Knot so Lucky (The holidates series Book 2)

eleanor, yesterday

“It’s open,” I yell over my shoulder, zipping the last item into my suitcase.

The door swings open as Millie bursts into my apartment. She’s feral, holding up a bottle of pink champagne in one hand and a stack of ones in the other.

“Vegas, baby,” she shouts, shaking her hips.

“Whooooo,” I yell back, arms lifting in the air as I do a little dance.

We deserve this. We’ve both been busting our asses at the salon we work at, each of us taking on extra clients, working with zero days off to save for our future salon and spa. But even boss bitches need a weekend off. And there’s nothing better than a trip to Sin fucking City.

Laughter spills out from both of us as she sashays toward me, holding out the bottle.

“Pre-party is now commencing, bitch. Get the cups.”

She doesn’t have to ask me twice. I’m already moving quickly, walking into the kitchen of my apartment before I grab two glasses and tossing my words over my shoulder.

“The Uber will be here in fifteen minutes, so we’re shooting the champs and then maintaining until we get off the plane. Because I am not missing the best fucking weekend we’re ever having because we’re too drunk to drive a rental car.”

“Deal.” She laughs.

I set the mismatched glasses in front of me on the counter. She’s smiling, manhandling the cork as I scrunch my face, anticipating the thing that makes me squeal.

The pop sounds, my shoulders jump, and Millie laughs as the bubbles cascade over the rim.

“Oh shit,” I breathe out, tossing her a kitchen towel.

“For you…” she silly sings, filling my cup, uncaring of the mess before she adds, “And for me.”

We lock eyes as she places the Moët bottle on the counter and picks up her glass for a toast. But I go first.

“To meeting famous DJs who fly you out for lavish Fourth of July weekends and let you bring a plus-one.”

There are wingmen, and then there’s my Millie Boobie Brown, as I affectionately call her. She always seems to stumble into the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow—aka a hot dude—every single time she tries to ensure I get lucky.

Millie winks and raises her glass even higher, adding her own toast.

“Here’s to the best weekend of our lives, Eleanor Roosevelt. Because what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Let’s get slutty, buddy.”

We’re standing on the cracked pavement between the Strip and downtown in front of a shitty pink motel with a half-lit no vacancy sign and neon palm tree. And apparently, whose biggest flex is that a celebrity from the fifties slept there once.

The minute we drove up in the rental car, we both knew this had to be a mistake. And after meeting the smarmy check-in manager in the claustrophobia-inducing lobby, we were further validated.

I blink twice more, staring over at a green half-filled pool before my head turns. My eyes locked on Millie’s profile.

“This doesn’t look like the pictures.”

She bites her lip, her brows almost touching her forehead.

“That’s an understatement.”

“Millie Rock…this place—” My duffel lifts in the air as I swing my arm, motioning toward the fucking Bates Motel. “This is not a hotel with an H. It’s a motel with a fucking M for murder. I’m pretty sure, based on the smell, there’s a fucking dead body in one of these rooms.”

“Yeah,” she breathes out as she turns to look at me, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I should message the girl I booked it with. This can’t be right—”

My eyes pop open as I cut her off. “You booked through a travel agent? Amazing. Call them. They can fix this.”

A car horn honks, drawing my attention to the street, the one we’re literally standing next to on the sidewalk that’s littered with last night’s bottles and old cigarettes.

A guy leans out his car’s window and yells, “Ten bucks,” as he makes lewd gestures with his tongue.

“Okay,” I press, looking back at her, and add with sarcasm, “Call like, right now. As much as getting eaten out by a guy with no teeth sounds like the perfect Vegas adventure…I’m gonna pass on catching dry rot. Plus, a tenny seems steep for his sample skill set.” I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “Can we get the fuck out of here, please?”

She winces, then shakes her head.

“Why are you doing that? Millie, why is your face doing that?”

She lets out a whoosh of breath before she rushes her words out in a long, rambled stream of consciousness.

“It’s Fourth of July weekend. We’re never finding a room. Everything was booked weeks ago when I called…even this place. I was stoked when we got this room. And I can’t call her because she’s not an agent. I met her on TikTok. She’s more like a travel blogger, kind of. Basically, she made a video that was like hotels to stay at based on your astrological sign… You know I’m a Sagittarius, and we love adventure, so I thought off the Strip would be fun. And the pictures I saw online looked nostalgic, not hazardous—”

Oh. My. God.

I’m already looking down at my phone for available hotel rooms as she adds, “When’s the last time you had a tetanus shot?”

