“Oh, yeah.”
Chapter Seventeen
Evie
My head feels like it’s about to split in half. Or maybe it’s already split in half, based on the pain radiating from my skull. My brain seems mushier than instant oatmeal.
But my bladder seems to be working perfectly, and is signaling that it’s full and I’d better empty it unless I want to embarrass myself.
I get up—very slowly—and move toward the bathroom, praying my head doesn’t explode or really, honest to God, split like a watermelon. All the while, I’m trying to think.
What the heck happened last night?
I was at the table, playing blackjack. And then…
…then…
…what?
Crap. Did I lose so much that I erased it from my mind?
But then how come my head feels so terrible? And why is my mouth so dry? And I’m sore all over, like I was brutalized by a treadmill.
I put my hand on the hem of my dress. At least I’m in the same one from last night, so that means I made it back okay. Nate probably helped.
Then I realize I’m missing my underwear. Sudden shock and dread knock in my chest. Where
did it go?
But I need to take care of a most urgent bodily function before I can think about anything else. I make it to the toilet, manage to seat myself and then bury my face in my palms and groan as nature takes over. What happened to my underwear? Wait, I’m also barefoot. Did I take off my panties for some reason?
But why? And why in the world would I keep my bra on if I was trying to get comfortable last night?
I flush the toilet and wash my hands. Then…
Oh. My. God!
What is that thing on my finger? I bring it closer to my eyes just to make sure I’m not imagining it. Nope. It’s a plain golden band. Like the ones you see at weddings.
The thing is, it isn’t mine, even though it fits my finger perfectly.
Panic erupts. Did I marry somebody? Who? How? Where? What was I thinking?
Why didn’t Nate try to stop me?
Actually, never mind. He can’t hold his liquor at all. He probably passed out somewhere in the casino and wasn’t even aware I vanished with some stranger to get married.
Moaning with intense self-loathing and recrimination, I cover my face with my hands, praying this is some nightmare. Come on, wake up! Wake up!
I slap my cheeks a few times. A couple of loud knocks at the door pull me out of my utter state of panic.
“Are you all right?”
Nate. He doesn’t sound like he just came in from the casino. I open the door and see him standing in nothing but a towel. I take in the gorgeous lines of his broad shoulders, strong chest and defined, lean abs. There’s a trail of hair that leads you down to… I’m not even going to look. I force my gaze up to his face.
This is so surreal. I feel like we’re back in L.A., at his Malibu home. But it’s definitely not Monday, and this is most definitely not his mansion.
“Where were you?” My voice is raspy from my throat being so parched.