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“Well, I didn’t want to throw everything at her at once,” I say. “Any tips on how to get Mysti May to remember everything?”
Liam starts laughing. “If you’re serious about this marriage thing, there’s one thing you need to get through your skull: all of those lovely ladies have minds of their own, and as the men in their lives, we simply have to sit back and let them find their way to us.”
“Bullshit,” I say. “That’s not what you did.”
Liam found himself in a similar situation with my sister not so long ago right here in Vegas. She was supposed to marry that fucking dick, Dan the Man.
God, I hated him.
But a drunken night in Vegas led her to marry Dan’s step-brother, Liam.
Becky had no memory of the night the next day until Liam did something to jog her memory, neither one of them ever telling me what he did.
Today, though, they’re so deliriously, happily in love that they make everyone around them sick with their adorableness. And that’s exactly what I want for Mysti May and me.
I just have to jog her memory a little and get her to remember all the details from last night.
“What are you drinking, by the way?” I ask.
My head is pounding, and Liam seems to have revived a little since he started drinking that rust-colored fizzy drink.
“The best hangover cure,” Liam says, getting up and walking out of the office back to the bar. “Here, I’ll make you one.”
I follow Liam to the bar, where he puts ice in a glass. Then he pulls a small paper-covered bottle off the shelf and dumps about twenty drops of the dark orange liquid into the glass. He fills it up with what looks like Sprite, throws a straw into it, and then hands it to me.
“Try to drink as much as possible at once,” he says, leaning against the back of the bar.
I take a sip, and then start to cough.
Nope, it’s not Sprite. It’s straight soda water with whatever the orange stuff is. But I try again, this time drinking about half of the glass.
“I give,” I say. “What’s that flavor?”
“Bitters,” Liam says, holding up the bottle. “Works every time for any kind of stomach upset.”
Holding the now-empty glass, I look up at him.
“But my stomach doesn’t hurt. I have a headache.”
“Oh,” he says, taking the glass from me. “It won’t do anything for your headache. You need aspirin or Tylenol for that. Sorry.”
I’m still staring at Liam trying to will him to succumb to some horrible death, when an incredibly good-looking guy wearing a sexy version of a cop’s uniform, complete with short shorts, comes over to the bar.
“Liam, your wife is on line one,” the employee says. “Oh, and I still can’t find my badge for tonight. I don’t know what happened to it.”
“It’s okay,” Liam says, picking up the phone. “We’ve got a million back in the stock room. I’ll make you up another one.”
“Good morning, my love,” Liam says into the phone.
I motion to Liam to not mention that I’m here, and he gives me a nod as he listens to Becky on the other end.
“Ah, yes love. You ladies made an appearance here last night.”
That’s an understatement. I don’t think anyone who was here last night will forget it—except, of course, the one person who I need to remember it most of all.
“Okay, see you soon,” Liam says. “Love you, too. Bye.”
“It sounds like they’re outside of the Royale,” Liam says. “I heard a fire hose going in the background.”
“So some things are coming back to them,” I say, rubbing my lower lip with my thumb and finger while I ponder my next step. “One way or another, at least.”
“You ready to nudge her along to the truth?” Liam asks with a mischievous grin that makes me think he’s either thought of the best idea ever—the idea that will lead the wife I love so much straight into my arms—or a disastrous idea that will blow up in both of our faces.
At this point, what do I have to lose?
“Let’s hear it,” I say.
“The girls are on their way over here. Do you want to put on a repeat performance of last night?”
“A lap dance just for my wife?” I ask. “That’s a brilliant idea.”
