What the fuck had we done last night?
My head hurt and I was dehydrated as hell, so I grabbed a water out of the mini-fridge and took it to the couch. I sat, making sure the towel still covered my dick—since this hard-on wasn’t going anywhere, apparently—and chugged the water. There’s a reason I didn’t party like that anymore. I had a feeling I was going to be paying for it for at least the next twenty-four hours.
The flight home was sure going to be fun.
Sophie came out a few minutes later, her hair a little damp like she’d tried to wet it to get her curls to behave—with only marginal success. She’d found her other shoe, and she wore that curve-hugging purple dress that I’d spent last night fantasizing about taking off her.
Had I?
We’d both woken up naked.
But why couldn’t I remember?
“I have to go, but thank you for—” Her foot banged into something and she stumbled but didn’t fall this time. “What the…”
She picked up a red sign with a big number two on both sides. An MMA organization’s logo was at the bottom.
That’s right. We’d gone to a fight last night. And Sophie had—
“Oh my god.” She dropped it like it was hot. “I thought that was a dream. Please tell me I wasn’t one of the ring girls at an MMA fight.”
My lip curled in a smile. It was hazy, but that part started coming back to me. “You did. We were ringside and you said you wanted to go up there with the girls next round.”
“So you flagged someone down and they handed me this.”
“But you didn’t have a bikini, so you went up there in—”
“My underwear.”
She was so adorably mortified it was hard not to laugh.
“That was hot. And I seem to remember the crowd loving you.”
“Oh my god.” She covered her face with her hands. “I have to go.”
“Sophie, wait.”
She didn’t. Just grabbed her purse off the floor and rushed out the door.
I got up, holding the towel, and picked my way across the cluttered floor. I threw open the door but she’d already disappeared around the corner.
I was about to run after her when I realized I didn’t have a room key. The last thing I needed right now was to get locked out wearing nothing but a towel. Stepping back, I caught the door with my heel before it clicked shut.
“Fuck,” I muttered, looking both ways down the hall.
She was gone.
I waited another second because chances were she was running and she’d trip in her heels. But I didn’t hear anything.
Oddly disappointed that she was gone, I went back inside and used the bathroom. My boxer briefs were on the floor in the bedroom, so I tugged them on, then got another bottle of water and took it to the couch.
At least I knew how to get in touch with her. Shepherd Calloway’s office. That was something.
I took a long swig of water and looked around again.
Wait a minute.
There were pearly white balloons in one corner and a bouquet of white roses on the table. An open bottle of champagne stood next to a silver bucket.
This was a honeymoon suite.
Oh, fuck.
I got up and tore around the mess, looking for the rest of my clothes. Where were my fucking pants? I finally found them near the front door. Apparently I’d either shucked them as soon as we’d come in, or tossed them in that direction when I’d taken them off. Impossible to tell which.
There was something in the back pocket. Not cash. No chips or gambling winnings. Sophie had done all the winning last night, although I’d been prepared to fund her if she’d hit a losing streak, just because watching her gamble had been so much fun.
But something else tickled my memory. Something slightly less hazy than whatever had happened in this hotel suite last night.
I pulled a folded piece of paper out of the back pocket. It was exactly what I thought. This was an absolute disaster.
Because this time, what happened in Vegas wasn’t staying there.
8
Sophie
This wasn’t just a walk of shame. This was a Vegas walk of shame. A dash down a hotel hallway in last night’s dress with no bra, tottering on my high heels, hoping and praying I hadn’t left anything important behind walk of shame.
Well, I had left something important behind. My dignity. Or what little of it I had left after last night.
This was such a disaster.
The elevator doors opened and something seemed off, but I couldn’t place it. I got in and dug my room key out of my purse. Thankfully everything seemed to be in there—my wallet, phone, room key. Even my lipstick had survived my wild night.
Under normal circumstances, I would have called that a tiny win and internally celebrated—it was expensive lipstick—but these weren’t normal circumstances.
I had my pointer finger all ready to press the button for my floor, but I stopped.
Something was wrong.
My room was on the thirty-ninth floor, but this elevator stopped at thirty-six. What was going on?
The elevator started to go down but I hadn’t pressed any buttons. Someone on a lower floor must have called it. My brain tried to assault me with fuzzy memories from last night, but I pushed them aside because I had no idea where I was.
Was this even my hotel?
For a second, I thought about going back to Cox’s room. But I hadn’t looked to see what number it was. And I really didn’t want to face him again. Last night had been…
I didn’t even know. Vague memories flashed through my mind, but they were foggy and disjointed. I couldn’t even be sure they were all real.
My head pounded, throbbing to the beat of my heart, and my stomach was horribly raw. The elevator doors opened to the lobby and a small group of travelers with rolling suitcases stepped aside so I could get out. I kept my eyes on the floor, not daring to meet their gazes. Could they tell what I’d been through? Did they know I’d just woken up naked with a man I barely knew and had only the vaguest, haziest memory of how I’d gotten there?
Could they tell I wasn’t wearing a bra?
Probably, but really, that was the least of my problems. One look at the lobby and I knew this was not my hotel.
Somehow I’d ended up at the Bellagio with Camden Cox.
And I’d woken up naked.
That probably meant I’d slept with him.
Although I didn’t remember sleeping with him.
But I barely remembered coming to this hotel, so my memory was clearly unreliable.
I’d made messes out of situations before, but this was some next level mess making.
I took a deep breath and walked through the lobby. I was almost too distracted by my predicament to notice the incredible glass ceiling—almost, but not quite. It looked like a glowing, multicolored garden. Or maybe upside-down umbrellas. Either way, it was beautiful.
But I needed to get out of here in case Cox followed me down. I cast a quick look over my shoulder—no sign of him—then made my way outside.
Pausing to get my bearings, I pulled out my phone. I didn’t know my way around the Strip very well, but I was pretty sure my hotel was too far to walk. I’d just check the map to be sure, then take a taxi. That seemed easiest.