My eyes search the screen, coming up empty left, right, and center. Fuck. But still, I lift my head, a grin on my face.

“You sure you don’t want to take Hey Mr. DJ up on his offer to stay with him and the other groupies?” I breathe out, staring back at her, a row of red sold-out labels littering my phone screen.

“Umm, pass. Plus, where would you go? My blow-job skills aren’t that impressive. There’s no way I am carrying the weight for both of us. I’m more of a pretend blow job while I actually jerk you off kind of girl.”

I laugh. Fair point.

“Well then.” I shrug. “We better hope the guy who runs this place doesn’t have a creepy guy who stabs us in the shower. Because it’s us, possible murder, and the cockroaches tonight. Which one of our signs is best suited for that?”

She chuckles and winks as she wiggles the hotel key card between her fingers.

“Yours. Geminis are basically sociopaths.”

The lock clicks just before the door swings open, and Millie and I let out matching whooshes of breath.

Our eyes meet, and we nod at the same time as I say, “We should start drinking again.”

Bass. Deep vibrating bass shakes my fucking soul as my head whips side to side. I’m tipsy and sweaty, dancing on top of a speaker in the balmy summer Vegas weather.

It’s exactly how I pictured this weekend, which is a perfect upgrade of the day.

People are singing at the top of their lungs, bodies moving in rhythm, some too close because there’s no room and others because the night’s taken an even better turn for them.

“Elle,” Millie screams up at me, motioning to the bar.

I smile and nod as I squat to a seat and slide off the speaker.

“Shots?” she yells again.

So, I yell back, “Fuck yes.”

We make our way, arm in arm, laughing and talking too loud toward the bar at the far end of the outdoor area. Our bodies are still warm from the last time we were here downing shots. But that’s the fun of Vegas. Getting drunk and in the best kind of trouble.

I’m fanning myself as Millie bellies up to the wooden top, leaning halfway over and calling the bartender’s attention. The music’s lower over here, so I can hear her better.

“Are we hanging with Tito or his friend Jacky D?” she throws out, looking back at me, smiling brightly.

I chuckle. “Tito’s. Jack makes me feisty. You know that.”

Millie shrugs, but as her shoulders relax, I watch her eyes widen. My brows draw together, lips parting as I’m about to ask her what’s wrong, but my words catch in my throat because a deep masculine voice rumbles quietly in my ear, exploding goose bumps up my neck.

“I vote for Jack. I bet feisty looks good on you.”

The smell of hot fucking dude infiltrates my nose. Whoever’s behind me is wearing the kind of cologne that pisses you off when the face doesn’t match the scent.

I start to turn around, biting my lip as I think, Please be pretty, please be fucking pretty. But I barely get my face sideways before his lips meet my cheek, giving me a small peck.

Oh, hello.

I should be offended. But maybe it’s the liquor because I’m the opposite. I’m grinning, especially since he says something cute.

“Excuse you,” he whispers as if aghast, before drawing his head back. “If you want me to kiss you, you have to ask. What kind of guy do you take me for? I’m a good boy.”

Oh, his charm game’s competing at elite level.

I’m about to turn around to get a good look at Mr. Adorable when I feel someone on my other side slip their very large hand into mine.

What the fuck?

My head immediately snaps in that direction, but the grin I’m wearing turns into a smile. Because staring back at me are sexy brown eyes attached to a face that most definitely coaxes panties off with only a smirk and a suggestion.

He’s only wearing the smirk now, but I can see the suggestion hanging in the air.

Tall, dark, and handsome winks, and like the fucking audacious big dick he clearly is, he lifts my hand before softly biting my fucking knuckle and says, “Your lips are pretty.”

Millie blows out a small whistle, making me chuckle. Because yeah. DAMN. I stare up at my hand before I look back at stranger danger.

“Didn’t you ever learn to keep your hands to yourself?” I tease.

He unlocks his fingers from mine, still owning me with that smirk as I turn to look between both of my Friday night suitors.

“What in the threesome—” I whisper to myself and Millie, feeling her hand me my shot from over my shoulder. I raise my hand, accepting it as I stare between the two handsome giants.

“Is this the part where I choose which one of you is my favorite version of a one-night stand?”

They look at each other, smiling before they look back at me and shake their heads. Mr. Adorable offers a different option with a wink.

“Who said you have to choose?”

Millie clinks her shot to mine, whispering, “Jackpot,” before we down them, and the night gets just a little bit more interesting.