Honeymoon Hideaway Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  COPYRIGHT

  BLACKOUT: A Romance Anthology

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  What’s Next

  Books by Cary Hart

  About the Author

  Social Media

  Acknowledgements

  Thank You

  COPYRIGHT 2019

  Disclaimer. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously; any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement.

  This ebook contains material protected under the International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of the material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author. For more information regarding permission email [email protected]

  Editing provided by Word Nerd Editing

  Proofreading provided by Proofing with Style

  Cover Design by Sarah Paige with Opium House Creatives

  Interior Design provided by Cary Hart

  Publication Date: April 2019

  Honeymoon Hideaway

  Paperback ISBN: 9781093310443

  Copyright ©Cary Hart 2019

  All rights reserved

  Close Encounter by Stephanie St. Klaire

  “The day started with a quick screw, a couple of quirky two-bit cons and ended with a diabolical serial killer. What do you do when the lights go out? Run.”

  The Do-Over by Christi Barth

  “The best way to move on after being dumped? A hot fling. An even better way? Revenge sex and the chance to turn the tables on the guy who dumped you...”

  Night & Day by Bethany Lopez

  “One explosive weekend together nearly ruined them. But, there's no way Simone and Micah can ignore their chemistry when they're alone in the dark.”

  Night Games by T.K. Leigh

  “Note to self: Never agree to play an innocent dice game during a blackout in Vegas. I should have known it wouldn’t remain innocent, not in the city of sin.”

  Absolutely Mine by Terri E. Laine

  “I made a promise to stay away from my best friend’s little sister. But it’s Vegas and that’s one promise I’m probably going to break.”

  Just Us by J.H. Croix

  “Ellie asks me to promise her one thing. We can’t tell her brother about us. Small problem though. One night will never be enough.”

  Blind Faith by Lauren Runow

  “I never expected to be locked out of my room basically naked in a total blackout. Thinking that would be the biggest shock of my night was my first mistake.”

  Dirty Thoughts by C.A. Harms

  “He was the crush I never thought I’d see again. Yet here we were in Vegas, during a total blackout. I figure why not explore all the possibilities, or more like let him explore me?”

  Going Down by Lisa Shelby

  “She’s the only person I’ve ever loved and I’m the last person she wants to see. She’d hoped to avoid me as much as possible in Vegas, but when we get stuck alone in an elevator, not even she can deny that our chemistry still runs hot.”

  Hard Luck by K.A. Ware

  “Ellis James is my kryptonite, the only person who could drag me back to Vegas after I promised myself I was done with that life. I'd bleed for her, I'd die for her, but can I save her?”

  Becoming His by K.I. Lynn

  When I slammed into Hollywood heartthrob Reid Gallagher, I never imagined it would turn into a first date I’d never forget. After all, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas...right?

  Honeymoon Hideaway by Cary Hart

  What’s worse than being locked in a room with a vibrating bed and your sworn enemy? Waking up next to him… naked! Did I mention he’s also my boss? Oops.

  Free Bird by Leddy Harper

  “She’s a showgirl who wants out of Vegas. He’s a rugby player who wants a bit of company. Can they both get what they want?”

  To learn more about our contributors, and their stories:

  ww.privatepartybookclub.com/blackout

  To the girl who is thinking about giving up. Don’t!

  Be the ring in a world full of gumballs!

  With a name like Vegas Manilow, it was inevitable I would find my way back to the City of Sin, where I was born to Lola—she was a showgirl. With yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there. Too much? Yeah, I thought so too. When really she was a struggling pole dancer named Betty-Sue Huck. Cliché, right? Tell me about it. Actually, try growing up with it.

  How many kids do you know who were raised to believe their dad was the one and only Barry Manilow? I mean, come on, if Barry Manilow were to have impregnated any woman, there would’ve been gasps heard all around the world, but for shits and giggles, let’s just say he did. It would have been all over TMZ. Well, Nineteen-Ninety-Four’s version…

  Stuck away in a rundown apartment on the west side of the brightest city in the world? Nope! There is no way Barry Manilow would have his “wife and kid” livin’ above the Boobie Bungalow. At least, that’s what Steffy Sinclair, Mom’s arch-nemesis, told me one day backstage while Mom was working the pole. Correction—the head pole on the main stage. The most coveted position at the Boobie Bungalow and my mom had it.

  I tried to ask her about him a couple of times, but she kept giving me the same run around about how Barry showed up at the Boobie Bungalow when his limo broke down out front. One thing led to another, next thing you know, he wrote a song for her, gave her his last name—which really means, she stole it—and made her the president of the Las Vegas Fanilow club. Yada, yada, yada—you get the big picture, right? Most kids don’t have their dad photoshopped into family portraits—or, in our case—glue-sticked magazine cutouts.

  See where I’m going with this? My life was anything but normal. It was easier to go along with her story than see the look of disappointment on my mom’s face because I, her only daughter, didn’t believe her.

