PROLOGUE
Presley
AUGUST
I’m never drinking again.
My skull feels like it’s being used in a drum line. I’m pretty sure I’m sweating some sort of alcohol—god, is that tequila?—out of my pores, and my stomach is both growling and queasy at the same time.
I crack an eyelid open and try to wipe away the remnants of last night’s mascara while simultaneously blocking out the sun.
Jesus, that’s bright.
What did I do last night to earn this hellish hangover?
Or maybe the right question is what didn’t I do?
As a bartender, I should know better than this. I really should. But when your thirtieth birthday trip gets shot to hell because your ex-boyfriend decides to fuck you over—and I meanreallyfuck you over—normal rules don’t apply.
This was supposed to be a romantic weekend for two. I’d planned it months ago. Non-refundable, of course.
So instead of sightseeing and dinners out on the strip, I spent my time getting wasted by the pool, trying to forget all about Jace and his stupid…
A deep groan pierces the silence.
Oh god, I didn’t.
I peek over to the other side of the bed.
Oh god, I did.
I let out a high-pitched shriek, pulling the sheets up to my eyeballs. Am I naked? “What the fuck?”
I must have one hell of a hangover, because it’s only then that I notice my surroundings. My eyes widen. This is definitely not the hotel room I started my trip in.
Believe me, I would have remembered.
Compared to the standard queen I checked into a few days earlier, this room might as well be a palace. It’s like the kind of suite you see in movies reserved for high rollers. I once saw this movie where the casino offered some hotshot poker player a suite just like this. That’s how nice it is. There are floor-to-ceiling windows, a full bar, and a large sitting area. The bed is so massive, no wonder I didn’t notice my mystery man sleeping next to me.
Speaking of…
God, I can’t even remember the last time I had a one-night stand. This is so embarrassing. I glance over, and although most of his body is hidden underneath the sheets, I do get an eyeful of defined pecs and ripped biceps.
Okay, Mystery Man isn’t looking too bad so far.
My eyes move upward until I’m staring into a set of familiar green eyes. Oh my god…
“Hollis?”
“Hey, Pres.” His voice sounds different in person, and I feel a shiver run down my spine as I hear my name roll off his tongue.
“I’d say long time no see, but we seem to have already reacquainted ourselves.” He clears his throat.
I’ll say…
I haven’t seen Hollis Beck since high school. Until two months ago, I hadn’t spoken to him in twelve years. But that’s all we’ve done—talked and sent a ton of texts. This is the first time I’ve seen him as an adult.
And what a fine adult he’s turned out to be.
