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My mom joins us shortly after, and I can’t stop thinking about my dad’s words that he can’t keep an eye on me.
I’ve enjoyed the freedom while he’s missed the protection, and I feel a little guilty about that. I still managed to have a good time last night even with my parents close, and Vegas doesn’t seem so bad, if I’m being honest.
I haven’t exactly gotten the full view of Vegas, but seeing the Strip from Asher’s hotel room pressed up against that window was pretty damn spectacular. It was also lovely in the background behind me when I was riding on top of him.
I want to see him again.
I check my phone.
No message.
Dammit. I wish we would’ve thought to trade numbers earlier, but we were too busy drinking and flirting and fucking for it to come up. But it’s not like I can ask my dad to procure me Asher Nash’s number, so in all honesty…the ball’s in his court.
Chapter 12: Asher Nash
She’s Gone
I roll over, the intense pressure in my head reminding me why I typically choose any other beverage over straight whiskey, and as I reach to wrap my arm around the woman who seems to have stepped out of my dreams, my arms can’t seem to seek her out.
The other side of the bed seems empty, and the sheets feel…cool. As if they’ve been vacant a while.
“Des?” I say—or Itryto say it, but my voice comes out all raspy and hoarse.
I swallow, but my mouth is dry, and I clear my throat before I give it another attempt. “Des?”
She must be in the bathroom.
My eyes open slowly to the light coming in through the windows. We never closed the drapes last night, I guess. I squint as I try to adjust to the brightness.
I sit up and rub the sleepiness from my eyes, and when I open them again, I can focus.
That’s when I spot my clothes from last night. My jacket is on the desk where we left it, and as I recall, her dress wasn’t too far away…but it’s not there anymore.
Those strappy shoes that made her legs look like a million bucks are gone, too.
I force myself out of bed. The headache is pounding, but I’ve been much worse off after a night of drinking than I am now. I thank my genes and my youth for that luck, I guess.
I pad over to the bathroom, poised to knock on the door…but it’s open.
And dark.
She’s not in there. She’s not anywhere in this room at all.
Even her thong is gone. She bolted and didn’t even leave me a souvenir.
I take care of my bathroom needs and splash a little water on my face when I exit, and I pad over and sit on the edge of the bed as I reach over toward the nightstand and pick up my phone.
So she just…disappeared.
She’s gone, and it’s like she was never here at all.
I check my phone, searching for Desiree in there, but I don’t recall exchanging numbers. We didn’t even take a photo together.
It’s almost like I dreamed last night up, and maybe I did. Maybe it was hallucinations from the whiskey, and this Desiree doesn’t even exist.
Maybe she went downstairs for coffee or something, but somehow I doubt she went downstairs in last night’s ballgown since neither of us had any other clothes with us.
Maybe she went downstairs to find some other clothes. Nowthereis a real possibility.
