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??I’m telling ya, woman. You walking away is heartbreaking.” The most amazing smile she’d ever seen lit up his face, and it made her smile like a moron right back. The urge to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear and sway was—
No.
Jesus, what the hell was wrong with her?
She made it to the restroom and looked in the mirror. Splashing some water on her face, she gathered her goddamn nerves and prepared to walk back and get her clothes.
When she came out and made her way back to the bedroom, she saw the large, beautiful man fast asleep with a sheet covering his waist, his handsome features relaxed and at ease. For a moment, she thought about what this would feel like on a regular basis, to stay and revel in the after-bliss. She’d never cuddled with anyone, but right then, she was pretty sure she wanted to hop back into bed and be his little spoon.
Then she remembered that her value had an expiration date. Yep, that was her. Somewhere between dairy products and lunchmeat.
Even with her ex, they’d do their thing, then she’d leave. There was no intimacy. So whatever it was about this stranger, it pulled at something in her chest that she didn’t recognize.
She knew better. Knew the kind of man he was. She was losing it to think he’d want her to stick around for a little after sex cuddle.
Hell, she didn’t even know his name. Whatever connection she imagined was just the alcohol or her exhaustion. Because a man like him was the sort that wouldn’t want more from her than the erotic encounter that had sent him into unconsciousness.
And she wasn’t the kind to stick around and have that pointed out.
It was better this way. She got what she wanted. He got what he wanted. No harm done.
But as she stepped into the elevator, she couldn’t figure out why her chest felt a little more hollow than before.
Chapter Two
“It just had to be pink,” Autumn said, staring at her newest nemesis—her bridesmaid’s gown.
It hung there, short and billowy and taunting her. It was a far cry from what she normally wore—jeans and tank-tops, usually covered in grease and grit from the car engines she worked on.
“Actually, the color is called Flamingo’s Dream,” Jenna Justice replied. She was sitting near the massive hanging mirror in their ritzy hotel suite while a professional makeup artist applied her eyeliner.
“Even better.” Autumn forced a fake smile. She was getting good at those. It had only been a few hours since she’d put one on for her own sake as she left Mr. Sexy’s hotel room.
But she wasn’t thinking about him. One night, no strings. A few hours of sleep later, and she was feeling just fine. Okay, she felt like crap and had bags under her eyes—bags that had been covered up with a pound of makeup an hour ago. But she’d gotten exactly what she’d asked for, sex so hot that she’d finally made it through a night without thinking about her ex.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Jenna said from her seat. “How late did you end up getting in?”
“It was after midnight, I think.” She’d made the four-hour drive from her small hometown to be there for Jenna’s wedding. What were friends for?
“So, that’s why you looked so tired this morning,” Jenna said.
“Yeah,” Autumn agreed, leaving out the encounter with the hottie from the bar.
The big barrel curlers currently pinned to her scalp swayed a bit. She wouldn’t think of everything falling apart in her world right now, and she wouldn’t think of him. After the wedding, she was heading to Diamond—only a short drive away—to house sit for Jenna.
Autumn would use the two weeks there to find a job and plan for her next move. She already had a promising shot at a job in Los Angeles. It would suck starting out at the bottom in a new garage, in a new city, but she had to begin again somewhere. At least this way she’d know where she stood.
Which was more than she could say for this dress.
She stared it down again, biting her thumbnail.
“You better not chip the nail polish by doing that,” Jenna said from her chair.
Autumn turned and frowned. “Do you have eyes in the back of your head or something?”
“It’s my bride senses.” Jenna smiled and, now that the makeup woman was done applying the liner, opened her eyes. “And you can glare at the dress all you want, but it’s going on.”
Yeah, she knew it. If curlers and makeup and nail polish weren’t bad enough, the dress was the final straw. She stood in jeans and a black tank top—without stains on either, thank you very much—praying for a few more moments before she’d have to smile, pretend like she had a fricking clue about love and marriage, and mingle with strangers while wearing a dress that looked to be made of cotton candy.
