Undeniably Married (Boston’s Irresistible Billionaires Book 4)

“Hmm. Should I stay or should I hit now?” I sing a parody of the Clash’s “Should I Stay or Should I Go.” Not a 90s song, but still some of the best punk out there. I’m staring at the five of diamonds that’s face up and I take a sip of my martini as I debate. I went from the lemon drop that Mason made me to wine at dinner, which felt boring, to a Cosmo back to a lemon drop, and I think this one was the right call. It’s delicious, and there’s a saying, right? Something about sticking with the same drink and not mixing alcohols or something? I don’t know. I can’t remember it now, but lemon drops are yum.

“You should hit, honey,” the cowboy next to me drawls with a heavy twang. “You always wanna hit that.”

I snort. “That’s what he said.”

The guy throws me a funny look, but Mason is smirking at me. “You do you,” he tells me. “Hit or stay. Your call.”

“Except it fucks up the deck for us,” the serious guy on the end with the neck and hand tattoos sneers, wearing sunglasses and all black like he’s a mob boss. Oh, maybe he is! This high-roller table is a bit intimidating. And fun. I like gambling. I’ve never done it before, but it’s great.

And we passed by some fabulous shops I want to go into later or tomorrow. I like Vegas. Vegas is fun.

Mason simply shrugs like he doesn’t care, but he stares the guy down, letting him know he’s not intimidated. “She can play however she wants to.”

“She wants to hit it before she quits it.” I snort-laugh, but for real, that dude is a bit scary, and while I love protective Mason, I don’t want him to end up in a body bag at the hands of Don Tattoos. Plus, I’m going to go with the fact that these guys know how to play blackjack more than I do since this is my first time.

Yet another thing I’m a virgin with.

The dealer slaps a six in front of me, and I cheer, my hands shooting up in the air like I just don’t care. “Woohoo!”

“Nice move, Dr. Herass!” Mason gives me a high-five.

“Thank you, Mr. Licker.”

“It’s Licke,” he teases with a wink. “Though I have no problems being a licker.”

I crack up. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely, Dr. Herass. I can assure you that I am a professional Herass Licker, but I’m also happy to Licke Herass.”

I laugh harder, falling into him a bit. “That I believe. Your reputation precedes you.”

He leans into me and brings his mouth by my ear, his hot breath making me shudder and my nipples harden. That’s unexpected. This is why I don’t drink a lot that often. My body has strange reactions to things it shouldn’t.

“As I told you this afternoon, it would be my pleasure to combine Mr. Licke and Dr. Herass and get you to come with me whenever you want.”

Oh boy. Now it’s not just my nipples getting in on the action. My empty core is about to pull a muscle, it’s clenching so hard. I’m going to blame the alcohol for my reaction to him. And my shaky emotional state. And the fact that he’s Mason Reyes, and that’s like female Kryptonite or catnip or whatever the voodoo is that makes women go after and spread their legs for hot professional athletes.

Even when they belong to someone else. I frown. I hate Eloise.

I shove him away—so I don’t do anything stupid like kiss him to make myself feel better—and nearly fall off my chair in the process. “You’re a flirty flirt. Friends don’t flirt with friends. Who have been drinking.” I tilt my head and scrunch my face up as I think that through. “Wait. That’s not how that goes.”

He gives me a crooked grin and a wink. “But it could be. No harm in flirting, princess, unless I decide to act on it.”

Whoa is he cute when he does that. He has this chin dimple that I sort of want to lick or at least play with. It’s always been a tempting asset of his.

“Princess?”

“Works for you.”

“It kind of does,” I concede. I’m a Fritz, and we’re known as Boston’s royalty since our grandmother is essentially the queen of the town. Wait. I had a point.

“What was I saying?”

“Flirting.”

“Right!” I smack the table and nearly tip over my drink. That would have been tragic. “Um, I think I was going to tell you not to act or to flirt or something, but the moment is over. I’m having so much fun. Vegas was totally the right call. It’s so fun!”

Mason is amused by me, I can tell. Brody used to hate it when I’d get drunk because he thought I was annoying. Mason doesn’t think I’m annoying. He’s the best like that. He took me out to this incredible French restaurant that had a view of the fountains and the Strip because he knows I love French food. Then we walked around for a bit and found ourselves here. This casino is pretty. It’s a little girly with a lot of pink lighting. I love it.

I’m also up five hundred dollars, so that’s fun too.

