The Hero + Vegas = No Regrets

I’ve never considered myself a weak man. I like to confront my problems head-on; avoidance is just another form of weakness. But there was no way I was going to share a ten-passenger Gulfstream with Sophia. I didn’t trust myself. So I made an excuse about a meeting and flew commercial to Vegas. On my own. With only the thought of Sophia for company.

I checked into my hotel suite, ignored the group chat going off every five seconds, took a shower, changed, and headed down to the private room where I booked dinner for us all. There’s no best man this weekend, but I’ve made sure we have transportation at our disposal, the restaurants are booked, and Leo’s favorite wine is available at all times. Bennett figured out the plane. Fisher has got VIP passes for every club in town, and Jack organized suites for everyone. We all have our part to play.

We’re here to celebrate our friend and brother getting married. I couldn’t be happier for him.

The Monday after the brunch where I met Sophia, we had our normal get-together. I kept my ear to the ground, waiting for Fisher to mention Sophia, but he didn’t. I know for a fact that if he were into her, I would have heard about it. I’m not sure if that makes my infatuation better or worse. Maybe she’s super into him and will be disappointed when nothing happens.

If I don’t speak to her again, I’ll never know. And despite the fact that avoiding Sophia reveals a weakness inside me I don’t want to confront, it’s taking all my strength to stay away.

I arrive at the private dining room in the restaurant early. I’m not putting name cards anywhere, but I want to make sure I’m seated at the other end of the table from Sophia. I pull three jewelry boxes out of my pocket and set them beside three of the place settings—a keepsake of the weekend. It’s a ploy to direct the women of the group to the seats farthest away from mine—a way to make sure Sophia’s not sitting near me tonight. That’s all. It’s not like I’m buying gifts for a woman I met once. It’s nothing like that.

At a bar in the corner of the room, I order a whisky neat. I’m going to need a couple of drinks to get me through tonight.

I tip back the whisky and enjoy the burn as it trails down my throat. That feels better already. But it doesn’t stop my pulse straining in my neck when I hear the rattle of the door handle.

I turn to see Bennett and Efa.

I slide my drink onto the table next to the seat I’ve claimed.

We greet each other and everyone get drinks. Fisher and Jack arrive together. They’re always together.

My heart begins to throb in my chest and I grip my glass unnecessarily tight.

She’ll be here in a minute.

I’m not sure what frightens me more: that I’ll feel the same need for her—the same visceral urge to possess her that I did when we first met—or that I won’t, and those feelings were a temporary, passing madness.

“You okay, Worth?” Efa asks. “You seem a little…”

“More uptight than usual?” Bennett suggests.

“I’m not sure you should be lobbing stones from where you’re standing in that glass house,” Efa replies.

Bennett grins and shrugs, then Fisher asks about the menu. I’ve escaped further scrutiny. For now.

The door opens and I know before I glance over that it’s her. My vision tunnels until Sophia is all I see. She shifts slightly in her tight black dress. Her collarbones are visible above the fabric and my fingertips heat with the need to press against them, up her neck, over her lips. Her blonde hair is up, with wavy tendrils framing her face, her lips a soft pink. Need coils in my gut.

What’s wrong with me?

What’s with this woman?

It’s like I’ve taken some kind of drug and my thoughts are no longer my own. I’m possessed. I have this unshakeable feeling I’m meant to be with her. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve thought about her way too much these last two weeks, even dreamt about her a couple of times, but I feel like I know her. Like she knows me.

But it’s all in my head.

Our gazes catch and her expression turns from anxious to happy. She steps toward me, places her hand on my shoulder, and without thinking, I place mine on her waist as we greet each other with a kiss on the cheek.

“Worth,” she says in my ear. Desire spreads through my veins. “You’re here.”

Suddenly I wish I hadn’t arranged the seating the way I did. I want her next to me. All night. All the time.

“You thought I wasn’t coming?” I like the fact she noticed I wasn’t on the plane. We’re a small group, so it’s not like my absence wasn’t obvious, but it still has me hoping that she’s thinking about me in the way I’m thinking about her.

Except I shouldn’t be hoping.

She’s meant for Fisher. Even if he’s not interested in her, she might have her sights set on him.

Her hand leaves my shoulder and reluctantly I pull my fingers from her waist.

She smiles up at me. “You weren’t on the plane.”

“I had a call,” I lie. “So I flew commercial. But I wasn’t going to miss this.”

She looks up at me, her head tilted, her gaze so intense I feel it in my bones. She doesn’t say a word. I’d pay a million bucks to know what she’s thinking.

“Let’s sit,” Fisher calls out, and the moment is broken.

