Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, no matter how amazing it was. I’m not the type to spend the night with a man and then show up on his doorstep two days later and profess any amount of love, but the look in his eyes doesn’t say, I don’t remember your name. It screams he doesn’t remember me at all, and that’s a slap in the face, especially considering how many times I’ve reflected on that night.
The best sex of my life wasn’t even good enough for this man to recognize me.
Chapter 2
Spade
My grin never falters, but it’s clear from the grimace on her face that my tight jeans and leather cut aren’t having the same effect on her that it normally does with women.
I don’t let it bother me.
“I was thinking maybe after this is done, you’d like to grab a cup of coffee.”
She slow blinks at me like I’ve somehow managed to sprout an extra head.
“Or a beer,” I offer, thinking I’m a dick for thinking all women like coffee.
I give her my best panty-dropping smile, well aware of how handsome I am.
“You’re such an asshole,” she spits before spinning around and walking away.
Tilting my head in confusion at her sudden anger, I watch the woman walk away.
She’s in a pair of jeans that I just can’t seem to pull my eyes from, her heart-shaped ass swaying back and forth as she reenters the nursing facility.
“I take it she’s not interested in a repeat performance?” Ugly asks on a laugh as he walks up and claps me on the back.
“She wouldn’t even shake my hand,” I mutter, looking down at it to check for dirt, but even my fingernails are trimmed, no dirt in sight.
“Guess she wasn’t impressed with what you gave her.”
“A smile?”
Ugly blinks at me, a long pause separating us before he speaks again. “You’re joking, right?”
I shrug. “It was a great smile. It usually works.”
“You don’t remember her?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Should I?”
My team member scoffs before walking away, his head shaking back and forth on his entire walk into the facility.
“You had sex with her,” Boomer says, a dryness in his tone that threatens to raise my hackles.
“I didn’t,” I answer.
“That wasn’t a question. That’s Sylvie Davis, Faith’s best friend. You had sex with her the night Faith was drugged at Jake’s.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Right when we got to New Mexico,” Boomer explains. “That guy put a date rape drug in—”
“I remember what happened with Faith,” I interrupt. “Fuck. Did I really?”
Boomer is next to shake his head and walk away.
I feel like an asshole for the next ten minutes, but then the residents begin to head outside, many of them Veterans themselves or spouses of men who served our country.
I spend the next several hours chatting with people and eating some of the best barbecue I’ve ever had, but I find that my gaze continues to land on Sylvie Davis.
I believe what Boomer said. The man isn’t known for lying. If anything, he tells the truth, even when it’s something one of us doesn’t want to hear. I also know I wasn’t drunk the night I spent with that woman because I’m not the type of man to make decisions like that while intoxicated, but for some reason, I just can’t pull that night with her from my memory.
She looks like a good time, like someone I would’ve had fun with.
She also sneers at me each and every time she catches me watching her. It seriously decreases my chances of building a night of new memories with her, but I also know from experience that despite her apparent hatred for me, it doesn’t completely wipe that chance of it.
I’m good with women, and I have been for as long as I can remember. I’m always down for a good time, but I also don’t bark up trees that require too much work.
Her actions today were two-fold. I now understand the anger she expressed before walking away. I think I’d be upset if I spent a night with someone and they didn’t remember any of the details, considering I always commit a hundred percent of my energy when I’m with someone.
It’s the look of interest that gives me hope.
I never make promises to any woman. There are too many opportunities in the world for me to include manipulation when finding someone to spend some time with, so I know for a fact, I never made a commitment to her. Even though I can’t remember her—and what a fucking shame that is—I know I didn’t tell her I’d call the next day or that we’d spend more time together past the night we shared.
With what Boomer told me, I shouldn’t even be looking in her direction, but I also can’t seem to pull my eyes from her either.