Plus, Mason is fun. Am I saying fun too much? I don’t know. Probably. But that’s totally what I’m having and totally what he is. He’s also so hot. Like seriously hot. And has muscles. Big muscles that I enjoy touching when I can since I’ve been holding onto his arm a lot whenever we walk. I never thought of him that way, but it’s impossible not to notice now. There is nothing about Mason that isn’t irresistibly risky, but I’m here for it all the same.

I’m so glad I did this. It’s so much better than being back home and moping or, even worse, sleeping with a cheating husband who I didn’t know was cheating.

I feel like I escaped prison or cheated death.

It’s a freaking rush.

Somehow another hand went around, but the dealer had a blackjack, so we all lost. This round, I have a two, which is useless. I hit and hit and then bust. Boo. Mason busts too, and the dealer moves on to the woman on his left. Mason has been trying to keep a low profile. He’s recognizable, or at the very least, head turnable. Is that a word? Whatever. He’s tall and broad and simply has the build and look of a professional athlete. Even coming from a family of famous billionaires, I’m far from recognizable outside of Boston. No one knows me here, but Mason has definitely been getting looks.

I scrunch my brow at him. “Is princess my new first name now?”

“More of a pet name than a first name.”

“Should we come up with first names, then?”

“Nah. Who needs them?”

True. He has a point. Our fake last names are far too awesome to mess with.

His hand meets the back of my chair, and his thumb grazes ever so subtly against the top of my back. For a moment, I freeze. Was that intentional? I don’t know. I can’t tell. If it was, I’m sure he’s simply being comforting. Despite his joking, I can’t picture Mason actually making a move.

It’s never been like that between us.

He flirts, but that’s just who Mason is. A flirt. He’s incredible, really. Sweet, funny, charming, and quick-witted. So much smarter than people give him credit for. They look at him and see a dumb jock, but he’s not that at all.

If I were a single girl—which I know I technically am, but you get the point—and a little younger, I’d be all over that. Who wouldn’t be? His attention is intoxicating. His flirting makes me giddy and a little high and definitely a lot turned on because he’s not shy with his innuendos. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about what he said to me on the plane about being a generous lover.

Because hell, could I use a screaming orgasm or two and a good hard fuck to go with them right about now. But I won’t risk our friendship. I won’t go near that, not when I’m too emotionally fragile, frazzled, and unstable. My friendship with him is stable, solid, and makes me feel grounded, which is exactly what I need. It’s why I’m here with him.

The hand ends and another is dealt when suddenly Mason freezes, and his gaze locks on something. When I follow it, I notice it’s the TV above the center of the pit.

“What in the hell?” I shoot to my feet, the room dipping and swaying, and I nearly topple again as my ankle rolls in my heel. Mason is on his feet too, his hands on my hips to steady me. “Can you turn that up?” I ask the dealer, pointing to the screen.

“We can’t. I’m sorry. But I can turn on the subtitles.”

I nod, and she clicks a button on a remote beneath the television.

Brody is doing an interview with a major sports network. It’s hard to read the screen, especially after all these drinks, but I manage. “It was a simple misunderstanding that will be easily cleared up,” it reads.

“He’s out of his tux. And… is he wearing makeup?” I ask.

Mason simply shakes his head, continuing to stare at the screen.

“What about the accounts stating that you cheated on your fiancée with her friend and that’s why she called off the wedding?” the reporter asks, not beating around the bush for a second.

Brody gives a sad sort of smile, blinking his puppy dog eyes at the camera like he’s heartbroken, even as he keeps his left eye slightly averted from the camera to hide his bruise. “As I said, it was a misunderstanding that will be cleared up soon. All the fans need to know is that I love Sorel Fritz with all my heart and would never do anything to hurt her. My phone was hacked, and someone played a vicious trick that hurt her terribly. Once we get this figured out, we’ll set a new wedding date. I know the Boston fans are especially anxious for that.”

“Oh, my freaking bastard.” I peer back at the dealer. “Thanks. You can turn that off now. I’m all good.” Or not. Not even close. A hacker?! What in the land of bullshit is he playing at?

I should have gone all Carrie Underwood on his ass. I didn’t even mess up the apartment, though it’s all his furniture and not mine, because when I moved in with him a year and a half ago, I sold all of my stuff. I should have flushed his keys down the toilet, ripped up his beloved couch, and put a chair through his massive television. Oh, and shredded his old jerseys and pawned his Super Bowl ring.

Why didn’t I do any of that?

How am I supposed to find peace or solace when he goes and runs his mouth like that? He’s making himself look like the scorned, sad, wronged man, and me like the unstable, wild one.