Everyone heads to the table. I sit where I planned to. Sophia’s at the other end of the table, directly in my line of sight. Despite the distance between us, I still feel her in every cell of my body.

“What’s this?” Jules asks, holding up the navy velvet box.

There’s a bit of mumbling as Efa and Sophia discover their boxes. They didn’t act as the placeholders I’d hoped, but Sophia is still at the opposite end of the table from me. Not that it’s tempered my distraction.

“Just a small memento of the weekend,” I say.

“Worth!” Jules says, opening the box.

I glance down at my plate, but it takes everything I have not to stare at Sophia as she opens her box. Does she like it? Will she wear it? All I could see when I came across the necklace was Sophia—the blue of the sapphire a perfect match for her eyes.

“Oh god, Worth. It’s gorgeous,” Efa says. “Thank you.”

Jack groans. “Typical Worth, showing the rest of us up buying gifts.”

“I’m sure no one will mind if you buy more gifts for tomorrow,” I say.

I finally glance over at Sophia. She’s staring right at me. But she’s frowning. Is she angry? Without breaking eye contact, she stands and rounds the table toward me, holding the jewelry box.

Without thinking, I stand as she approaches. Her hand slide over my shoulder again and I pull in a breath, enjoying the heat of her palm She lifts up on tiptoes and presses a kiss to my cheek. I close my eyes in a long blink. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It’s so generous of you.”

I’m left speechless. I can’t move. She’s so close, I breathe in her scent of jasmine and honey. I feel the heat of her body under that black dress. I desperately want to pull her closer still and tell her how I feel—how I am completely bewitched by her.

She steps back. “Will you help me put it on?” She hands me the box and spins so her back is to me.

I feel myself lengthen. The things I want to do to this woman.

I’m vaguely aware that despite the fact we’re the only two people in the group standing, no one’s paying attention to either of us. That’s how I like it. I don’t need additional scrutiny at this moment. I take the necklace from its box.

“You shouldn’t feel you have to wear this now. I⁠—”

“I want to,” Sophia says, silencing me. There’s no doubt in her words.

I’m careful not to touch her as I drape the necklace around her neck and do up the clasp.

“Done,” I say. She spins back to face me.

“How does it look?” she asks.

I glance up at her eyes, down to her lips, and then to the necklace that sits so perfectly between her collarbones.

“You’re perfect,” I whisper.

Her mouth parts and she shakes her head. We’re silent for a beat. Eventually she says, “Anything but. But the necklace is. Thank you.”

She turns and I sit. My entire body is vibrating. I don’t know if I’m going to survive this weekend.

I’ll raise suspicion if I start downing shots at the table, but I need something to calm my nervous system. A cold shower is probably the healthier option, but not readily available.

I head to the bar in the main restaurant and order another whisky. This will make it better. It will make her fade into the background. I need to remember, I barely know this woman. She might torture small animals in her spare time. Or protest against women’s rights. She could be a monster. Except, I don’t think so.

Maybe I need to get laid. That’s what Leo’s always telling me. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this is a buildup of lust and I’m just channeling it toward Sophia.

“Hey,” a woman’s voice says from beside me.

I snap my head around. Sophia.

The exact person I’m trying to avoid.

“You getting extra drinks doesn’t seem fair.”

“What can I get you?” I ask.

She leans across me, her hand on my arm, and says to the bartender, “Can I get a shot of tequila?” She turns back to me. “What are you doing?”

“Drinking whisky. You?”

“But why here and not back at the table?”

I shake my head, like I don’t have an answer.

“I was on the way to the restrooms,” she says, though I haven’t asked. “It’s… a lot.” Her necklace catches my eye when she nods, and I stare at her collarbones.

What. Is. The. Matter. With. Me?

“A lot?” I ask, trying to follow her thread.

“The group. And Jules really wants me to like Fisher. And I want to focus on her wedding. Maybe she’s nervous and trying to distract herself by setting me up? I don’t know.”

“You don’t like Fisher?” I ask, intrigued whether there are things she’s not saying, lines to be read between.

She sighs as the bartender slides the tequila in front of her. She ignores my question and takes the shot in one.

She winces, still managing to look beautiful.

“I don’t know if it’s because you don’t seem to want to impress me, but it makes me want to… tell you stuff.”

How could she have read me so wrong? Not want to impress her? If I thought it would make me remotely interesting to her, I’d buy the whole town we’re standing in.

“What kind of stuff?” I ask.

She glances between my eyes and my lips, then takes my whisky from my hand and sips. Fuck. Watching her, her hands around the glass I’ve just been holding, it’s like she’s got her fingers around my dick. It shouldn’t be provocative, but it completely is.

