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Shame comes over me. Just one day in Vegas, and I have turned into a slut.
I need to get out of here. But first, I need to find out whose room this is. If it’s my room, I’m in even more trouble. The last thing I want is to face Declan. I steal another glance at him.
He’s hot, there’s no doubt about that, but more than just having astonishing good looks, his masculinity is so potent, it sends an electric shock sizzling through me.
I raise my eyes to his sensuous mouth, and I try to remember how it had felt to kiss him. My mind draws a blank. I must have been embarrassingly, sickeningly drunk. I reluctantly tear my gaze away. Slowly by slowly, I push away the covers and creep out of bed.
I pad to the closet and slide it open. I exhale loudly when I see a strange suitcase stuffed inside there. Definitely not mine.
Next on my to-do list is to hunt for my clothes. I drop to my knees and crawl under the bed. I can’t see my dress or anything on the floor, and panic swells in my chest. I scramble to my feet and glance around the semi-dark room. No dress. I tiptoe to the adjoining bathroom, and that’s where I find it, hanging neatly from a rack.
I grab it and slip it on while staring longingly at the toilet. My bladder is bursting but peeing will definitely wake him up. I grab my purse from the bedside table, stare at Declan’s gorgeous form one more time, and then make for the door.
I stand outside the hallway and try to get my bearings. I take a right and hope it will lead to the elevators. It does.
There’s an older couple in the elevator, and they smile at me. I smile back and notice that they keep staring at me. At my dress, to be precise. I glance down and almost die when the hems of my dress stare right back at me. My dress is inside out.
I shift my glance to the elevator doors and keep them glued there. The elevator stops on my floor, and I dart out before the doors open completely. I cross my fingers that I’ll make it to my room before meeting anyone else.
No such luck. This time I meet a youngish couple, and as we pass each other in the hallway, they giggle. I keep my head up. This may be my walk of shame, but I refuse to be ashamed. I’m in Vegas, after all.
I fish for my key card from my purse and enter my room. The first thing I do is head to the bathroom and pee. Then I fill that huge tub with water that is hot enough to scald. I grab a bottle of bubble bath and pour a generous amount into the water. Soon, a sweet strawberry scent fills the air. As the water fills up, I strip off my dress and underclothes and move to the sink to brush my teeth. I peer at my face in the mirror.
I look exactly how I feel. Battered. Sleepy. Rough.
I turn off the water and sink into the bathtub. Bliss. I lie back and rest my head on the edge of the bathtub as bubbles dance on the surface of the water around me.
I try to empty my mind, but the memory works itself to my consciousness. An image of me and Declan staggering to an all-night wedding chapel. I bolt up, my heart pounding hard in my chest. Water splashes from the tub to the floor.
No, no, no. We couldn’t have. I glance down at my fingers. There is no ring.
The image of Declan and I standing at the altar refuses to leave my mind. It feels so real. As if we really did get married. A sickening feeling comes over me as the previous evening plays out in my mind like a movie.
An image of us walking from the bar out to the street in search of a wedding chapel that was open at night.
Despite being in the water, sweat gathers under my arms.
“Oh my God.” The tremble starts in my toes, rising until my whole body is shaking. Nausea rises in my throat. A wave of dizziness comes over me. Is it possible to faint in a bathtub?
I grab the edges of the bathtub and haul myself up. I’ve done stupid things in my life, but this has to top the list. The past should have taught me that alcohol and I don’t get along very well. I grab a towel, wrap it around myself, and return to the bedroom.
What in God’s name am I going to do?
I pace the room, dripping water on the carpet. No solution comes to mind. In a moment of desperation, I grab my phone from my purse and dial Brooke’s number. She’s level-headed, and she’ll know what to do.