  Surviving life with Lola, acting became my everyday norm. It’s why I got into the business in the first place—acting, not stripping. It’s also why I’m back here, standing in front of the One Stop Wedding Shop in Las Vegas, broke, with nowhere else to go.

  “Holy cock-n-balls! Vegas? Is that you?” a thick, raspy voice hollers from behind me. A voice that could only belong to one person. A woman who has known me my whole life. My mom’s best friend and sidekick from the Boobie Bungalow. The reason I’m here. Dottie French.

  “Aunt Dottie?” I turn and jog across the street, wrapping her in my arms.

  “Watch it, kid,” she rattles. “You’re gonna make me drop the Cubans. They had a sale at the dollar store.” Dottie breaks free and holds up the two white bags, smiling. Her pearly whites that look a hell of
a lot less yellow and more perfect than the last time I saw her are tinted with a little hot pink from her too heavy lipstick.

  “You have a little pink on your…” I point to my mouth, “teeth.”

  “Damn. The lady at the drugstore told me this shit wouldn’t rub off.” She begins to run her tongue over her teeth when her dentures flap loose. “Hell, she also told me this denture glue would withstand a five-minute blow job and it can’t even last through half a twelve-ounce soda-pop.”

  I cover my mouth, trying to hide the building laugh. Aunt Dottie has always had a way with words. Crass and

  sassy without a care in the world. She is who she is and makes no apology about it.

  “How ’bout now?” She flashes me a toothy grin. “Good?”

  “I think you got it.”

  “She said it was guaranteed.” Dottie shakes her head. “Should’ve known…” she trails off, lookin’ over my shoulder. “Are you gonna introduce me to the groom?”

  “To who?” I turn around to see who she’s eyeing on the other side of the street and remember I’m standing in front of the twenty-four-hour wedding chapel. “Ohhh…no, no, no. No way. I would never get married. Not here.”

  Dottie raises an eyebrow.

  “I mean. I’m sure it’s a wonderful place, you know, to get married. It’s just not my thing. You know, the Vegas-style wedding thing.” I try to dig myself out of the hole I’m burying myself in.

  Dottie passes me a bag, waves her hand in the air, and says, “Okay, kid. Have it your way.”

  I peek inside the bag and notice the writing on a box: Cube-N-Cigars. Why take just one puff when you can have a box?

  “Aunt Dottie, I don’t think you can get Cuban’s at the dollar store.”

  “The hell you can’t.” She holds up her bag in front of her. “I have a couple boxes of stogies that say otherwise. Now, how ’bout we cut the shit and you tell me why you’re here.”

  That’s my Aunt Dottie. Zero fucks to give.

  “I-I kind of…um…” I try to find the words to explain how I flew all the way across the county to the one place I vowed to never return.

  “Well? Cat got your tongue?” Dottie tosses me an all-knowing side-eye as she pulls her pack of smokes from her bra and lights one up.

  Biting my bottom lip, I stand there, face-to-face with a woman who doesn’t give two shits what the truth is as long as I speak it. Yet, here I am having trouble finding the words.

  Taking in a deep breath, I exhale with the truth, “I have nowhere else to go, Aunt Dottie.”

  “Whelp, kiddo. How about you come inside and tell me ’bout it?” she asks before hurrying across the street, creating her own crosswalk, making it legal in her head. She zigzags between the cars, giving the middle finger to anyone who tries to cross her path. “You comin’?” she shouts, glancing back.

  “Yeah!” I holler back. “I’ll be right there.”

  I hate Vegas. Yet, here I am, standing in the center of it all, asking it to save me. Irony at its best.

  “Kid, pay close attention because we don’t have much time.” Aunt Dottie’s husky voice echoes off the glass walls as we walk through the main lobby of the twenty-four-hour wedding chapel. “On the left is what I like to call wedding row.” She points to the tiny shops lining the glass wall. “Florist, photographer, dress rental, bakery…oh shit!” She stops, noticing her reflection. “Gimme a second.” She throws open the door to the dress rental shop and disappears behind the counter.

  “Dottie? Everything okay?” I follow her in.

  “Yeah.” She pokes her head up over the counter, sporting a new bleach blonde wig that’s been teased beyond recognition. I can’t tell if it’s more bee-hive or big hair band. “How do I look?”

  I’m at a loss for words. What can you say to that exactly? “Um, well—”

  “Still lookin’ good for forty-nine—don’t ya think?” She finds a mirror and straightens the wig.

  I’m not sure what to say. She looks a lot less like forty-nine and more her age of sixty-one. Even though I know her as Aunt Dottie, she was more like a mother to my mom and a grandmother to me. I’ve seen Dottie wear wigs my whole life but catching a glimpse in her au natural state was a sight I’ve never seen before. In fact, I almost didn’t recognize her, but her voice gave her away. One telling of a lifelong love affair with cigarettes. That is something you just can’t forget.

  “Well, I thought you looked good before.” I smile, opting to play it safe.

  “Nonsense. You’re just being the polite girl your momma raised you to be.” She fluffs up her hair. “With this, I never have to worry about a bad hair day,” she says as she struts by and flips my hair. “Wouldn’t have to worry about this wind-blown look.”

