What Happens in Vegas...

Excerpt:
PROLOGUE



Sheryl Garland woke up with a pounding headache, a dry mouth and no bones inside her muscles. She gave an experimental eye blink, and when that proved successful, she tried to breathe. That proved successful also. Wow, when had she ever felt this bad before? Oh, yeah, the last time she had a hangover.

Sheryl didn’t know much, but she knew that she felt like she’d come out on the losing end of a war with a Brahma bull. She knew she could move three or four muscles, but most of all, she knew that she didn’t know where she was. She decided to risk another movement. She sat up in bed and knew at once that she’d made a mistake. She sank her throbbing head into her hands and vowed never to drink again. She remembered making this vow before. She wished she’d remembered to keep it.

Sheryl was thinking about lifting her head again when a hand on her arm caused her head to lift without conscious effort. Sheryl gasped and turned. The hand belonged to a sleeping man who appeared to be sharing the bed with her. Funny, but she couldn’t seem to remember how he got there. She couldn’t even remember how she got there.

Well, that’s just great, she thought to herself. Here you are in bed with a man you don’t even know, in a room you’ve never seen before, with a pounding hangover, and not an ounce of energy to get out of bed. What a mess!

Without thinking about it, her eyes strayed to where his hand grasped her arm. Even in his sleep, he seemed to need to know that she was there. Her eyes trailed up his arm to see broad shoulders, a farmer’s tan, perfect features and wavy blond hair.

Oh, he was good looking, all right, but Sheryl had never seen him before. At least not when she was sober.

Sheryl exhaled again, trying to garner enough strength to get out of bed and get out of this mess. The last thing she remembered was drinking a pre-wedding toast to her best friend Marie in the posh Las Vegas hotel suite they’d rented. Marie and her long-time fiancé Steve had flown to Vegas to get married— finally—and they’d asked Sheryl to come along as a witness. No one else from Sheryl, Marie, and Steve’s hometown of Grant, Texas had come.

Thank goodness that no one from Grant knew about this, Sheryl thought, or I’d never live this down.

Grant’s penchant for gossip could rival and often beat The National Enquirer, Hard Copy and Sally Jessie Raphael. The hometown grapevine was notorious for spreading gossip and spreading lies, and even—once in awhile—for spreading some truths. Sheryl had been born in Grant, and she had been on the receiving end of a few stories that had circulated about herself. No matter how discreet she tried to be, Sheryl had learned that nothing was sacred in Grant. In fact, the juicer the gossip, the more the town liked it. From the time that the preacher had run off with the Tupperware lady to the most recent scandal involving the mayor, a college-age cheerleader and a fire truck, Grant had seen its share of dirt. The tongues in Grant never seemed to stop wagging.

Marie and Steve had chosen to elope in Las Vegas, so that at least the ceremony and details of the wedding could be kept in relative privacy. Sheryl had commended their decision and had helped them to plan their escape. She and Marie had been friends since grade school and Marie knew that Sheryl could keep a secret. The one detail missing from the wedding was Steve’s best man, A.J. Steve and A.J. had been best friends in college, and Steve had asked A.J. to come to Vegas with them to witness the wedding. However, A.J. was delayed at his Tyler office and had agreed to meet them in Vegas at the hotel. The trouble was, he had never arrived.

Well, that was water under the bridge. Steve and Marie were married, and she had to salvage this situation with some pride. The first step was to get out of here before this man woke up.

With great care, Sheryl grasped the man’s hand to remove it from her arm, but his grasp on her tightened. He seemed determined not to let her go. Sheryl pried his fingers loose and got out of bed. She pattered over to what she hoped was the bathroom, noting strewn articles of clothing all over the floor. Only then did she look down and find herself totally nude.

Oh, my, what did I get myself into last night? However, thinking hurt too much, and Sheryl knew that she would require most of what was left of her energy to get her things together and get the hell out of Las Vegas. At least she hoped she was still in Las Vegas. She peeked out of the bathroom window and saw the Las Vegas strip, lights twinkling in the cool morning light.

"Thank goodness for small favors,” she said. At least it felt like a miracle that she even knew what city she was in.

Sheryl managed to achieve some semblance of order in her clothing and appearance. She gathered her belongings for a quick exit out the door before this man awoke. Still, waking up with a strange man in bed next to her was a new thing, and Sheryl paused for a minute to savor a glance at the handsome stranger. Then she shook her head, surprised at her own foolishness.

Get a grip, girl, she told herself, the best thing to do is to get out of here before this man wakes up. After all, wasn’t that what you are supposed to do? She wasn’t sure of the etiquette of the situation, and she doubted Emily Post had ever dedicated a chapter to morning afters.

With one last glance at the sleeping man, Sheryl grabbed her purse and slipped out the door.

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