She snorts. “Yeah. I rememberthatVegas trip.”
“How do you know which one I’m talking about?”
“Women’s intuition. What’s up?”
I drag my teeth over my bottom lip, my stomach twisting about what I’m about to ask. It’s a fucked-up feeling, not remembering something. Or, if myownintuition is correct,someone. “Aside from you and the hot tub full of models—”
Nina snorts.
“—was there anyone else there? I mean, not teammates.Women.”
“You don’t remember?” Her voice has lost any hint of amusement. “Truly?”
“Fuck. What is it?” I drag my hand through my hair, then clasp it around the back of my neck. “Did I do something?” My stomach drops at the thought.
Nina sighs. “I’ll be right back, babe.” After a moment, she says, “Okay, I’m somewhere quieter. What do you remember about that night? You guys were pretty fucked up.”
I nod, then admit, “Not a whole lot.”
“For fuck’s sake, Max.” Nina laughs, but it’s a dark sound. “I should not have been friends with you this long.”
“Probably true, but where would I be without you?”
“Yeah.” She sighs, and I brace myself. “There was a girl there, I don’t know, a few years younger than us.”
My pulse accelerates. “Under age?”
“No, no, I mean, I don’t think so. She was maybe twenty-one? Twenty-two?”
I exhale, but it still doesn’t feel like I’m in the clear. Something niggles at the back of my mind. Was that young girl Sutton Hart?
Christ, not her. Please don’t let this story be about her.
“She was there with someone in the league, a coach, or maybe…” She drifts off for a second and I begin to pace. “Oh, a player, I think? A former player? Shit. That part’s foggy.”
“If you’re having trouble remembering the details, imagine how I feel.”
“Is this striking a chord at all?”
I exhale a deep breath. “No. Sort of. I don’t know, Bean, my stomach’s all fucked up.”
“Why is this coming up?”
“I think that girl was Sutton Hart.”
She sucks in a surprised breath. “YourSutton Hart?”
I chuckle, but there’s no mirth to the sound. “I wish. I’m starting to think these black spots in my memory of that trip have something to do with why she won’t give me the time of day.”
“Oh.Oh.” Nina snorts. “Yeah, Max, if that was her?” She laughs. “I found her in your bedroom that night, bawling her eyes out.”
“Oh, fuck me.” I squeeze my eyes shut, terrified to ask but needing to know. “Why?”
“I’m like ninety-nine percent sure you had sex with her, then left her in your bed. Apparently, when she went looking for you in that gaudy ass suite, she found you making out with some Playboy bunny in the hot tub.”
I groan, scrubbing a hand down my face. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” She pops thepat the end of that word.
