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“A date with Sir Galahad isn’t exactly getting involved.”
“Whatever. I’m not doing any of it.” Dawn took a breath, then slowly let it out. “Besides, I’ll never see him again.”
“Yeah, well, you should have asked him his name, at least. Where he was staying.”
“I didn’t care. I still don’t. He gave me a lift. End of story.”
“I meant so you could send him a thank-you note. That would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it?”
“You are so transparent, Cassie Berk! Just look at your face!”
“Well, you can thank him if you run into him. Las Vegas isn’t really a big city.”
“It’s big enough,” Dawn said firmly, “and the discussion is over.” Her voice softened. “Thanks, Cass.”
Cassie smiled. “Hey, what are friends for if not to stop by with pizza that put ten trillion fat calories on your hips?”
“I wasn’t talking about the pizza. You know that. I mean, thank you for listening to—to that stuff about my husband.”
“Your ex-husband.”
“Right. My ex-husband. And thank you for getting my mind off the past.”
“The best way to get your mind off the past is to think about the future.” Cassie grinned. “Oprah says so.”
“Well, for once Oprah and I agree.” Dawn slid her arm around her friend’s waist as they walked to the door. “I really do think about the future,” she said softly. “All the time.”
“Just promise me one thing. You bump into your knight, give him a chance to show you he’s wearing s
terling, not tin.”
Dawn laughed. “Sterling tarnishes.”
“Look, just give him a chance, okay?”
“Twenty to one says I’ll never see him again.”
The women paused at the door and faced each other, smiling. “I thought it was against the rules for the dealers to lay bets.”
“I’m not a dealer anymore.”
“You ready to put your money where your mouth is?”
“Absolutely.”
“A buck,” Cassie said solemnly.
Dawn nodded. “You’re on.”
They laughed and gave each other high fives. The next morning, within minutes of starting work, Dawn lost her bet.
CHAPTER SEVEN
GRAY opened his eyes, shut them again, rolled over and groaned as he buried his face in the pillow.
No good. The sun was pouring into his hotel room and the spill of golden light seemed to have lodged itself in his brain, right next to the little guy playing the maracas.
After a minute, he sighed, rolled onto his back and folded his arms beneath his head. The ceiling was white and easier on the eyes. Not that he deserved a break. The way he felt this morning was his own fault. The sun was coming in because he’d spent half the night standing at the windows or on the balcony, and he’d forgotten to draw the curtains before he’d finally tumbled into bed. He probably should have left that last miniature of scotch in the minibar, too. Not that it mattered now. He was awake, his head hurt and his mood sucked. Even a grizzly would have given him a wide berth.
