Page 22 of Keep Vegas

“Ok, Yoda, how much does Laura get?” Dax says.

I point at him and stand up to walk the room, drawing their attention to me. “Good marks, gentlemen. Good marks, all, but I can stay single as long as I want.”

“A year,” Law says as he drains another Scotch.

“Yeah, a year. One year, no relationships,” Colt emphasizes.

“Surely, you don’t expect me not to get my fuck on in the next year.” I thrust to make them laugh.

“One night only.” Hayden beams.

Robbie seconds him, “I don’t care if there’s 365 different women, as long as none of them take your name, have your correct phone number, or get a second date.” Harsh.

Dax talks with a mouthful of cake, “Mom will be devastated you’re not settling down again.” Everyone busts out laughing. “But then again, you’ve been settled enough for all of us.”

“Yeah, and I’ve been married for a decade,” Colt pipes up.

Robbie clinks glasses with Colton. “Amen to that.”

“What is the purpose of this?” I ask.

“Fun. Adventure. Surely, you’re familiar with that, right?” Colton moves around the room, and everyone busts out laughing. “It’s fun to tell you what to do. Honor system, though. You can’t secretly find a loophole and get married.” We all laugh even harder.

I stand in the center of our leather-clad chair circle and raise my glass. “I stay single, like asshole Law, for one year and you owe me a million dollars each.”

They nod, and my brother stands up. “And if you sleep with a woman more than once or get engaged, married, or otherwise legally entangled with a woman, within the next calendar year, you owe each of us a million.”

“Child’s play,” I say.

Robbie puts his meaty ring finger in the air and says, “Candy/Baby.” I flip him off as we all stand and raise our glasses, looking each other in the eye while we clink. I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of seven years of bad sex when I’m headed into a debauched year of only that. These idiots are basically giving me a license to fuck around for the next year, and then I pocket five million.

Sucker’s bet.

We all clink, yell, “Hot Bods,” and laugh. One time we were all hanging out during spring break in Boston, playing touch football on the common. There was this clique of girls who always trying to date one of us, and they called us the ‘Hot Bod Squad’. So stupid, but we always toast to that.

We’ve got bottle service and a revolving door of women. Robbie bagged off to go call Claire. Colton keeps checking his phone, grimacing and texting. It’s the wifey checking up on him. I don’t like that woman, but I say nothing.

My lap is full of a sweet ass I’m going to tap in like twentyish minutes. Hayden’s happily dancing with everyone and anyone. Law’s already got some woman off while on the dance floor, and now he’s back out there.

A swaying Colton stands up from our perch of a table and points. He’s white as a sheet.

He yells, “Maggie!”

Ok, cool, we’re going with ghosts of relationships past. He’s so damn drunk. I kiss the woman’s neck, and she pours herself another drink.

He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, yelling, “You need to see this. Magpie. Maggie. Tony, it’s Maggie. I swear to fucking God, Hayden’s talking with Maggie.”

“It can’t be, sit your silly, drunk ass down.”

“OH SHIT. Dude. She’s not alone.”

Hayden, Law and several women approach. But it’s like a rack focus in my brain. Everything else goes fuzzy but that face. I turn away, and I leave my body. It’s as if I have a bird's-eye view of the situation. I stand, moving the woman from my lap.

“I’m so sorry to lead you on, but my plans have suddenly changed.” I hand her an unopened bottle of vodka the size of a Prius. “Here, take this.”

“What the fuck?” The woman squeaks, and I do feel a tiny bit guilty, but she’ll hook someone else in a second.

I shrug and say, “I’m seriously sorry, but destiny won’t be denied.”