Page 21 of All In

Ah. I glance down at my hot dog. It really does say something about me—not sure what, but something—that I’m more upset about being humiliated in front of all those people than losing Josh.

For a brief moment before the wedding, I wondered if I was even doing the right thing. The thing I wanted to do. And when Gray suggested I could tell Josh I needed more time, I felt… relieved. So relieved, because why hadn’t I thought of that myself?

But then I realized it didn’t matter. I’d never do to Josh what he did to me.

“I think I’m relieved. Does that make me awful?”

I look at Grayson again, watching as his jaw works while he chews. He’s always had a strong, angular jaw. I’ve always felt soft compared to him. He’s so—

“It doesn’t make you awful at all,” he says, cutting off my thoughts. “I mean, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you had been upset, but if you’re not, that’s valid too. You’re allowed to feel how you feel.”

“I think I’d be a lot more upset if I didn’t have you.”

Grayson laughs. “I don’t know about that.”

“I’m serious.” I rest my head against his shoulder. He stills for a second but then relaxes. “Being with you always makes me feel better.”

He turns his head, burying his face in my hair. I close my eyes, soaking in the touch. For a second, it almost feels like he kisses the top of my head, and my stomach does a wild flip, but I can’t be sure with all my fucking hair. I’m about to ask if he did when he stands, basically knocking my head off him.

He tosses the wrapper from his hotdog in a trash can beside the bench, then slips his hands into his pockets. “Are you ready to find a bar?”

I nibble on my lip for a second, then toss my own trash. “Yeah. I hear there’s one that has beer you can drink out of a guitar-shaped glass.”

That seems to surprise him. “I guess you really can find anything in Vegas, huh?”

“Guess so.” I shoot him a smile, then stand and hook my arm through his.

Chapter 7

Grayson

“Holy fuck, shut it off.”

Harlow’s voice pierces my head. “Shut what off?” I rasp out.

“The sun, I think. It’s so bright. My head.”

I shush him. “You’re not the only one with a head. Be quiet.”

God, how fucking much did we drink last night? Too much. I remember the hot dogs and walking around The Strip. Finding the bar that Harlow wanted to go to with the guitar beers. Drinking one, then more, and then… nothing.

“What the fuck did we do last night?” I ask, groaning at the way my own voice makes my head spin.

Fuck, I haven’t been this hungover since I was a teenager. This is why I don’t drink. It’s never as fun the next day as it is the night of. I can’t even recall the last time I drank so much I didn’t remember most of the night.

Harlow is somewhere in the bed with me, but he’s blessedly quiet. “Where are you?” I whisper. “Why aren’t you talking?”

“You told me to be quiet,” he whispers back.

And when has he ever listened to anything in his entire life? “I’m never drinking again.”

“I think everyone says that.”

I shift on the bed, patting around until I find Harlow. “I might throw up if you touch me,” he groans.

That’s a good point. In fact, I should be more still too. “Again, I ask, what did we do last night?”

“We drank a lot of guitar beers.” My stomach lurches, and he groans again. “Nope. Can’t talk about beer.”