A roar of excitement explodes around the table. I don’t have time to savor the crushed expression on Laurel’s face, though, because suddenly Sam is lifting me off my feet, twirling me in an exuberant circle.
“We did it!” he exclaims, his breath hot on my cheek. He tightens his grip on me, and his hand slides farther and farther down my back until it’s brushing against my butt.
No, thank you. “Um . . .” I press back from his chest, trying to get away. “A leetle too close, my friend.”
Sam drops me, but he looks annoyed. “Honey, I let you blow on my dice. The least you can give me is a little kiss.”
I try to laugh him off, but suddenly Sam is lunging for me, his lips puckered. A moment later, Garrett comes into view, his face red and splotchy, and yanks Sam away.
“Get your hands off of her,” he growls. He winds his arm back like he’s going to throw a punch.
“Whoa.” Sam steps away. “Easy, dude. What are you, like, twelve?”
Garrett steps forward, his nostrils flaring. “I’m older than you think, dude.”
Just as he’s about to throw himself at Sam, a meaty hand clamps down on each of their shoulders, and a beefy security guard looms over us. “Neither of you wants to do this in here,” he says curtly. “You’re both out.”
“Are you kidding me?” Garrett smashes his glass of club soda to the ground, sending a spray of ice across the floor. People pause from their slot-machine trances. Players at a nearby blackjack table whirl around. Sam gathers his chips from the table and steps away, staring at Garrett like he’s insane. I look at Garrett, too, my heart pounding quickly. With his flared nostrils and wild blue eyes, he does look a little unhinged.
The security guard grabs Garrett by the arm. “I’m dead serious. If you don’t want to get arrested for disorderly conduct, you’ll leave. Now.”
Garrett’s jaw tightens and he clenches his fists at his side, almost like he’s going to deck the security guy, too. Then he exhales and succumbs. “Fine,” he mutters. “Sutton, I’ll text you.”
Tucker and Marcus follow Garrett out of the casino. Sam and Darrel-Derrick wander off in the opposite direction. Laurel’s eyes are wide. Madeline’s blink rapidly. Charlotte seems embarrassed, like she’s seen this before. Her words swirl back to me: He’s a ball of moods since that stuff with Louisa.
But whatever. It’s nice that Garrett stood up for me. Would Thayer have? Probably not. All he does is run away.
I saunter toward the bar, suddenly in desperate need of a drink. “Put that in the Google doc, girls,” I trill. “It looks like round two goes to me.”
“She’s right,” Mads says, following behind. “Round two of the Sudden Death Tournament definitely goes to Sutton.”
“I think she should get points deducted for all of the drama,” Laurel says primly. “That was embarrassing.”
“I think I should get points added,” I snap. “When was the last time a guy defended any of you from a random perv?”
Laurel straightens up, pushes her hair over her shoulder. “Just wait until the next challenge, Sutton,” she announces. “I’m going to kick your butt.”
“We’ll see about that,” I say, leaning forward to order my drink. Tonight is just the beginning of my lucky streak. And the beginning of the end for my sister.
8
GIRLS GONE WILD
After the casino, the four of us decide to get some air and walk down the strip. I have no idea where Garrett has gone—he’s not answering his phone—but maybe that’s okay. It’s probably better if he blows off some steam on his own.
My phone buzzes in my bag, and my heart leaps. Maybe it’s Garrett—or Thayer. But when I slip it out of my clutch, it’s just my mom, texting to check in. I swallow my disappointment. I haven’t heard one word from Thayer. Nothing since I hung up on him at the spa. No worried text about the “friend” I was with. Does he just not care anymore? Are we truly . . . done?
As we walk down the outdoor overpass of the Venetian’s breathtaking man-made canal, I soak in the carnival of Las Vegas at night and try to revel in my victory, but I’m just cranky and annoyed. Forget about Thayer, I tell myself over and over, but it’s not really that easy.
Next to me, Mads is quiet, too. The stack of slim gold bangles on her wrist brushes against my hips as we move. She stares blankly at the New York-New York Roller Coaster as we pass.
“What’s up?” I ask her, low enough that Charlotte and Laurel, who are ahead of us, watching a street performer who randomly transforms from a roller-skating robot into a monster truck, can’t hear.
She casts her gaze toward the sidewalk. “Nothing.”
“Come on.”
She looks at me. “I’m just thinking about Thayer. I hope that wherever he is, he’s okay.”
Guilt smothers me like a blanket. I hate that Thayer has even put me in this position. “I’m sure he is,” I say.
“How can you know for sure?” she asks. She gazes at me, her eyes searching my face.