Filthy Vows - Alessandra Torre Page 0,28

to stay married, she’d act completely different.” She nodded her way through the rest of her bite, then reached for her wine glass. “The bottom line is, there’s only one way to fix Aaron’s woes.”

The group fell silent as she took a long and dramatic sip of wine, then smacked her lips together. I ignored her theatrics, fairly certain where they were leading.

“Vegas,” she announced, a bit of sparkle to the vowels.

“Vegas?” Aaron repeatedly warily.

Easton nodded in enthusiasm, and I wanted to chuck our latest credit card statement at his head.

“This weekend.” Chelsea stood for full effect. “We can take my dad’s jet. Split a suite. Get Aaron’s dick sucked and fucked by every slut on the strip. By the time we bring him home, his heartache will be healed and he won’t remember that bitch’s middle name.” She lifted her wine in a toast. “Come on. Who’s with me?”

11

“Has it occurred to anyone that I’m the only one on this plane that could get married this weekend?” Chelsea stood in the middle of the jet and adjusted her crisp white veil.

“I’d marry you,” Easton drawled from his spot in one of the leather recliners. “Assuming they allow multiple wives in Nevada.”

“And assuming you divorce me and find another wife who is okay with two wives,” I shot back playfully.

“I appreciate the proposal, but I could never be a second wife,” Chelsea said airily. “I plan on keeping my husband very busy.” She turned and ran a hand down the small of her back, adjusting the delicate row of roses that hid the zipper. “But I’m serious. Until Aaron’s divorce becomes final, I’m the sole hope for a shotgun Vegas wedding.”

“I’m no expert,” Aaron remarked. “But I feel like the wedding dress might ward off any would-be suitors.”

“Good thing I’m not looking for a proposal then.” She lifted up the hem of her dress and carefully moved over to the couch, positioning the dozens of layers of tulle into place before carefully sitting down. “I’m going for the bad boys who want to defile an innocent bride.”

“I wish I could tell you it was a stupid plan, but watching you attempt it is worth this entire trip.” I smiled at her as I tore open a bag of peanut M&Ms. “Anyone want to place bets on her success rate?”

“Wait.” She held up her hand before the men could speak. “What determines success? Because I only plan on letting one man inside these virginal thighs this weekend.”

“One guy seems too easy,” Aaron remarked. “Especially for her.”

Chelsea beamed at him. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He lifted his drink to her in response. Ages ago, back when we were in college and attended Easton and Aaron’s baseball games—I entertained notions of a Chelsea and Aaron sandwich. Despite her proclamations of attraction, she never moved down that road, and they had settled early on into a sort of brother/sister relationship that contained plenty of teasing, but no sexual chemistry.

I took the place next to her on the couch and offered her the bag of chocolates. “What about five kisses? She has to get five strangers to kiss her.”

“Not just kissing. They have to make out with her,” Easton amended. “With tongue and groping.”

“Oooh…” Chelsea bounced a little in place. “This is going to be fun. Aaron, are you sure you don’t want to hone in on this? We can rent you a tux and cast you as a nervous groom.”

He waved off the request. “I’m good with watching the spectacle you create. A hundred bucks says you make it to six kisses.”

“I’ll take that bet,” I said, stealing back the M&Ms from Chelsea. “Here.” I passed a napkin just in time to stop her from wiping chocolate on her dress. “Where did you get that thing?” It was ridiculous. Pure Cinderella style, with a ribbon belt, enough beading to hide her curves, and so much tulle she couldn’t fit into the plane’s bathroom stall. She’d made it worse with bright blue eye shadow, pale pink lips, and a tiara.

“It was my aunt’s, the one who passed away. I purchased it from the estate to wear to Halloween last year, but then I decided to be—”

“The slutty dinosaur,” I finished, because that was a visual I still couldn’t get out of my head.

“I was a dragon,” she retorted. “One of Daenerys’s. Anyway”—she gave me a pointed look to let her finish her story—“this ended up being a better use for it anyway.”

Oh yes. A