Mending the Blur (a Forever & Always novel) Read online

  “Thanks, Cal.” Brenton salutes, making his way toward the entrance.

  After giving Calvin a tip, I follow the two goofballs I call my friends into the hotel and casino. The front desk attendant issues us room keys and the breakdown of features the hotel offers, and then we are on our way toward the elevator banks. The elevator bay pings and the doors part for us to board then quickly open to the fifth floor. It may be 10 at night, but this city is just now coming to life.

  “What the fuck?” Brenton bitches from the door of our room. “This key doesn’t work.”

  “You probably de-magnetized it, dumbass.” Braxton tries his key, only to have the red lights flicker, indicating this key doesn’t work either.

  “Hey, smart kids, our room is one more down. How are you both pulling a decent GPA?” I ask, full of humor laced with astonishment.

  “Ha, I thought she said thirty not forty. And why the hell are these rooms numbered like this?” Brenton rambles as we all walk into the king suite with extra accommodations, like the rollaway bed in addition to the living room, dining room, full wet bar and king-sized bed.

  It’s our standard room, except typically we have Adalyn in a similar room so we all have sleeping space. Seriously, she is just like us guys, but with tits— amazing fucking tits. She’d probably punch me in the gut for that, but it’s true. She drinks beer, eats pizza, and plays, well watches, video games with us; not to mention she is a sports buff extraordinaire. Oh, she farts and belches… she’s a total dude but with a vagina. I wonder where she is? Patting my pockets, I find my phone and power it on.

  Ads – I’d complain that you didn’t call me back, but I’ve been playing over at the stadium all day. Holler when you hoodlums arrive.

  Me – Hoodlums have ARRIVED! Let’s get a drink!

  Ads – Meet ya boys in the lobby, I just got back to my room.

  Me – We will pick you up on the way…what’s the room number?

  Ads – By the sound of my newest neighbors I’d say next door. ;)

  “Guys, Ads is ready to get the party started. Let’s go!” I announce as they empty their bags to settle in for the weekend. “I’ll go get her. Give me five.”

  Braxton laughs, walking into the bedroom to empty out his bags. These two seriously have two suitcases. Arching my brow, I look over to Brenton who is already kicked back on the sofa watching ESPN.

  “Dude, we are going out. Come on, I’ll be back with Ads,” I laugh kicking his feet off the ottoman that sits in front of the overstuffed sofa.

  “I’m ready,” he says, jumping up and pocketing his wallet and cell phone as I close the suite door.

  “Look who I found!” I sing, waltzing back into the room within a few minutes, my hand perfectly positioned at the low of my best friend’s back. Fuck she’s hot.

  “Hey, shitheads. Let’s go!” Adalyn claps. She looks like a little person compared to us hovering over her. Her dark brown hair is wavy and reaching her elbows, her lips a tad glossy, and her face looks as if it’s been kissed by the sun for a tad too long. Her five-feet, four-inch frame is covered by a pair of worn, short denim shorts and a tank over a swimsuit top. She’s so completely unaware of her hotness, but we aren’t. That’s why we protect her as if she is our little sister. No, never mind— that’s gross— maybe that’s the wrong relationship pairing, but you get it.

  “Ready, Ads?” I ask wrapping my arm around her waist before we head out the door again.

  “Don’t Ads me in that voice. Brax actually texts and calls me back when he says,” she laughs before backing away from me and turning for the door. “So, I called down for a table when he told me y’all had landed.”

  “Nice shirt,” Brenton chuckles following behind her. This girl, seriously she has no care in the world. Her top fits loose, and on the front it has the Fox Racing logo, and the back reads “Real chicks like it in the DIRT.”

  “Thanks, I got it at the track today.” Her smile is bright and her eyes darken when they reach my gaze. And just like always we fit into the mold of laughing, joking, and acting all sorts of inappropriate through a late dinner and drinks. Adalyn left us around midnight, while we opted to stay in the bar drinking until Brenton had the sense to suggest we leave. The great part about Vegas: it’s truly the city that never sleeps. Falling into our room around three in the morning proves we definitely need the next two days to improve our sustainability.

