I just couldn't let it go.

So now I'm calling this my Vegas-verse, like my Chino-verse. Again, it's all in first person, switching between Ryan and Taylor.

Also, this one has a different vibe from the first (probably because I've started out with an actual plot this time. Complete with plot holes, I'm sure, but I'm choosing to ignore that). And the title (if it's not obvious where it comes from) will be explained a little later.

Now, because I'm incredibly nervous posting this, go read. And enjoy. And review.







"For the love of God, Seth. No."

There's an angry huff as he folds his arms and flops back into the sofa, but he doesn't say anything else. Thank God. I don't know how much more of his whining I can take.

Seriously, the boy hasn't shut up since this morning – since he first brought up the whole bachelor party idea. I mean, he'd said something back when I first got engaged, but it's been almost a year, and no mention of it. Then this morning he hits me with the idea of going down to Vegas.

Really? Vegas?

When had Vegas ever been a good idea for us? The last time we went we ended up in jail, and I almost broke up with Taylor. And I told him, back when I first got engaged, back when he first mentioned a bachelor party, that I didn't want one. I don't want one in Vegas, I don't want one here, I don't want one anywhere.

Good Lord, I sound like a Dr. Seuss book.

But for some reason, Seth is really hooked on this bachelor party idea, and I can't seem to shake him. I'm almost tempted to give in, except I can't. And that's not because of pride or anything, I just don't have the time for a bachelor party. See, when Taylor set the date – and yes, I mean Taylor alone, because I have almost nothing to do with this wedding – she didn't know that I was going to get a major project the month before.

This woman – Ms. Casetti – hired us to design and build her new house, and Mr. Branson assigned it to me. We had no idea at the time that the woman was such a raging bitch, the design process alone would take up the month until my wedding.

And if I don't convince the woman to agree to our design in two weeks, I'm not going to be able to make the honeymoon.

Sure, I can take off a day for the wedding, but I can't take off for the two week long 'sexcapades' – as Taylor calls it – after that. And we already have the tickets and the room booked in Greece. But this Casetti woman – for all of her venom and complaints – has decided that I'm her man for the job, so if I leave for said two weeks, she'll drop her account with us.

Branson won't be so happy.

So now I have to deal with Taylor's endless rants about wedding plans that I have no control or say over, Seth's endless whining about wanting to throw me a bachelor party that I don't want, and to top it all off, this Casetti woman, who, by the way, I spent six hours arguing with about the number of outlets she can have in a room. Seriously. Six hours. She didn't seem to get that too many outlets usually equals fire hazard.

Oh, and have I mentioned I'm not getting laid?

Yeah, Taylor decided it would be 'romantic' if we didn't have sex again until our wedding night. Also? She decided this a month and a half ago. That's going to be two full months of not getting any.

The sad thing is, there used to be a time when I was fine not having sex for two months. Well, not back in Chino – back in Chino I got laid nearly every week because Trey, Arturo, Eddie and I decided partying was more fun than going to school. But in Newport I went months without it – especially those months spent with Marissa and Lindsay. With Sadie and Taylor I got laid a lot, and then in college, it was fairly regularly – what with all the desperate, drunken sorority girls and Taylor's tri-yearly 'one last time' visits. And since we got back together after college? Constant sex.

But now? Good God.

I thought it had been hard – being in love with a girl and not getting to sleep with her. It had been horrible when I was dating Marissa. I was in love with the girl and she loved me, and it had been really hard not to go for it.

But with Taylor? Not only do I love her, not only am I not having sex with her, but I have to remember what it was like to have sex with her. And I have to sleep in the same bed with her. With Taylor it's damn near impossible to keep off her. It's incredibly... frustrating.

"How about one stripper?"

"Seth, shut the fuck up."


"Hmm?" I hum, not looking up from the receipts in front of me. Food orders, DJ, reception hall…

"We're not going to San Diego to talk to your dad, are we?"

I close my eyes for a second before looking up at Summer, hands on her hips, stomach trying to fight its way out of her shirt. In one of the fists planted on her hip she has a paper, and I can see it's my Mapquested directions. Not to San Diego, like I told her, but to Vegas. I sigh and put down my pen. "No, we're not."

"Ok, why did you lie?" She still looks angry – although, to be honest, she always looks angry nowadays.

"Because I didn't want you telling Ryan and Seth we were going to Vegas." When she quirks an eyebrow, I sigh again. "Look, I have… something to take care of in Vegas, and I don't want anyone to know what it is. So I made up the thing about wanting to convince my dad to come to the wedding, and he lives in San Diego…"

"Uh huh," she interrupts, pressing her hand into her back as she sits down. "Wanna tell me why you're taking a pregnant chick to Vegas?" I bite my lip and shake my head. She can't know yet, cause then she might stop me.

"Look, I promise, when we get there, I'll tell you. But for right now, you just have to know that it's important."

She regards me for a few minutes, and really, I'm worried she's going to refuse. Ever since Seth knocked her up, she's been taking less and less crap from people – and considering how she was before she was pregnant? That's saying something. But finally she leans back, resting a hand on her protruding stomach, and mutters "fine."

Wow. She didn't even try and cut me – like that time Seth tried to take her chicken nuggets? She'd grabbed that steak knife so fast he'd screamed like a little girl before running into the bedroom.

"Hello Summer! You look radiant…"

I roll my eyes at Seth's attempt to get on his wife's good side. Especially because it doesn't work, and she mutters something about stupid Seth and his stupid sperm. She's gotten slightly cranky since she got pregnant. But I ignore that couple and smile at my fiancée, who smiles back and moves past her Maid of Honor to throw her arms around me.

I hate when she hugs me now.

