And yet.
The drink thing was just an excuse to get out of the bed. But as I yanked on my panties and dress, I knew the only thing that could soften the sharp edges of these strange emotions swirling through me would be tequila.
A lot of it.
When I exited the bathroom, Harrison was already dressed as well.
His gaze found mine.
“I’m hitting the bar. Come. Or don’t.”
With that, I grabbed my bag and rushed out of the room.
I remembered the bar.
I remembered the first sweet sip of that strawberry margarita.
I remembered Harrison there beside me.
After that, well, it got real blurry.
CHAPTER THREE
“Ugh!” I grumbled as harsh yellow morning light spilled across my face.
It may as well have peeled back my eyelids and stabbed me right in the pupils.
Tequila.
This was tequila’s doing.
A pathetic whimper escaped me as I threw my arm over my face, pressing hard against the headache that hammered through my skull like a freaking middle school marching band—all out of rhythm.
God, how many margaritas had I had?
I wasn’t a heavy drinker by any means, but I had my fun here and there. And I didn’t remember the last time I had a brain-boiling hangover.
High school, maybe.
I turned over, trying to put my back to the windows, but the light seemed to completely surround me.
That made no sense.
I hadn’t sprung for a suite, just a basic room with a view of the strip. Which meant windows only on one side.
Had I upgraded without remembering?
Was I dreaming still?
My brain wasn’t working right.
The bedding pulled tight, rubbing against bare skin.
Was I naked?
How did I not remember getting naked?
Though it didn’t surprise me. Tequila made me hot, made my clothes feel too tight, too scratchy, too much.