  Adalyn

  REACHING OVER TO SILENCE the alarm blaring from the charging dock beside my bed, I’m jarred back into the nook of a very muscular arm. Swatting away the large hand, I find my cell phone and silence the noise. With a sigh, I plop back against my pillow eliciting a throaty chuckle from my very comfortable bedmate.

  “Brax, how did you get into my room again?” Slight annoyance coats my question because every year one of the guys gains a key to my room and crashes my slumber. Every. Time.

  “Hah, we told the concierge that you were angry with your husband and locked him out, so essentially we did what we always do,” Braxton chuckles before continuing, “we put two of our room keys and yours in Braydon’s hat and whoever picked our room first got the bed, the next got the couch, and whoever pulled your key got to share your bed.”

  “What if I would have had someone in here?” I scoff.

  “Yeah, okay, but since Braydon was in the hallway, I assumed I was safe… Otherwise, if I was unknowing, I would have just kicked him out or waited for you to finish first. No need in spoiling your party.”

  I think I should be offended at my friend’s words, but I mean these guys are idiots, of course they would have tossed the other out or impatiently waited until I was finished, opposed to sleeping on the couch. But they are my best friends and I love them something crazy, and crazy we all are together. But I can’t fault them for enjoying this luxurious bed. It’s not the first time, nor will it be the last. God help them when they get stable significant others or, hell, when I do. Weird.

  Making my way into the separate bathroom I yell, “So who got the couch, because I’m not dealing with any whiny bitches today?” I hear Braxton say Brenton’s name as I relieve my very full bladder. I’m not kidding; I don’t think I’m ever going to stop peeing. “Well at least his whining will be minimal; holy fuck it’s the piss that has no end,” I laugh.

  “And on that note, I’m going to get ready; I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast, Addy.” Braxton’s words are quickly followed by the thud of the door latching.

  Once I finish my business, I jump into the shower, shaving all the essentials and conditioning my hair twice before finishing up and progressing in my morning routine. Twenty minutes later I stand in the coffee shop of the hotel and rock back and forth on my feet, impatiently.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” Brenton’s voice booms through the quaint space. Jesus Murphy, he’s chipper. It’s only 9:30 so I highly doubt he’s been drinking yet, or maybe he’s still drunk from last night. If so, thank God he didn’t draw my card from the hat. I would have been smothered like an overused body pillow.

  “Hey, Bub, you’re awfully chipper,” I deadpan, swaying my hip and bumping into his.

  “You know it, sis. You ready for Anders to kill it on the track today?” The corner of his lip ticks up as he nods to a patron passing by.

  “Fuck no, Fields has this. He’s had it since the first race… unless you forgot he’s got the red plate with the giant number one flanked to his ride,” I boast. Jase Fields has been my rider of choice for the past five years when he first went into the pro-circuit. He may not have always won his first few years as a rookie, but he’s been on a championship bender. I do have to say, I’m a bit nervous… he has some major competition this year with Lucas Anders.

  “Those shits got nothin’ on our guy, huh, Ads.” Braydon flanks my right side before trying to trip me as we all move into a corner booth. “Oh, careful there, bud, we might need to revisit how not to face plant again this trip.”

  “Braydon, you are such a do
rk,” I laugh as I pull my cell phone from my pocket to click on my Facebook app. The guys rehash the early morning hours after we place our orders. I clearly didn’t miss much. “Dude, did you have to post our location?” I ask Brax when I see my notification reading “sleepin in with this dime – with Adalyn Miller at Sunset Station Hotel and Casino.”

  “I didn’t physically click the location; I just didn’t shut off my parameters for your privacy. You don’t have Facebook friends anyway, loser.” I laugh more at the eye squint the waitress throws at Braxton than the comment itself. I typically only use Facebook as a means to carefully stalk stupid people.

  THE DAY AT THE track has been a whirlwind. Between a full day in the pits getting autographs and photos with the riders, and taking mini tours when available, my legs feel like warm Jell-O. Gross. But I’m this average height girl with three dudes whose stride is practically my body length… exhausting. After the third time I’m caught lagging behind, Braydon squats down in front of me and motions for me to hop on. For real? Okay let’s be real. I wouldn’t pass that up even if it was broadcasted nationally. Laughing loudly, I climb aboard, wrapping my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers together loosely. My chest presses against his tight muscled arms and back; he’s ripped and I’m hot… and I don’t mean from just the temperature.

