CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Sam
I had come to Las Vegas to get drunk and laid, and I hadn't succeeded at either. Why was the universe against me?
Yes, I'd fucked up five years ago, but I wasn't a bad person. I didn't deserve to live the rest of my life living with regret, did I? Oh, who was I kidding? Of course I was going to live with regret. Even if Kate did take me back, the regret would remain.
When I woke up the next morning, I immediately took a shower, throwing on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I didn't plan on sticking around, and I had no one to impress, so I dressed in what was most comfortable.
When I came out of my room into the main area of the suite, Max was up. He'd already ordered coffee and breakfast. He was sitting at the table reading his phone.
His head looked up. His green eyes, exactly like mine, shrewdly inventoried me. "You don't look like shit."
I strode toward the table, desperately needing coffee. "I don't feel like shit." That wasn't true. I did feel like shit. But it wasn't because I drank too much last night.
If only I had. I'd welcome a hangover over the constant guilt and frustration that plagued me with Kate.
I poured coffee and then sat down, taking the cover off the plate. Eggs, bacon, and hash browns. "No pancakes?"
He rolled his eyes. "What are you, twelve?"
"Hey. Pancakes are great at any age." I dug my fork into the eggs, taking a bite and washing it down with the coffee. "Remember yesterday when you brought up the Art Deco club?"
He arched a brow and laid his phone on the table. "Yes."
"I was thinking, what if we did some sort of 1920s prohibition and noir type theme?"
"How would all the fancy technology fit in?"
I shrugged. "Noir films always had something lurking in the shadows, so the shadowbox might fit that. I don’t know. I haven't really thought it through.” All that I knew for sure was that if my only saving grace in life was to convince Kate to take me back, I’d have to start by not building a club so close to her place.
He tilted his head to the side. "Does the fact that you're talking about a new club idea mean you want to forget the one by the beach, and therefore, try to get Kate back?"
I took a bite of bacon, chewing and swallowing before answering. "I don't have much choice, really."
"That’s not very romantic."
"I'm not trying to be romantic. I'm being realistic. My dick doesn't want to perform with anyone but her."
I was vulgar, an asshole thing to say. Just because I knew I needed to win Kate back, didn’t mean I wasn’t resentful knowing the continued rejection I’d likely have to experience.
Max looked at me with disappointment. “I hope you're not going to lead with that when you go see Kate."
I set my utensil down and scraped my hands over my face. "That's my frustration talking." I looked at him, feeling completely defeated. "It's a fool's journey."
"You don't know that. The question is, how long are you willing to keep pursuing her?"
"I guess until she puts a restraining order on me for stalking.”
He pursed his lips. "She still has feelings for you. It's clear as day. You just need to be patient and persistent. You need to build her trust in you again." He took a sip of his coffee. "Have you told her about Sandra and Chelsea?"
I shook my head. "Every time I try to talk to her about what happened, she cuts me off. She says it doesn't matter. What's done is done."
"So, you haven't told her about the situation now?"
I glared at him. "No. The topic of Sandra and Chelsea is off-limits."
"It's going to be hard to build her trust if you can't talk about the one thing that made her lose it."