Her lips are wet with whisky and I long to taste the heat.

“Everything,” she says eventually.

“Start with something,” I say, bracing myself for something terrible. What is it about me that makes me think the worst is always about to happen?

“I don’t like Fisher,” she confesses.

My muscles unlock, and I sigh with relief. “He’s a good guy.” Despite how I feel, I still need to defend my friend.

“Oh,” she says, her eyes wide, “I’m sure he is. I don’t mean I think he’s an awful person. I just don’t feel a connection to him. You know what I mean?”

I don’t think I could have answered her question affirmatively before I’d met her. I didn’t really understand what “a connection” meant. I’ve never felt the inescapable, visceral response that I do with Sophia. “I do,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral.

“I just don’t want to upset Jules.”

“Be honest with her,” I say. “She’s your friend.”

She presses her lips together in a forced smile. What’s that? I want to dig deeper and explore why she feels so uncomfortable.

“How was Cincinnati?” I ask, remembering that last weekend she went back to see her family. I felt like there might have been some bad news delivered during the trip.

Her eyes leave mine and she looks over my shoulder. “It was… revelatory.”

I leave space and silence for her to fill, but she doesn’t say anything and she doesn’t meet my gaze.

“You want to talk about it?” I reach over and sweep a tendril of hair from her face. She focuses on me.

“Maybe,” she says. “To you. But not now. Let’s meet back here after the entrée. I’ll need another shot. I should go.” She fingers her necklace. “Thank you for this.” I’m not sure if she means the necklace, the conversation, or the offer to talk.

Back at the table, no one seems to notice we were both away at the same time. I slip into my seat and begin to talk to Byron, who just arrived.

“How’s Colorado?” I ask, my voice hushed, because I’m not sure who knows about what he’s doing there.

“It’s good,” he says. “Not quite what I expected, but really good. In fact, I was going to talk to you about it a little more. I thought you might want to get involved in some way.”

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Byron is notoriously private about his business dealings, and he doesn’t partner with anyone who wants any kind of say. He’ll take investor money, but no one has decision-making power other than Byron.

“Let’s talk some more,” I say. “You seem to be spending more and more time there.”

He swallows his steak. “Yeah. It feels different being back there.” Byron always vowed he was New York or nowhere, but things have clearly changed for him. “Do you think you’ll always live in the brownstone?”

I pull in a breath and my gaze finds Sophia for the first time since we came back to the table. “I don’t think I can make definitive decisions about my future when it’s not here yet.”

Byron chuckles. “What a Worth thing to say. Although, I can’t see you being anywhere but the brownstone.”

A month ago, I might have agreed with him. But now?

Fisher comes over and crouches between our chairs. “What are we doing after this? Poker? Or should we take Leo to see some naked ladies?”

I groan and Byron rolls his eyes.

“Leo’s seen enough naked ladies to last a thousand lifetimes,” I say.

“Poker, then,” Fisher says, nonplussed.

“I can do poker,” Byron says. “Worth?”

“Maybe,” I reply.

“Maybe Worth wanted to see naked ladies,” Fisher says with a grin. “It’s about time you lost your virginity. Happy to tag along, if that’s what you want to do.”

“I can’t think of anything worse than going to a strip club. And anyway, it’s not like Bennett, Efa, Jules, or Sophia will want to go.”

“We don’t all have to do the same thing,” Fisher says.

“You’re not into Sophia?” I ask him.

He shrugs and glances over at her. “She seems like a nice girl…”

Byron laughs. “That’s a weird way to say ‘no, I’d rather go to a strip club.’”

“I don’t not like her. But honestly, as one of my best friend’s wifes’ best friends… I don’t want to go there.”

Emotion bursts in my chest. Relief at Fisher’s words. But also frustration that Sophia is so close to Jules. It would have been way easier if she’d been a stranger. Overriding both these feelings is a deep sense of understanding that I will go there, no matter the consequences. It’s like my fate is sealed.

There’s no keeping away from Sophia now. I want her. There’s no more avoiding her. No more pretending I don’t feel as strongly as I do.

I catch her eye across the table and she excuses herself.

Entrees are over and I have… somewhere to be.

I head out a few minutes later and spot her by the bar, standing in the exact same place I stood, speaking to the bartender. He’s laughing at something she’s saying and I flush with envy. I want all her attention. Fuck, when has a woman made me feel so primal? Sophia makes me feel more of every damn emotion that exists.

“Hey,” she says, as I approach.

“Hey,” I reply.

