to Tom—but she's loving and sweet.
The tightness in my chest fades. I really love the two of them. Like they're my brother and sister.
They'll help with this.
Oh fuck. I'm crying. I turn before anyone can see. God damn hormones. Probably. "Give me five minutes to change. You guys can watch TV or talk. Whatever you want. Just keep it in your pants."
"Well, I never..." Tom feigns offense.
"No one's buying that, sweetie." Willow laughs. "You're like a puppy today."
He licks her cheek. She laughs.
"I can try that a little lower and a lot softer," he murmurs.
She turns even more red.
I grab Drew before he can start growling.
***
The air outside isn't exactly fresh—there's far too much cigarette smoke to call it fresh—but it's in the ballpark.
I inhale my last bit of not exactly fresh air as we step into the Wynn. Apparently, the restaurants here are well-known for their vegan and vegetarian options.
"Tom, you know I can order a vegetable omelet anywhere." Willow looks around the opulent casino lobby and presses her lips together. "If you guys want that five-dollar steak and eggs downtown or whatever."
"Drew doesn't eat cheap food." Tom clears his throat. "Place has great reviews and a view of the hotel garden."
"It's fine, Wil." Drew nods to the restaurant in the corner. "Looks like a nice place."
She looks at me. "He spent the entire drive talking about the vegetarian friendly restaurants." She looks back to Tom. "I'm not picky. I can get a salad or a grilled cheese anywhere."
He pouts. "You're not eating grilled cheese in Vegas. This city is known for its dining, and you're not gonna miss out on my watch."
She smiles.
They're sickeningly cute. I'm glad. I may give Drew a hard time about his temper, but I feel that same urge to protect Willow. I'll destroy anyone who hurts her.
Drew frowns as we walk through a cloud of cigarette smoke. He fans the air in front of me. Damn, this city really is all cigarettes and booze. There isn't much for a hypothetically pregnant woman to do.
Tom and Willow are a few paces in front of us. Tom looks back, studying us. His green eyes light up and connect with mine.
He shoots me a knowing look.
But there's no way he knows...
How could he possibly know?
I check my purse. The test is in there, but the handbag is zipped tightly. I wouldn't necessarily put snooping in a purse past Tom, but he hasn't had a chance. The thing has been on my shoulder the entire walk here.
"Something on your mind, Tom?" I ask.
"Nah. Nothing important." He looks to Drew then back to me. "You?"
"My stomach is growling." Okay, it's saying Ugh, throwing up is a good idea, but it is saying something. "I'm starving. Hope you don't mind me copying your veggie omelet, Willow."
She throws her arm out like she's a queen presenting a crown to her subjects. "Veggie omelets for everyone."
We stop in front of the host stand. There's a small line curling around the corner—there are lines everywhere in Vegas—but Tom ignores it.
A college-aged woman in the line tugs at her friend's t-shirt. She points to Tom then to Drew and whispers in her friend’s ear.
The boys have been spotted. Usually, I don't mind random shows of celebrity—sometimes it's kinda funny watching Drew turn red over the attention—but I'm not in the mood right now. I'm in more of a sit down and throw up kind of mood.
There's no way this is allergies.
Thankfully, Tom has some kind of VIP pass. Or the host recognizes him as a VIP—he is famous on Instagram in addition to his usual rock star thing. Helps that his boudoir photographer wife loves shooting artsy black and white nudes for his page. There's nothing showing—not that I check.
The host leads us through the restaurant to a secluded corner. The non-smoking section, thankfully. Drew pulls my chair out for me and fusses to help me sit. Tom and Willow are staring, but they say nothing about it.
The place is clean and well-lit. Our square table is adorned with a bright white cloth. Nothing about this feels like Vegas. It's more like a nice restaurant in Santa Monica. Except for the beeps and bops of slot machines fifty feet away, it could be any restaurant in our neighborhood.
I play with the menu. There are tons of fancy options, but none of them appeal. The vegetable omelet sounds like more than I can handle. Toast and plain tea is about all I can handle,