Betting on Wolves (Shifter Country Wolves Book 2) (3 page)

But feeling relieved that the long, drawn-out, incredibly stressful two-year process was finally over? She thought
that
was totally valid.

“Where
were
you?” Lily squealed as soon as she opened the door. Two other girls — Mary and Peyton — were in various states of sparkly undress around the room, and Lily was still curling her hair.

“Sorry, I just wanted to go check out the casino,” Kirsten said.

In the room, Peyton had on a tight gold dress, along with fishnets and garters.

“Too much?” she asked.

Kirsten shrugged.

“It’s
Vegas
,” said Mary, her wedding ring sparkling on her finger. “Do whatever you want!”

Kirsten half-smiled. Mary had been trying to live vicariously through her and Peyton — the single ones — all weekend.

“Hey, hand me my margarita,” Lily said, still standing in the bathroom, pointing at the dresser. An event planner by profession, she’d brought not only a margarita maker on the trip, but a full set of margarita glasses, along with a small array of cocktail salts to rim the glasses with, as well as a kitschy, retro tray for serving cocktails. Kirsten had no idea how they weren’t broken, but then again, miracles like that were what made her love Lily.

After all, she’d just gotten divorced, and her best friend had taken her to Vegas and brought along an entire bar setup. Of course she loved Lily, even if the other women sometimes got a little
too
excited.

“And grab one yourself, Miss Durant!” Lily shouted.

As the five of them walked through casino floors, Kirsten could practically hear heads swiveling and feel the eyes roaming over the five of them. She held her head a little higher and let her hips sway a little more, not minding the attention.

Let people look
, she thought.
People still find you attractive, remember? Even if your actual husband didn’t, and wanted racy pictures from a bored twenty-three-year-old more than he wanted you?

The shifter pair had obviously found her attractive, for example. Now that she’d had a double tequila
and
a margarita, she was starting to regret not getting their numbers or giving them hers. Yeah, she was leaving tomorrow, but she was single
now
.

You can late-night booty call a guy if you want
, Kirsten thought, smiling to herself just a little.
You can late-night booty call TWO guys, and no one can say a thing about it.

Technically, Kirsten had never made a booty call in her life. She’d never even had sex with someone on the first date... or the second. The third, only once, and she’d ended up marrying that guy. She knew it was old fashioned, but she liked to be in a relationship before getting it on with someone — random hookups had never really appealed to her.

Well. They
hadn’t
.

She still hadn’t mentioned the incident to her friends, and she wasn’t sure how. They’d either squeal and shout “GET SOME, GIRL!” at her, or make faces and gasp that two
shifters
had hit on her, and didn’t she know that they were sex maniacs?

Frankly, the first was more likely, given the weekend they were having, but Kirsten was pretty sure she wouldn’t see them again, so what was the point?

An older guy in a suit blatantly checked her out and then winked.

Kirsten felt scuzzy, made a face, and looked away.

Maybe I’m not ready
, she thought.

Jack and Houston were fine, though
. Her stomach flipped over inside her body, but before she could think more, they were at the restaurant, a too-trendy Italian place. As they walked through, Kirsten couldn’t help but scan the crowd, wondering if she’d see the two of them.

She didn’t.

The girls ordered champagne at the table and then red wine with dinner, and by some small miracle, Kirsten didn’t get anything on her dress as she ate. Though the pasta was only okay, the garlic knots that they had on the table were
amazing
. She must have eaten five.

Maybe don’t eat your weight in garlic, tonight of all nights?
She thought to herself, then dismissed it.

It doesn’t matter,
she reminded herself.

“Okay,” said Lily, holding up her champagne glass. “Here’s to Kirsten, finally being free of that coworker-fucking douchebag!”

Everyone cheered, including Kirsten.

“Did he ever admit to it?” Mary asked.

Kirsten snorted.

“Of course not,” she said. “And he acted like I was an idiot for thinking that pictures of a naked woman on a bed could
possibly
indicate that he was cheating on me.”

“Well, fuck him,” said Peyton. “Except not.
Nobody
fuck him.”