  “You’re so spoiled,” Braxton laughs as we begin to ascend to our seats. Our seats are perfect: top row of the first level right across from the finish line but a clear view of the holeshot.

  “I’m not spoiled… I’m loved,” I giggle as Braydon pops me up and down on his back. “Y’all love me!”

  “Sure we do,” Brenton laughs, plopping into his seat. “So I still don’t get how we are all sitting together? Addy, didn’t you book your seat weeks before Braxton did?”

  Jumping down off of Braydon’s back, I nod. “Yep, but we always sit in the same place of the track. I just looked up the track set up and picked my seat. Brax is super smart and learned from me.”

  “The fuck I did,” Braxton booms. Knowing each other since junior high, we were bound to be friends, hate each other, or be complete strangers at this stage in our life. But we are like macaroni and cheese, a great addition for almost any pairing. Then add in Brenton and Braydon, it’s like a triple cheese, gourmet mac. Hmm, I’m hungry, and thirsty, annnnnd I’m thinking of Braydon’s noodle. I’ll bet a hundred it’s anything but limp. HA!

  “Bub,” I turn my once smiling face into a sad little pout, looking over to Brenton, “will you go get me foooood?”

  “I just sat down,” he whines before standing up to get me some concession stand dinner before the final rounds of qualifying begin. “You need a boyfriend or a husband. It’s their job to do you favors,” he laughs.

  “Uh, for the millionth time since we’ve been friends, I am not getting married. And if you want to argue, ask anyone. It’s not happening, I’d rather live in sin and enjoy my freedoms,” I retort while glaring.

  “Same,” Braydon agrees, squeezing my knee until I laugh, while Braxton just shakes his head before Brenton makes his way out to the disorderly crowd for food. I summon the beer vendor and stock up for the four of us.

  Within a few hours, the championship race for the 450 class is well underway. Three laps to go and my rider, Jase Fields, is nearly a full second faster than Lucas Anders, who has been on his ass and in second since the gates dropped. I’ve eaten my fill of track food, drank my weight in beer and mixed drinks, and I’m bouncing in my seat as the checkered flag is about to drop and that sexy piece of man meat will take the podium as the once again repeat champion defender.

  “GUYS, WHAT WE DOIN’?” I slur through my laughter as my body bounces up and down on Braxton’s back. “I gotta pee!” We hit the nearest bar to the stadium and started shots before the rounds of karaoke began. I’m pretty certain I maybe won a round… maybe. But the whole “don’t break the seal” motto for women is just down right absurd. Ridiculous. I have to go something horrible.

  “Addy, shut the hell up, you gotta get married first; that was the deal.” Brenton laughs, almost falling off Braydon’s back as we begin our drunken ascension up the three stairs into the little 24-hour chapel. “It’s the same deal every year; I dunno why you still whine. I’m ‘bout to start calling you Keelie!”

  “Wha?” I laugh as we follow behind them. “Wait! Who am I marrying this trip?” I can’t stop the bubbling laughter. It’s true, we do this every visit. We get shit-faced drunk, they make me promise to get married before I can go pee, then we go back to the hotel and I wake up with only parts of my memory intact. Thankfully, no one has actually ever completed the marriage certificate… what a nightmare that’d be. It’s like the Hangover movies, but I remember some things… well, tonight is already a little hazy. Hah… drinking all day in the dry Vegas heat is probably in hindsight a poor choice, but hydration was needed… the hydration of an ice cold amber colored beverage. Being legal drinking age on vacation has major perks – for instance not sneaking the booze.

  Gosh, I’m sleepy and drunk… holy hell I’m drunk.

