The Strip wasn't exactly a sandy beach or even a brisk walk through a neighborhood. This was Las Vegas. Who knew what I might step on or in and what bacteria it might harbor.
"Two," he continued, still with that flirty glint. "We can go buy new shoes at a store around here." He lifted a shoulder and the simmering in his gaze?
My, my, my, I liked it.
"I'm game to watch you try on shoes," he finished, as though he were actually attempting to get me to try on shoes and take off every-freaking-thing else.
This option wasn't an unfortunate one. Actually, if done correctly, it could be very Cinderella… minus the whole stepsisters and dead parents. (My parents were very much alive.)
"What's option number three?" I asked.
"We go back to the condo. You change your shoes…" He trailed off like there was more to what he considered.
That was the rub of his three options. Changing my shoes was the most logical option. I had my back-up, second-choice sparkle booties that would work fine. Fine minus a solid dose of kitten-heel confidence.
"Or we both take off our shoes and stay in?" he finished, a slow grin spreading, which highlighted his beard nicely.
Oh. Hey there. There it was.
I'd even get to kiss him and… other stuff. I had never kissed a man with a beard before. Honestly, I hadn't realized it was a bucket list item until right there at that moment.
"I don't particularly want to drop a boatload on new shoes." I smiled what I hoped was a wicked grin with a heavy helping of coy.
"Then you should call your girls so they know you're staying in," he suggested. "They might get worried."
They wouldn't. This was Vegas. They'd be worried tomorrow if I didn't show, but I would text them the A-okay signal tonight, and they'd be good. Especially if I mentioned the broken boot and Sloan.
The two of us wouldn't get a lemon drop martini or buffet, but we could grab a sidewalk margarita and street tacos on the way back to the condo.
Margaritas paired excellently with one-night-stand bearded men.
This was such a perfect idea to break me back into the social scene of happiness and fun, and out of long-term romance and the relationships lugged along with it.
We found the most adorable margarita vendor. I whipped out my credit card, but Sloan made it there first with his Visa.
"Uh." I held up my card between two fingers. "You don't have to do that."
"It's already done."
Oh, well. That was hard to argue with.
I took a long pull of margarita and praised the heavens above for tequila and a hot guy date. Honestly, most days, I wondered who decided it was a good idea to let me be an adult. It took little to make me happy.
Sloan's free hand pressed against my waist, and my body responded to that light touch like he'd just kissed the sensitive spot underneath my earlobe.
At that moment, I glanced at Sloan, oh-so-ready to make an entire night full of memories. Wonderful memories.
One-night-only memories that were totally inappropriate.
CHAPTERFIVE
SLOAN
We'd finished our margaritas and after that, nothing seemed to matter anymore. Only Maya. Only the way my body wanted to be with hers. Inside hers. Only the way she welcomed me, and I wanted to be welcomed.
We didn't make it to the condo—the edges of how we'd stumbled into a swanky hotel lobby were fuzzy. But we couldn't keep our hands off each other, so we got a room.
Somehow—I wasn't entirely certain how it came about—we got the key card to work and made it inside the hotel room.