I grab all my chips and slide them into my purse. The thing is bulging, but it’ll survive. It’s what we women always do. We survive. I pick up my martini, drink the rest down, and storm off. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m too furious to sit still. I’ve had my phone on Do Not Disturb since we landed because it was blowing up like the climax of an action film. Climax. Ha!

Not funny, Sorel.

Still, I was tired of everyone telling me what I should and should not do. I’m thirty-five. I can make my own choices, and I don’t have to listen to anyone else. I blocked Brody and Eloise then too because I didn’t want either to call or text me. I didn’t want them to try to explain away what they did.

But now I’m tempted to call my prick of an ex and ask what he’s up to.

“Hey.” Mason catches up with me. “You okay?”

I shake my head and plop myself down at a bar. I pull out my phone and search through my Instagram.

“Holy shit! It’s all over his social media talking about how he’s devastated that our wedding was canceled, but that it’s just a minor misunderstanding over a hacked phone, and we’ll be back together soon. A minor misunderstanding? A hacked phone?”

“Intertainment is reporting that sources close to you say he was cheating and admitted to it,” Mason declares. “His bullshit story won’t go far.”

My hand waves frantically in the air to flag down the bartender. Mason comes up beside me, standing close by, his back to the casino around us and the ballcap he’s been wearing low on his brow.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks.

“Four shots of tequila, please.”

Mason chokes.

“Two are for you,” I explain. “I’m not trying to die tonight. I just want to erase my morning and my ex.”

“Are you sure you want to drink that much?”

I glance up into his greeny-green eyes. “Absolutely.” I start humming “Bitter Sweet Symphony” by the Verve.

Mason smirks, recognizing the song. “Okay, okay.” He nods toward the bartender while keeping his head down. “Four shots of Patrón, please. And two glasses of water.”

Water. That’s a good call.

The shots are poured, and we’re left with limes and salt, but I don’t want any of that fluff. I want to get drunk. Drunker. I want to forget all about the way my life took a sharp derail this morning and now feels almost unrecognizable. Or maybe I’m the unrecognizable one.

“He put on makeup, but it was still daylight, and it looked like the front of the church,” I muse as I twirl the small shot glass around with my fingers. “Brody wanted press at our wedding, but I refused. I wonder if he had set up interviews anyway without telling me. I wouldn’t be shocked. He’s been desperate for a booth gig, and marrying a Fritz made him look good. I bet Eloise did the makeup for him. She’s a bitch like that.”

“Having your fiancée run out on your wedding after calling you a cheater in front of all his family and friends won’t get him that.”

“No. It won’t.” I pick up the first shot and gulp it down, quickly followed by the second. I barely taste them, which seems odd because anytime I ever drink tequila, I always need a lot of chasers because it’s strong and it hits me hard. That’s why I chose it. Tequila will see me through. Serena would be proud. I get feisty with tequila. Maybe I’ll do my own interview. Ha. Never.

Mason drinks his first shot, but slides his second away. I go to reach for it when he picks it up and drinks it so I can’t. Boo. Though it’s cute he’s so protective of me. He’s been such a good friend to me. He hasn’t left my side all night. Why aren’t there more Masons and fewer Brodys in this world?

“That’s why he said all that bullshit, you know,” I lament, plopping my arms on the bar and dropping my forehead onto them. “He doesn’t care about me. He never loved me. How could he when he didn’t just cheat, he screwed my friend for what is likely our entire relationship with no plans to stop? He only cares about how he looks to the public and what’s best for him. Fucking bastard.”

“He’ll look stupid when you don’t reconcile and marry him.”

“He’ll come after me and do what he can to win me back. He as much as said so because now he’s trying to save face.” The thought makes the alcohol in my stomach revolt against me. “I don’t want to see him again. I don’t want to deal with him, but I don’t know how to stop that if he’s this determined,” I murmur. The room starts to spin a little, and I close my eyes to slow it down. “I wish I could do something to hurt and humiliate him the way he hurt and humiliated me. A little revenge would be nice, and I don’t even care if that makes me sound petty. He deserves it. But more than that, I’d like his lies to go away along with him, and I don’t know how to make that happen when he’s telling the press nonsense.”

“You left. You walked out. You did it all publicly, which was badass, and a pretty sweet revenge. The press will realize his story is garbage and move on, and for now, you’re in the party capital of the world having a great time.”

I snort. “I thought it was the wedding capital of the world.” The words hit like lightning, and I sit up straight to meet Mason’s eyes. “I’m having the best dumbest idea ever.”