“For luck.” I down the mimosa, which is amazingly refreshing. I feel a vague disappointment I won’t be having more. But I know if I do, Nate’s going to feel left out.
Besides, I didn’t come to Vegas to drink. I came here to…
My vision blurs for a second. Whoa. Weird. I’ve never felt this woozy before. Maybe the mimosa’s stronger than I thought—maybe more champagne than OJ? Don’t casinos want you drunk so you get stupid with betting?
I lean against Nate. Damn, he feels so good—solid and warm. But I really need to get my crap together, because I’m betting good money here, even if it’s not my own.
The last thing that crosses my mind is I really need to get the hell out of the casino before I do anything crazy.
Chapter Sixteen
Nate
Ow, fuck.
My head feels like a marching band on crack is banging away. Heavy on the drum section.
What the hell? Am I hung over? Really?
I don’t remember drinking much. I think I had maybe…what? Three…four weak drinks? But I can easily knock back ten shots of tequila and stay sober.
I sit up in the dark. The room does a slow spin, and I put a hand on my head so it doesn’t fall off. Then, carefully and with great effort, I take stock of my surroundings.
I’m in the hotel. The suite. My bare ass is touching the mattress. I’m missing my shirt, pants and shoes. My socks are still on, and my boxers are stuck at mid-thigh. What the fuck? I didn’t even take off all my clothes before falling in bed? I push at my ridiculous boxers, then kick them off to the floor.
The gears grind s-l-o-w-l-y…
Where’s Evie?
I turn my head gingerly, so my brain doesn’t spill out my ears. I spot her on the bed, next to me and facedown. Is she dead? Oh, shit. My heart stops. Some people choke on their vomit and die, and I’m certain she can’t drink like I can. I start to put a hand on her shoulder, but then notice her torso moving slowly up and down. Okay, so she’s not dead. That’s good.
A question pushes through the relentless throbbing in my head. What the hell happened? Evie and I are on bed together, and I’m more or less naked. And as for Evie…
Her dress is a mess. Her skirt is pushed up around her waist, and her underwear is missing. Or maybe she never wore any. That makes my dry mouth even drier, but I’m in no condition to do anything except pray I don’t die. And I really have no business admiring the stunning curve of her ass when she probably doesn’t mean for me to see it.
Although it is a really nice ass…
I gently tug the hem lower, covering her. There’s no reason to add embarrassment to the raging hangover she’s going to have. Then I roll her on her side, putting a pillow under her head. Shouldn’t be able to choke now, even if she does vomit.
One of her shoes is still on, and I take it off and toss it on the side. That should make her more comfortable.
Moving carefully to avoid falling and breaking my neck, I lurch toward the bathroom. I need a shower. And lots and lots of aspirin.
Aspirin.
The minibar.
I change directions and stagger out to the main room. Ah, yes. A small bottle of aspirin. Oh, how I love thee. I could kiss the guy who invented aspirin, even though he’s on the wrong team and likely long dead.
I down four pills, then leave the rest for Evie. The cold water from the fridge couldn’t taste better.
That done, I teeter to the bathroom and turn on just the LED light on the magnifying mirror attached to the wall, so my eyeballs don’t explode. I step into the shower and turn the knob. Hot water comes out instantly, thank God. I stand under the spray and pray to begin feeling half human. Or even a quarter human. I’m willing to go that low right now.
As more and more water sluices down, I start to think… What the hell did I drink last night? I don’t remember anything after the champagne, which is weird as hell, because I normally don’t black out like that. The last time I binged—well, I was trying to be a supportive friend to Court, who was depressed over being dumped, so that doesn’t count.
And I can’t imagine having much last night. Evie’s fanatical about my “limit” and would never let me have more than three…maybe four if I give her a puppy-dog look. I’m ninety-nine-point-nine-nine percent certain she didn’t leave my side at the casino. She knew the whole point was to be seen…
Ugh. Annoyed, I start washing myself. Evie’s going to want the bathroom when she wakes up.