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“Damn it,” I mutter, tossing the napkin onto the bed. A black hair tie sits abandoned beside the lamp. I pick it up between two fingers. Mine now, I guess. Along with a stuffed cactus. Those are my only things linking me to this mystery woman.
My chest aches unexpectedly at my lost chance.
There’s an empty cup on the desk. Last night’s lipstick stain still marks the rim. More proof and little reminders that she wasn’t something I dreamed up after too many drinks. She was real, and it was the best night I’ve ever had. She was the best woman I’ve ever met.
And she’s gone. I lean back against the headboard and stare at the ceiling.
This is why I don’t do this. This stupid feeling of disappointment. And the ridiculous urge to chase after someone who obviously didn’t want to know me as much as I wanted to know her.
I glance at the napkin again. Then fold it carefully and tuck it into my wallet. Because apparently, I want to punish myself even further with the reminder of her and the chance I lost.
I came to Vegas wanting to forget about real life for a while. Instead, I met someone I probably won’t stop thinking about for a long time. Go figure.
“You look like somebody kicked your puppy.”
I don’t bother looking up. I know it’s Tucker, and he’s way too chipper for the flight home.
“Whatever,” I grunt.
“Maybe a dog would be good for your sour mood,” Tucker said with a grin. “Maybe in retirement, you can change that. You should get a heeler. That’s a damn good dog.”
I sigh. Tucker’s ridiculous. But I need to figure out what I’m going to do next. Where I’m going to live, what I’m going to do for a job. A dog is not on the priority list.
Tucker drops into the seat beside me, carrying enough snacks to survive a natural disaster.
Jerky, trail mix, peanut M&M’s, a huge bag of sour gummy worms, and energy drinks.
Yeah, we’re going to need those energy drinks.
“Thanks,” I say as he hands me one of the cans.
He shrugs. “I get hungry. And I bought enough to share.”
“You know we ate breakfast?”
“I was hungry then, too,” he says with a smirk.
I shake my head. “You’re a bottomless pit.”
“I’ve been told.” He studies me for a second and says, “Huh.”
“What?”
“You didn’t lose money.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t even gamble once.”
“You look hungover.”
“Probably just a little,” I admit.
Okay, maybe a lot. I had the time of my life last night, and I’m disappointed that I didn’t get her number.
He leans closer. “Did you accidentally get married? That would make me look like you do right now.”
I snort despite myself. “I did not get married.”
But taking the fake pictures with Jolene was fun.
