for my phone. But I snatch it away.

“Are you crazy? Don’t try to take my phone. Also, no. You weren’t even mentioned.”

Crew bites his lip, tilting his head as he stares at me. So, I shrug, really trying to sell my bullshit, but I can feel it the minute he decides to call my bluff.

I squeal, jumping in my seat as my phone is snatched from my hands.

“Give it back,” I yell, but Crew laughs, nabbing my chin and holding my face in place.

“Dickkkk move,” I grind out, making a hundred weird crazy expressions, trying to fuck up the facial recognition.

But it works faster than legs spread for tattooed guys.

“You’re so rude,” I rush out, trying to unlock my seat belt. But I can’t see what I’m doing because he’s holding me away with his palm outstretched on my face.

“Who’s Patty with the Fatty?” he levels. “And New Year’s Chris… Thick Fingers Steve… Why do you have so many guys in your phone?”

I smack his arm with one hand, trying to undo the belt with my other as I yell.

“You really are a walking red flag. This is an invasion of my privacy, you asshat.”

“Whatever,” he snaps back, keeping my face covered with his big-ass mitt of a hand as he adds, “Wives shouldn’t keep secrets from their husbands.”

“I’ll make sure to tell the next guy everything.”

The chuckle he lets out makes me ravenous for murder, coupled with the horror that he’s going to see the damn bet. I’ll die. I’ll fucking jump straight out of this car onto the freeway, tuck-and-roll style, and wish for the best.

He cannot see that I was talking about his “giant cock” and that “I had self-control.” He doesn’t get to know I think he’s hot still. Shit.

“Crew,” I growl, wrestling with his arm. “If you don’t give my phone back right now, I will hold a pillow over your head tonight. You’ll sleep with the damn angels.”

He whistles, finally letting me go and tossing my phone back onto my lap.

“You’re so violent. You should work on that.”

In answer, I smack his arm once more for good measure, but it only serves to make him laugh louder.

Damn that laugh. It’s disarming and sexy as hell. It’s like hot fudge on vanilla ice cream. All melty and decadent, and it makes me want to lick him. But I won’t because he’s an asshole, and those aren’t keto-friendly… Also, I love my mom and my boots.

God, why did Millie have to be right. I have the worst taste in men. Because I can’t deny that there’s a tiny piece of me that is turned on right now.

I string my words together, brushing my hair out of my face.

“I’m convinced that whatever I saw in you last night only exists with tequila goggles.”

His face slowly lowers to mine as he leans over, suddenly invading my space. I hold my breath, swallowing as his minty warmth brushes over my skin.

“Maybe you just need a reminder. Dirty things happen in the light of day too…but that means we’d have to break your little ‘is she or isn’t she a brotherfucker’ rule.”

Nooo… I can feel myself turning into weak Superman. It’s the mix of sexy and shitty. It’s doing me under.

“Shut up,” I whisper, pressing my hand directly over his mouth, and quote my favorite movie. “You shut your mouth when you’re talking to me.”

But Crew presses his face closer into my hand, turning his head and growling like an animal as he takes a bite of the side of my palm.

The way in which my thighs squeeze together gives away just how much that turned me on. And if it didn’t, I fucking shiver.

“Ow.”

“Liar,” he mumbles before pressing a lingering kiss to the spot. “You know what I love about Vegas, Wild Card?”

That’s the third time he’s called me that. But that’s not the only thing throwing me off. I can’t foresee where he’s going with what he just asked, not that I actually care because Crew’s mouth on me has me all hot and flustered.

God, give me strength, or just let me break my legs so I’m not running straight for his dick.

Crew smirks, moving back into his seat as I shake my head and answer his question.

“No, what do you love about Vegas?”

“Betting on the house…because it never loses.”

What? Betting on the… oh my god. My brows draw together as my hands scramble for my phone, swiping it open.

Holy. Shit.

Are you kidding me? He made a new group message.

One that includes him.

Son of a bitch.

QB with the giant cock: Fuck around and find out, ladies. Old bets are dead. Here’s the new bet. A thousand bucks says I have her screaming my name by midnight tonight. If I don’t, each day I fail you earn another thousand. If I win, Eleanor deletes her roster in her phone.

Mills: That’s 30k… You’re fucking on, buddy. For the sisterhood Elle—DO NOT CAVE!!!

Samantha: Now we’re talking. Eleanor…you better not fail this mission! Be like Tom Cruise. Millie, we’re splitting it… I could do a lot of damage with fifteen thousand.

Eleanor has left the chat.