Prosecco & Paparazzi (The Passport Series Book 1) Read Online Free

Then, in a blinding flash, it all fell before me. I announced, “I’ve got it!” I grabbed Hillary’s hand for support, both physical and psychological, and walked to where I thought I would find my destiny.
    Sure enough, there he was, standing beside Brynn, his finger trailing patterns on her bare, well-sculpted shoulder and whispering in her ear. It must have been juicy, because Brynn looked up at him with absolute lust in her eyes. She gazed into his so intently that she didn’t notice the white flash coming from his crotch.
    “Okay, here’s my plan! I need to tell him that his fly is down!”
    “Are you crazy? You’re going to walk up to Des Bannerman, introduce yourself, shake his hand, and say, ‘By the way, your fly is down’?”
    “That’s my plan exactly. Who doesn’t wish that someone had told them in that situation?”
    “I see your point, but remember he’s English. Be dignified,” she implored.
    She quickly assessed me, making sure that my lips were glossed, my dress was plunging, my hair was fluffed, and my teeth were free of food matter. Then she gave me a quick spritz of perfume.
    I looked at my friend and couldn’t truly believe that I was on the verge of meeting the man I had dreamt of for over a decade. “Okay, take a deep breath, be calm, be intelligent, and be brief,” were her words of wisdom.
    As I turned back to the table, I was thrilled to see they were still there. Des's hand was elsewhere entertained, but I was determined not to lose my chance.
    I walked straight up to the table. I cleared my throat, took a deep breath, and promptly placed a bet. All the while, my ears were ringing so much that I could barely understand a word the dealer was saying. I blatantly stared at Des, taking in his face’s classic features. His brow bone, jaw, and nose were rugged and refined at the same time—and his carefully crafted body was begging to be caressed. Seeing his perfection up close, my body heat radiated off of me in visible waves, and I started to feel drips running down my back. My hair started to stick to my forehead.
    I lost count, but the dealer made pay-outs and collected losses and dealt a few more rounds before Hillary shoved an ice-cold unidentifiable beverage in my hand. I made a horrible squelching noise as I slid off my stool. The dealer smirked and reminded me to take my chips.
    “What happened?” she cried.
    “What happened? What happened?” I panicked. “How am I supposed to walk up to him and get his attention? Have you seen her? Have you seen him? My god! He’s even more gorgeous up close. How can she stand herself? She gets to sleep with him. I want to pee myself just contemplating it.”
    All the while, Hillary was steering us toward the women’s bathroom, where I immediately looked in the mirror. Gone was the confident woman; gone was the lipstick (which now appeared to be all over my teeth, since I had apparently gnawed my lips off at the blackjack table). All that was left was a sweaty mass of human existence.
    “Okay, we’re going to wipe you down, freshen you up, and start over. Can you do it? Think you can? I think you can!” She had become part rugby coach, part cheerleader.
    Taking deep breaths and silently chanting, “I can do this, I can do this,” I refreshed myself with strategic splashes of cold water, reapplied my makeup, and swept my long, curly hair up into a stack that cascaded down my back.
    “Very sexy.”
    Off we went, out of the bathroom and into the pinging smoke-hazed world of the casino.
    I breathed in and out, and, while walking back to the table, I chanted my mantra. “I can do this, I can do this.” But they were gone.
    “Oh no! Where did they go?” I wailed.
    Experiencing a whole different physical reaction, I was consumed by instant remorse. I was deeply regretful of my cowardice. Then I went into overdrive. My need to find him was visceral.
    We wound our way through gaming tables, clusters of humanity, and slot machines,