Especially because she's one of those huggers – you know the type. The ones that hug you so tight and hang on for so long? Which never used to be a problem, until she stopped letting me strip her naked and have my way with her. And right now her hot little body is pressed up tight against me, and I go to my happy place so I don't react. Oh – my happy place is talking to Ms. Casetti about light fixtures. That always turns me off.

"Hey baby," she murmurs as she pulls away, and I don't break my smile.

"Hey." Ok, well, my pretending like nothing is wrong was going well until I spoke, and I'm quite sure she can hear how low my voice is. And I'm definitely sure when her eyes widen before she smirks at me. She's enjoying this. Goddamnit.

"Everything ok?" she asks innocently, trailing a hand down my chest, and my entire body tightens.

"What?" Seth's outraged voice cuts off whatever I'd been about to say, and we both look to the dark-haired couple next to us. Summer's rolling her eyes and Seth is looking indignant, mouth hanging open, eyes fix accusingly on me.

"What?" I mirror his previous question, except I sound confused, whereas he'd sounded irritated.

"They get to go to Vegas!" he accuses, not once looking at Taylor or Summer. He keeps his eyes focused on me, silently asking if they get to go, why can't we? I'm about to start one of my familiar rebuttals when his words actually hit me.

"Wait. You're going to Vegas?" It's my turn to look accusing as I shift my focus to Taylor, who retracts her hand from my chest, looking guilty. "You said you were going to San Diego."



"Well, I told you we were going to San Diego, because I know how much you hate Vegas…" she offers, trying to give me that innocent smile that normally makes me do whatever she wants. And right now, she wants me not to be angry.

"Can you blame me for hating it?" I settle for broody instead of angry, putting on my sulky face and walking into the kitchen. She trails after me while Seth and Summer stay in the living area to have their own argument. "And what can Summer do in Vegas? Go drinking? Club hopping? Strip clubs?"

"I already know what we're doing in Vegas," she counters, crossing her arms over her chest, "and no, I'm not going to tell you what it is. Now stop being broody."

"No." I shoot back stubbornly, yanking the refrigerator door open.

"Ryan, I'm going to Vegas, there's nothing you can do about it, so stop brooding."

"Or what?" I turn to look at her, water bottle in hand, "you'll stop having sex with me? Oh wait," I let out a sarcastic laugh, "you've already done that."

"Oh my God," I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose to relieve the pressure building in my head. "You're acting like a five year old."

"No I'm not," he mutters defensively, but I see the way his shoulders tense up - he knows I'm right.

"Ryan, I let you go to Vegas," I remind him, and he looks uncomfortable. "I let you go to Vegas, where you almost slept with a stripper, got a tattoo, and got arrested. You owe me for still agreeing to marry your sorry ass."


I let him have his righteous anger and turn to grab the phone so I can order take-out. Summer'd been complaining the entire way over that she was hungry. I call in the order and hang up, turning to put the phone back on the hook, and I find Ryan staring at my ass. He doesn't even notice that I've stopped talking to the woman on the phone, he just continues staring.

Really? Sometimes I wonder how he got so horny. Was he born like this, or was it some product of his upbringing? I'm completely ignoring the fact that my sex drive rivals his.

And it bothers me that he thinks I'm not affected by this no sex rule. I am. Like right now? He's got his broody face on, and he keeps running his hand through his hair and mussing it up, and all I want to do is jump him and mount him right here in the kitchen, in front of Seth and Summer. But I'm not going to, because I can control myself.

I'm also never going to tell him that I'm having a hard time with all the non-fucking we're doing, because he'll just use it against me.

He can be very persuasive when he gets inspired.

Food distracts me from my Taylor-based issues, and I actually relax as we eat. Actually, hearing Seth and Summer bicker and snipe at each other makes me feel better about Taylor and me. At least we don't fight all the time – although any time we do fight, the make-up sex is fantastic. And there I go thinking about sex again.

Well, I guess I should be glad she'll be gone for a while. She didn't say how long she'd be in Vegas, but I'm assuming if she's using my trip last year as an excuse, it'll be about a week. And then when she gets back, hopefully there'll be so much going on – with work and the wedding details – I won't have time to think about sex.

Stop thinking about sex.


Crap. Ok, change the subject.


Brazil's won the most World Cups – a total of five.

Sex with Taylor.

Italy has four wins.

1934, 1938, 1982, 2006.

Taylor naked. Bent over the table.

The next World Cup is...

"Come on, Seth," Summer groans, getting up. It's only then that I realize everyone's done eating, and it's getting late. Well, it's getting late for Summer, who's started to go to bed around seven every night. The funniest thing about that little pregnancy quirk is that she makes Seth go to bed with her, because she needs someone next to her before she falls asleep.

"Ok, be ready at ten tomorrow," Taylor's saying as she walks them to the door. "I'll come pick you up, ok?" She and Summer keep talking, but my eyes drift down to her ass. She has a great ass. I remember the night I first realized I was attracted to her – I'd seen her in that red dress that made her ass look fantastic, and I remember being hooked as she walked away from me, out to the dance floor. I danced for that ass. I hate dancing. It's weird to think that if she hadn't worn that fantastic dress, if she hadn't asked me to dance, we may have never gotten together. I wouldn't be marrying her, I wouldn't be so fantastically in love with her.

"Just take a cold shower, ok?"

My head snaps up to find her rolling her eyes at me. Seth and Summer are gone – when did that happen? "Or you could fuck me," I offer, not all that seriously, because I know she won't. But I'm going for Seth-level persistence here, hoping that maybe if I bug her enough, she'll fuck me out of sheer desperation for me to shut up.

"Or you could take a cold shower," she moves past me, voice never changing from bored indifference.

Looks like it's a cold shower and my hand tonight. Oh boy.

Good? Bad? Crack-tastic?