  “Dottie!” I gasp. “It’s the style.”

  “Don’t worry, kiddo,” Dottie reassures as she pulls her lipstick from her brassiere, painting her lips before she continues. “It’s nuttin’ a comb and bottle of Aqua-Net can’t take care of,” she says as she smacks her lips together.

  “Oh, jeez.” I roll my eyes, careful she doesn’t catch me.

  The last time I let Aunt Dottie near me with a teasing comb and a can of hairspray, I ended up looking like Dolly Parton during her nineteen sixties’ beehive phase. The only problem? It was my junior prom, and I was the only girl who had flammable hair and makeup fit for a drag queen. Best birth-control ever.

  “I saw that.” She twists around, her eyes narrowed into the tiniest slits. “And I know what you’re thinking,” she adds. “And I do…”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. I do look good as a redhead.” Dottie picks her bag back up and heads toward the door, holding it open for me. “But we save that look for Sassy Saturdays.”

  “Sassy Saturdays?” I’m confused.

  “Come on, kid, has it really been that long for you?” Dottie looks over her shoulder, letting out an exasperated sigh.

  “Sorry, Aunt Dottie. I guess I just left Vegas behind when I moved to New York,” I confess.

  “Kid,” Dottie spins around, “you may have left Vegas,” she picks up my hand and places it over my heart, “but Vegas didn’t leave you. It will always be in here.” She nods once and gives me the biggest, hot-pink grin. “Now, let’s go to my office. Sounds like you’ve got a story for your Aunt Dottie.”

  “I guess I do,” I whisper.

  As I follow Dottie down the hall, she congratulates the newlyweds coming out of the chapels and wishes others good luck as they go in, stopping only to introduce me to a few employees.

  “Hey, Dottie! Lookin’ good.” An older man comes limping around the corner. “Well, who’s this fine young thing?” He grins as he runs a hand through his powder white goatee, his dimples barely hidden beneath.

  “This is Lola’s daughter, Vegas.” Dottie beams. “You remember her, don’t ya, Harold?”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” He crosses his arms and hollers behind him. “Darla, you won’t believe who’s here!”

  “What did you say, Harold?” A fragile, yet feisty, white-haired lady comes around the corner, driving a blinged-out scooter.

  “Darla, look who came to visit our Dottie.” Harold goes to stand next to his wife.

  Darla eyes me from head to toe, then glances up at Harold. “Is that?”

  “It sure as hell is!” he confirms.

  I’m not sure what to do. I’m standing in the hallway with a woman I haven’t seen in almost eight years and an older couple who acts like they’ve known me my whole life. I take a few steps closer and introduce myself. “Hello, I’m Vegas Manilow, Lola’s daughter.” I hold out my hand, and Darla clasps it in both of hers.

  “Oh, honey, you have grown into such a beautiful young lady.” She glances up to her husband. “Hasn’t she, Harold?”

  “She sure has,” he agrees, returning her sentiment.

  Darla’s eyes grow bright with excitement. “Vegas, tell me, do you have a boyfriend?” She waggles her eyebrows.
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  “Reel it back in, Darla. This is not the time nor the place for you to play matchmaker.” Harold gives me an apologetic look. “You build her a wedding chapel and she thinks she’s Cupid.” He winks.

  Unsure what to do, I shoot Dottie a wide-eyed, please-save-me look. “Um…Aunt Dottie. Didn’t you say we had to hurry?”

  “Oh, yeah, kid. Well, Harold, Darla, I’ve got to get these bags to Burt.” Dottie holds up the sacks from the dollar store.

  “Ahhh! Yes, you don’t want to keep that young buck waitin’!” Harold confirms.

  Darla, who still has my hands in a vice grip, pulls me in. “Whoa!” I squeal as she yanks me toward her, bringing us eye to eye. “If you’re single and looking to mingle, my Jujube is free,” she whispers loudly.

  “Darla!” Harold scolds. “Jujube is out of the country.” He gives me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Vegas. Please forgive my wife.”

  “Well, Harold, maybe if he had something like this to come home to, he would,” Darla fires back.

  “We’ve been over this before, honey. He’s helping that country dig holes for water…” Harold continues to rein in his wife. “He’ll come back…” Harold places a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

  “I know, Harold.” Darla reaches up to pat his hand. “I know,” she agrees.

  That’s when Aunt Dottie pulls me off to the side. “Kid, this is our only break. Let’s go.”

  “Do I know them?” I ask as we race off.

  “When you were just a bratty kid with pigtails, you would sneak out to the bar and beg the customers for quarters for the gumball machine.” Dottie’s voice is a little wheezy from walking and talking, but she continues. “Hidden between those gumballs were little plastic diamond rings, and you wanted one so bad.”

  “Ahhh! I remember,” I follow her down the long hall weaving in and out of the hustle and bustle of the twenty-four-hour chapel. “My mom told me if I stayed backstage, she would give me a bag of quarters at the end of the week.”