Georgia is at the counter when I walk in the door, a sight for sore eyes, beaming for all she’s worth.

She gets up and runs over to hug me, then bounces up and down on the balls of her feet, still buzzing with energy.

“Oh my gosh, can you believe it? I could pinch myself.”

“What have you found out?” My bag gets dropped to the ground. Shoes come off too.

There are take-out containers of Chinese food on the counter, rice and whatever else she ordered, my nose twitching from how good it smells.

“We can pick our dates—it just has to be within a certain time frame. We book the flights and send them the receipts for that and get reimbursed. Rental car is paid for, we can leave whenever we want, four-night maximum. There’s a drink package at the hotel, food is paid for, and it includes tickets to one show.”

She makes an eek sound, positively red-faced.

“This is your dream come true.”

Vegas. Of all places.

Lord she’s way too easily impressed.

I wonder how she’d feel about the Eiffel Tower in Paris.

Or Big Ben in London.

Or the great pyramids of Egypt.

She’s getting all that in one place in Vegas.

I pause, the realization dawning on me—my privilege dawning on me. She doesn’t think she’ll ever see the real things in person so she’s willing to settle for what are basically theme park imitations.

Dang.

Now I feel like a colossal arsehole.

“You still want to go, right?” she says hurriedly, pulling out a barstool at the counter for me. “I mean—I know we made the bet that I wouldn’t win, but if you don’t actually want to go, I totally understand. You’re busy. Plus it’s the middle of the semester—this is crazy.”

She gives her head a little shake.

“I’ll go.”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

That almost makes me roll my eyes; she practically bamboozled me into this trip in the first place by betting me she wouldn’t win and using my attendance as the stakes.

“Do I look like the type of bloke who gets forced into doing things he doesn’t want to do?”

Georgia rakes her bold gaze up and down my body, landing on my legs, tattooed arms, and chest before returning to my eyes.

“No?”

I sit at the island and begin spooning up rice, broccoli, beef, and shrimp. An egg roll, sauce. Load it up as if I haven’t had a meal in days and the food is going to run out.

“Thanks for dinner.”

She nods, helping herself to food. “I thought it was a good way to celebrate—not having to cook. Not that I cook, ha ha.” Georgie is babbling nervously. “I’m just so”—she squeals—“happy!”

I lower my head to fork rice into my mouth, hiding my smile.

“So when do you want to go?” I chance asking, knowing the question is going to create an onslaught of more rambling.

“As a matter of fact, I already checked my schedule because if I have to wait five months, I’ll die. Plus, it’s so hot in Vegas in the summer, so like, soon. If you can go—soon, that is.” She giggles nervously. “I feel like I’m being a freak.”

Kind of.

But I don’t mention it; don’t need to make her feel self-conscious.

“My season isn’t done until the end of the semester, but I can tell you what weekends we don’t have matches. I think there’s a bye week coming up.”

Georgia nods, staring at her mobile. “And I’m free two weekends from now, and then next month.”

Another squeal.

My glance shifts to the fridge—to the calendar hanging there with my schedule—eyes trying to read it without having to haul my arse off this stool.

I give Georgia a look. “You checked to see when I was free, didn’t you?”

She blushes prettily. “I might have.” Laughs. “I’m sorry, but I’m so excited. I couldn’t help myself!”

“It’s fine.” Pause. “So, when can I go?”

She clears her throat. “Well, it just so happens you’re also free in two weeks—but if that’s too soon, I get it. I mean who just goes on a trip in two weeks without any notice?”

Plenty of people, I want to point out, at the risk of sounding like a pompous windbag.

“I can seriously go in two weeks?” Shite, that does feel soon.

But if we wait any longer, there’s a chance I’ll change my mind, get lazy, and want to stay back, forcing her to scramble and find someone else to tag along on this free ride.

“Yup.” Her head dips in a nod. “You’re free in two weeks. Unless there’s something you forgot to put on your calendar?”

I don’t forget anything, and there’s hardly anything else to put there.

Rugby.

Class.

Those are the two things I do, rarely deviating.

Parties don’t count; those are last minute. I don’t have parents who pop in to school to visit, no holidays to go home for.

It’s too much work.

Too far.

Too expensive, not that cost has ever been a factor.

Lucky me, born with a silver spoon in my gap-toothed mouth.

That sobers me up.

“And we’re sharing a room?”

“Yes, but…I think I read that the room has a sleeper sofa?”

“Um. What’s that?”

She cocks her head. “A sleeper sofa? It’s a couch that converts into a bed. Haven’t you seen one?”

Um, no. We never had those at the two-hundred-year-old estate where I grew up—wouldn’t have gone with the gilded décor.

“No.”

“Oh. Well, the room has one and we can toss a coin to see who has to sleep on it.” She gives me a megawatt smile. “I can’t afford to put you in your own room.”

Pretty.

So goddamn pretty and happy.

“It’s fine—I’ll suffer through it.”

I bury my head again, wanting to avoid her huge blue eyes and the freckles on her nose and her pink lips.

How the fuck am I supposed to spend a weekend with her in Sin City and not think sinful things about her?

You’ll survive; it’s only a few nights. “How long will we be there?”

“How about two nights? We can’t really miss any classes, and we definitely cannot miss practice.”

Nope, we can’t.

Plus, Vegas is fine in small doses.

Two nights will be plenty before it becomes too much.

“Sounds good to me. Can you text me the dates so I won’t forget?”

She picks up her mobile, head tilted down. “There. Sent.”

More smiles. More giggles.

She’s so utterly cheerful it’s practically oozing out of her pores. “Should we watch a movie tonight, or…” Her eyes travel my face. “Oh gosh, your lip!”

Reaching forward, her fingers go to the corner of my mouth—to the gash there. It’s already been cleaned and dressed, but I imagine it looks terrible.

The new cuts always do the first few hours, blood-stained skin and all that.

I jerk my head away from her prying fingers, knowing if she touches me, it’ll sting my skin worse than any cleat could.