“I got you whisky.”

“You trying to get me drunk?” I ask.

Her mouth parts as if she’s about to speak, but she doesn’t. She shakes her head. “I’m trying to get me drunk.”

I pick up my glass and raise it. I’m less concerned about her seeing the heat of desire in my eyes. Now that I know Fisher isn’t going to be upset, things have shifted for me.

Her cheeks pink and blood rushes to my cock. Jesus, I want to see those cheeks pink some more, her skin covered in sweat, her breathing labored because she just came for the third time underneath me. My heart starts to pound and she dips out her tongue and bites down on her lip like she can read my thoughts.

She sips on her tequila this time, then slides it back to the bar.

She’s in no rush to go back to the table. I’m going to have a few more minutes with her.

“Do you keep secrets, Worth?” she asks.

“What kind of secrets?” I ask.

“The kind of secrets you don’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t we all?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. I agree with what you said that we all lie—no one tells the whole truth all the time. But secrets? Big secrets? Not everyone keeps those. Do you?”

Her question is pointed, but at the same time, I can tell it’s not aimed at me. “There are things people don’t know about me.”

“Like what?” she asks immediately.

I pull in a breath and search for an answer. “People I work with don’t know where I live.”

“You deliberately don’t tell them?”

I pick up her tequila and taste it, wanting to be closer to her, wanting my mouth where hers has been. “Yeah. My assistant knows. But generally, I don’t want people I don’t know well knowing where I live.”

“What about people who do know you well? Your friends in there.” She nods toward the private dining room. “What don’t they know about you?” She’s trying to mask her questions behind a singsong tone and a smile, but she’s digging furiously for something.

“I don’t deliberately keep things from…” I trail off, hearing the lie before I have a chance to say it. My feelings for Sophia—no one knows about those. “I might be careful about when I tell them some stuff, but I don’t deliberately hide things from my closest friends, no.”

She pulls in a juddering breath, then takes the tequila from me. Our fingers brush and our gazes lock. She looks away as she downs the rest of her glass.

“What about you?” I ask. “Do you keep secrets?”

She looks at me, a flare of panic in her eyes. “Not usually.”

“But sometimes you do?” I ask. What secrets is she keeping right now?

“Like you said. It’s about timing. But no, I don’t keep secrets from my closest friends. From my family.” It feels like she has more to say, so I keep quiet. “Sometimes I wonder what normal is. Is it normal to keep secrets? Is it normal to tell your best friend everything? Maybe I’m the asshole, you know? Maybe everyone else’s normal is different. Don’t we all go around thinking we’re normal, and if people aren’t like us, they’re not normal?”

“Hmm,” I say. She’s saying nothing and far too much at the same time. “Normal is an interesting word. Everyone is different.”

She sighs. “I guess. But there are parameters of normal. Like, I don’t care if you’re on the subway and you’re dressed in Chanel or as a hot dog. But if you’re naked, I’ve got a problem with that.”

“Yeah, naked on the subway doesn’t sound like a good life choice.”

She shivers. “So gross—for the people having to see you, but also, can you imagine sitting on a seat? Stop. I can’t think about it.”

I smile. I like listening to her. I like hearing how her brain works.

She takes my glass from me, letting her fingers linger a second when they meet mine. My heart rate trips at the feel of her skin against mine.

“You’re right, normal is a provocative word. I guess I just want to know what most other people do. Like most people tell lies—to protect others, or themselves.”

“But you’re not like most people.” I want to say more. I want to tell her she’s like no other woman I’ve ever met. That she’s beautiful and open and has an intensity about her that makes me sit up and want to understand her. That when I’m with her, I want more. I want to spend every moment with her. I want to study her like a work of art. I want to touch her, feel her. I want to know her.

She blushes at my words. If only she knew what I wasn’t saying. If only she knew what I wanted to say. Am I keeping secrets from her?

It’s all about timing.

“Do you think most people keep secrets? Like, big secrets? From people who are close to them?”

I remember what she said before. About Cincinnati being revelatory. “What did you find out in Cincinnati?” I ask.

Her eyes widen, panic flashing in her gaze. “We should go back.” She takes a swig of my whisky.

“You can talk to me, you know?”

She nods slowly. As silence stretches out between us, she seems to relax inside of it. “I know I can.”

Her words fill me up. I want her to talk to me, to tell me what she’s thinking. I want to know about the secret she discovered, and who kept it from her.

She turns and I catch her arm. She snaps her head back.

“I like talking to you,” I say.

“I like talking to you,” she says. “Very much.”

I want to keep her here. Talking to me. Sharing her secrets. With me.