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Plus One has 110 reviews on Amazon, across all countries!
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As a thank you, here's a peek at Bert & Drennan's weekend in Las Vegas
Unedited, unpolished, unpublished, etc.
P.S. - Read to the bottom for your chance at a prize!
Plus One in Las Vegas
The plane thumped onto the tarmac and I groaned at the pilot’s lack of skill in landing in the middle of a flat desert. Buckets pouring down from the Memphis sky meant that we were delayed on take off. And that meant I missed my connection in Dallas, so while I should be thankful that I was on any flight to Las Vegas tonight, I was pissed. The clock was ticking.
Drennan and I counted down the seconds until we could meet up and then scorned the laws of physics as time slipped through our fingers, leaving us with nothing but empty, aching chests as we boarded our respective flights home.
This sucked. But the other way? The way that involved never seeing her again? That wasn’t an option.
My heart wouldn’t have it. And neither would my dick.
My phone began to shimmy from the stream of text messages. My son, updating me and his mom on his plans, begging for extended curfew, swearing that he really was staying over at a friend’s house, promising us that even though he knew my house was empty that he wasn’t going there. And there, in the back and forth between him and his mom, was a location pin sent by Drennan.
I knew I was late and I wasn’t expecting her to be holed up in our hotel room, so when I saw it was for right near The Chandelier Bar, I smiled. That’s my girl, wasting no time in finding a party or making one of her own.
I dropped my carry-on with the bellman at the Mandarin, texted her that I was minutes away, and scooted my ass over to the Cosmopolitan, weaving through the packed sidewalk with determined step. My jeans and sneakers would have to do until I got her back to the hotel room and got us both naked.
Once inside the casino’s door, I kept my eyes trained forward, looking toward the three story high crystal chandelier with a bar inside. Vegas. I f’ing hated it. Crowds. Chefs that were celebrities more than actual chefs. But Drennan had insisted that we’d have a good time. Her family’s winery was partnering with the least dreadful celebrity chef for a winter wine promotion and it was the kick off. Chef’s table dinner with von Eck and Daniel Boulud.
“Bert!” At the sound of my name on her lips, my feet froze. Foot traffic swirled and eddied around me. “Bert!” Then I found her, standing out from the crowd as she does. In the doorway to a shop waving her hands above her head in a long-limbed and awkward semaphore.
Drennan. Her eyes crinkling in the corners from happiness and those red lips I’d missed so much pulled tight into a wide smile. A quick pivot on my heel and I was on my way to her. Pools of chatty tourists were no match as I waded through them to get to my girl. And once there, my feet stopped again.
Holy fuck. I mean, it’s Vegas. My brain knew that, but I wasn’t prepared for Drennan in Vegas.
My senior year in college, Brittany Spears crawled across the floor of the VMAs in some sort of skin colored sparkle outfit. Twenty years later I remember it perfectly. It was that good. But with the dress version in front of me, my brain couldn’t process it.
She’d figured out that I loved her in lace. That I loved peeks at her skin in areas that should be covered. But this was something else. Fucking magic or something draped those sparkles across her body and held them in place.
“Um, hey?” she ventured, waving hello at me as her smile began to fade in confusion. I snapped out of my haze.
Two steps and she was in my arms and my lips were on hers. “Let’s get to our room,” I muttered against her mouth.
“Okay, let me change,” she replied, a long promising lick across my lips before pulling back from me.
“Please don’t change out of that,” I begged her in a harsh whisper.
“Oh, you like?” she asked, with a raised eyebrow.
“Oh, I more than like.” I reached out and ran a finger along her decadent cleavage.
“Well, it kinda belongs to the store.” My head snapped away from her face and I realized that we were indeed on the threshold of a dress store.
“Oh, can it become yours?” I asked, letting my eyes savor the sight of her and forcing my hand to retreat while we were in public.
“Oh, everything’s already yours,” she said, her hands slowly sliding up her sides and back down to her hips where the performance ended with a little shimmy. Christ. Nearly a month without her and I craved her. Needed to be alone with her.
“Oh, really?” was my inarticulate response, as I imagined throwing my wallet at the sales clerk and shoving her into one of the velvet draped dressing rooms.
“O-M-G, Bert. Please stop with the Oh’s.”
“I never thought you’d ask me to stop with the Os.”
Her eyes went wide. “You stole my line! That should have been *my* line.”
“I guess you’re rubbing off on me,” I shrugged. “Now, the dress and me and you need some alone time.”
“Give me a minute.”
“Dren, we’ve got,” I flipped my wrist to look at my watch. “Like 30 hours. And I think you’re forcing me to sit through dinner for at least four of those.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Tick tock,” I replied, pointing at the dressing room.
I wish I could say that we were out of the store soon, but I can only say that eventually we left. Her in jeans, much to my sadness. I slung a bag of dresses over my shoulder and grasped her hand and pulled her out of the shop before she wasted all of our time taunting me with sexy dresses. She could taunt me all she wanted as long as she was naked.
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