They all laughed, drinking their wine.

“I’ve got another one,” said Peyton, holding up her champagne glass. “Here’s to Kirsten meeting some hot dudes tonight and getting some phone numbers!”

They all cheered again, though Kirsten smiled and rolled her eyes.

Watch me meet someone who lives in Boston
, she thought.
That would be just my luck
.

They all drank again, and by now Kirsten was definitely a couple of sheets to the wind, flying high.

“Hey,” said Mary, sitting next to her. “When’s that job interview with that advertising place in Cascadia?”

“Thursday,” said Kirsten, dabbing carefully at her lips. It had taken her ages to get her lipstick right. “So I’ve got time to detox before I have to go out there and be a professional.”

Mary nodded.

“Well,” the other woman said. “I really want you to get it, because I think you need it, but I also really don’t want you to leave.”

“I know,” Kirsten said. “But Granite Valley’s not that far. What, two hours?”

Mary just shook her head.

“I fucking hate Bruce,” she said.

Peyton took up the cheer.

“We fucking hate Bruce!” she called to the table.

This time, the next table over, filled with younger men who looked like they might be at a bachelor party, joined in, hoisting their glasses.

“We don’t know him, but we hate him!” one of them called over.

Kirsten nearly spit her champagne out from laughing so hard.

An hour later, they’d taken a cab to yet another casino, where they walked past the massive gaming room to a door with a line out side of it.

The door looked like a bank vault, and it was guarded by a man who looked like he might be wearing a bellhop’s uniform. There was no sign over the door, even though there was a line outside.

Is this one of those places that pretends to be a secret to drum up more business, because that way everyone who goes feels like they’re in on something cool?
Kirsten wondered.

She looked at the line, which was easily a hundred people long, then took a deep breath and resigned herself to it.

You are going to have fun
, she thought.
You will dance with your girlfriends and you will have a nice time
.

Three of them started heading for the back of the line, only for Lily to turn around and admonish them.

“What are you guys doing?” she asked, almost sounding wounded. “You think I’d plan you a Vegas trip just so you could
wait in a line?
”

They stood stock-still for a moment. Then Kirsten started giggling, then Peyton, then Mary.

“Sorry, Lils,” Kirsten said. “You looked so mad for a second.”

By now Lily was giggling right along with them.

“Come on, you jerks,” she said, playfully. “Let’s do this thing.”

After chatting with the bouncer for a few moments — an interaction which, for Lily, involved shaking his hand and taking his business card — he spun the dial on the vault-like door and opened it, letting the girls into an entryway caged in by thin metal bars. Just out of reach were stacks and stacks of money, and Kirsten was too drunk to know if it was real or fake.

“They really went nuts with this theme,” she said.

“They’re thinking about opening one in Reno,” Lily said, walking to the far end of the hall and tapping on a panel. “It would be more Wild West themed, though.”

“Of course,” said Peyton, half rolling her eyes.

Then the whole wall swung open. Another bouncer stamped their wrists, and then they walked into the club.

It was dark, strobes and spotlights everywhere, and Kirsten had to blink and let her eyes adjust for a moment before she could see a thing. Over to the left was the bar area, mobbed by people, surrounded by massive, sumptuous leather booths full of rich-looking people with bottles on the table, their tables roped off. Up a roped-off staircase, there were more booths, and then on the right, a few steps down to a dance floor full of writhing people, a DJ on a platform above spinning records and hanging out with a few girls who seemed to be wearing only jeans and bikini tops.

In fact, dancing on pillars above the dance floor, there seemed to be a number of women wearing petticoats, cowboy boots, and bikini tops. Kirsten immediately felt over-dressed in her high-necked, knee-length dress.

Is this what’s sexy now?
she wondered.
Bikini tops and petticoats?

“Go dance!” Lily shouted. “I’m going to get us drinks!”

Kirsten just nodded, and let Peyton and Mary pull her onto the floor.

She didn’t know any of the songs they were playing, but Kirsten was far too drunk and far too
divorced
to give a shit, so she wiggled her booty and got down her with bad self. Lily brought her a drink, she danced with someone okay-looking for a while before getting bored with him, she and Peyton shouted along the words to
Pony
when the DJ played it.