  Adalyn

  “HOLY BALL SACK, WHY’D you let me drink so much?” I groan as I emerge from the bathroom, wrapping my naked self in an overly fluffy bath robe. Seriously, I should have had a safe word, not that I would have used it, but it sounds good in hindsight. After hugging the white throne for a few hours, sleeping for at least nine more, and an hour soak in the Jacuzzi, I’d hoped to be feeling better. “And who did I fake marry this year?”

  “I think we fake married this go, or no…” Braydon’s words trail off as he drags a hand across the stubble on his chin thinking. “I think you talked Brenton and Braxton into fake marrying.”

  “What… noooo,” I laugh, collapsing onto the bed beside Braydon. “I must have been a terrible maid of honor or best woman, whatever. I don’t even remember how we got to the chapel. Also, do you have clothes on under there?” I ask, lifting the blankets to find him as naked as the day his momma birthed him. My body instantly heats, and my desire for my best friend begins to swirl as I look back into his sinful blue eyes.

  Uh-oh… I should remember if we did the nasty, but I don’t… although it’s possible. I’m sore, like thoroughly fucked sore.

  “Uh you stripped me naked before passing out. I kept some dignity last night, unlike someone else in this room. Well until a few hours post the first nap, but if you can’t remember, that means I need to remind you.” Braydon’s voice drops an octave as his eyes peruse my body, his hand tugging me toward him, causing my robe to open. “Come ‘ere.”

  Sinking into his arms, our hands begin to re-familiarize the dips and curves of each other’s body. His lips find mine and slowly the hours before come to mind. His hand gliding down my arm, grazing my chest, cupping my sex. My fingers trailing up his arms, down his chest and abs, and finding the treasure just south of the happy trail I’m currently walking my fingers down. A sensual moan rips through me causing our mouths to part, our heavy breaths taking up the free space in the room. My body begins to soar as his finger draws lazy circles against my clit. “It’s all coming back to me,” I mumble in Braydon’s ear as he continues to take me higher until I find my release.

  “That’s just a taste, sweetheart, come back,” he chuckles as I buck my hips when he tries to continue his blissful assault.

  “How about I get some food so I don’t turn into a wicked bitch. I’d hate to bite off the head that pleasured me,” I giggle when his face conjures into something between terror and pain.

  “Fine, you owe me,” he chuckles and I rest against him. “So,” he sighs in defeat, “since you put the kibosh on sucking me off, I really don’t remember much before our tryst, but what I do recall is carrying Brenton on my back because it still fucking hurts,” he laughs, falling back into the pillows as his phone pings. After reading the message, Braydon sighs and throws his phone onto my chest for me to read.

  “What the hell, no porn,” I ask around
a fit of laughter. “Ugh, seriously?”

  “Braxton must have posted on Facebook again.” The mood in my suite has completely changed from easy going and light to tense and frustrated. Keelie sending group text messages with broken heart emojis, another with “WTF,” a final one saying “REALLY? YOU GUYS SAID GUYS ONLY!” is just another reason why she annoys me.

  “Dude, really— what the shit?” Quickly bouncing up and regretting it instantly with the throbbing pain coursing through my head, I go in search of pain reliever.

  “Shut the hell up; she’s just jealous of my bestie with boobies,” he chuckles.

  “I could’ve claimed dibs, but I’ve been scarce all semester,” I reason, settling back down on the bed beside him after taking a few Tylenol.

  “Dibs huh? I thought I was just your bestie with a dick? Just let it go.” I shrug my shoulders at his words, and it’s not until his fingers lace with mine that I finally begin to let it go. It just sucks, I practically immersed myself into classes so the guys could avoid the drama, but I’m rethinking my standoffishness. If she wants to be a crazy person, so be it. She’s not taking what’s mine.

  “Fine,” I grump and reach for my phone to check my social media apps. Not only did Braxton post a photo of all of us together inside the little chapel on Instagram, but he tagged us all and captioned the photo “What happens in Vegas, clearly isn’t staying in Vegas #weddings #BrotherHusbands #AddyGetsAround.” “Jesus Murphy!” I shout as I lean back against Braydon before clicking on Facebook where I see the same fucking post transferred to Facebook, but whereas Instagram had a few hundred likes, this post has at least 50 comments – most of which are encouraging the ridiculous behavior and laughter.