After a while — ten minutes, an hour, Kirsten had no idea — she needed a break. And another drink.

“I’ll be back!” she shouted to the other three, then fought her way across the dance floor to the bar. As she walked, she could feel sweat dripping down her back and between her breasts. For a moment, she leaned against a pillar, took a deep breath, and tried to cool down.

Then she proceeded to the bar, which was totally surrounded by a mob of people. Kirsten sighed and pressed herself into the back of the mob, totally prepared to wait a while for another drink.

It wasn’t long before she felt someone tap her on the shoulder, and she turned around, a tiny spark deep inside hoping it was Houston and Jack.

“Hey,” said a random guy. He was wearing a button-down shirt silk-screened with skulls, not tucked into his jeans.

Kirsten didn’t get excited.

“Hey,” she said, a little warily. It was times like this that she wished she hadn’t thrown her wedding band down a gutter in a fit of rage. Even if she wasn’t married, it would have been useful for getting rid of men she didn’t want to talk to.

He leaned in toward her ear, and Kirsten felt herself stiffen.

“You know, if you wore a darker color, you’d be really attractive!” he shouted, then looked at Kirsten, eyebrows raised.

What the hell?
Kirsten thought.

“Did you just give me fashion advice?” she shouted back, trying to make herself heard over the din.

“Just that you’d probably get more attention,” he shouted. “Hey, let me buy you a drink to make up for it?”

Kirsten blinked and took a step away from the guy, who was making the smuggest face she’d ever seen.

“No!” she shouted. “I’d rather buy my own drinks than get one from you, dickbag!”

The guy narrowed his eyes.

“Good luck with that,” he said, viciously looking her up and down.

Kirsten gritted her teeth. Then she flipped him off with both hands and walked around the bar, getting in another part of the line, and
seethed
.

Who the hell does that?
she thought.
He just called me ugly and then tried to flirt with me. Is this something people are doing now? Insult-flirting?

As she fumed, she watched one of the dancers on the pillar, waving her skirt around, twisting her upper body, and looking completely bored.

I guess this is just her job
, Kirsten thought with a slight shock.

Then there was another tap on her shoulder.

Kirsten whirled around, ready to give that asshole a serious piece of her mind, mouth open to tell him
exactly
what she thought.

It was Jack, two drinks in his hands. Next to him was Houston.

Kirsten didn’t say anything, just stood there with her mouth open.

“I just saw you practically eviscerate some poor asshole, and I thought maybe I should have a drink ready for you when I approached,” Jack said, a sparkle lighting his green eyes from within. “Are you a Manhattan drinker, or a gin fizz drinker?”

Holy shit, I can’t believe they showed up
, Kirsten thought. She finally closed her mouth and looked from one to the other, and even though the two tall, rugged cowboys were totally out of place in this too-shiny nightclub, she was still
very
glad to see them.

“I’ve never had a gin fizz before,” she shouted, and Jack handed her a tall, narrow glass.

“They’re supposed to be good here,” he said. “According to the reviews, Heist has very good prohibition-era cocktails, if you get something besides red bull and vodka.”

“Thank you,” Kirsten said, and took a long, slow sip. Something fizzed against her tongue, as promised by the name, and then there was the slightly evergreen tang of gin, then an herbal sweetness.

It was pretty good.

“So,” she said, looking from one to the other. “What are you doing here?”

“This is where you said you’d be,” Houston said, grinning and shrugged. “So here we are.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Really, though,” she said.

She took another sip. They were right. This thing was
good
.

The two men exchanged a glance.

“Fine,” said Jack. “We’re secretly undercover agents sent by the FBI to make sure that this nightclub isn’t an elaborate plan to cover up a real, Ocean’s Eleven-style heist on a casino.”

Houston nodded gravely.

“It could be the perfect crime,” he said, without a trace of humor.

Kirsten waited a beat, and then Houston’s eyes started to crinkle at the corners, and she laughed.