CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I rolled over and moaned. My head was pounding, and I felt like I was going to throw up. The sound of snores pulled me the rest of the way out of my half-conscious state. I cracked a dry eye open and caught a blurry view of mangled blonde hair next to me in the bed.
“Candice?” I asked. My voice sounded like a frog’s. What? Did I take up smoking last night?
“Wha . . . ?” she mumbled, her face buried in a pillow.
“Where are we?” I asked. I was afraid to sit up. The bed was spinning around the room too much for that.
“Vegas.”
“Where in Vegas?”
She lifted up her head, her hair one giant knot hanging in her face. “Hotel room.” She dropped her face back onto the bed. Moments later she was snoring again.
I rolled over onto my side, away from her, and stared at the nightstand next to me, trying to remember what the hell I’d done last night. My conscious mind wandered through the halls of my memories, trying to pick out facts and separate them from general fuzziness and the things that made zero sense.
I remembered going downstairs with Candice and Kelly. That part was very clear. I put my hands on my bare breasts, glad to know I hadn’t fallen asleep with those gel booby-hikers on. My breasts would surely have fallen off due to lack of circulation after all this time. I noticed my nipples were tender.
Sex. I had sex? Visions of the cowboy came flooding back. “Oh my god. I had crazy monkey sex with a cowboy.”
Kelly stood in the doorway. “What’d you just say? Something about having sex with a monkey?”
I sat up gingerly, holding my forehead when the effort was too much. “No. I said I had crazy monkey sex with a cowboy, not a monkey.”
“What made it monkey sex then, if there weren’t any monkeys involved?” She sat on the end of the bed, wiggling Candice’s foot. Candice pulled it away with a moan.
“Shut up. I have a splitting headache.” I looked up at her through most likely very bloodshot eyes. “What did I do last night?”
She shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I went down to the casino and ended up in the other bed this morning. I don’t remember much myself.”
Candice spoke in the pillow. “You got drunk, you lightweight. And I burned an hour of good man-cruising time taking care of your sorry butt. You barfed, like three times.”
“Oh,” said Kelly, smacking her tongue and lips around. “No wonder my mouth tastes like kitty poo.”
“What about me?” I said, nudging Candice on the arm. “What did I do last night?”
Candice sat up with a big annoyed sigh. “How am I supposed to know? You came up with the cowboy, I left when it got crowded, and then when I got back here, you were gone. I went to sleep—alone, I might add. This town is totally dry for good men.”
A tingle down between my legs said otherwise, but I didn’t argue. I didn’t have enough memory to do it properly. Bits and pieces of my night in this room with the cowboy were trickling in piece by piece. My face pinked up at the memories. I stood, going into the bathroom and grabbing my cell phone on the way. “I can’t remember a lot of what I did,” I said, shutting the door.
“That may be for the best!” said Kelly, shouting so I’d hear her through the door.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I had a hickey on my neck. I put my cell phone down on the back of the toilet and lifted my hair to put it in a ponytail. Two hickies. Another one on the other side. Great. Last time I sported one of these I was in eighth grade. “Yeah. You’re probably right,” I responded.
I stripped down and stepped into the shower, soaping myself up while trying to put my memory back together. I met the cowboy around nine last night . . . what was his name? Mike? Mick? And then we came up here and had . . . sex. Yes, we definitely had sex.
I touched myself down there and noticed my sensitive parts felt used, like I might have had a really good time last night. Flashes of him naked, of him in a hat and jeans, of him holding me in his arms . . . ? Is that possible? All the memories were warm and made me feel . . . loved. Had I taken X? Was I drugged? Damn if I could remember what came next, after the apparently happy sex had rocked my world.
I shampooed my hair and frowned in concentration. Where is he now? Did he just take off after we did the nasty and say, ‘See ya, thanks for the screw’? Where did I go after? Why wasn’t I here when Candice got back? What was I doing, and who was I doing it with?
I didn’t have the answers, and it bothered me on several levels, mostly because I felt like I really should remember. Like something important had happened, maybe even more important than crazy monkey sex.
Candice came in and sat on the toilet. “I feel like a warmed over cat turd,” she said, slapping at the toilet paper roll, trying to make the paper spin off. It wasn’t cooperating.
“You look slightly better than one, though,” I said, the devil taking my tongue and torturing my friend with it.
“Yeah, well, hurry up and get out of there so I can have my turn.”
“Isn’t there another bathroom in this fancy suite?” I asked rinsing the conditioner out of my hair.
“Yeah, but it smells like Kelly-barf, so no thanks.”
I squeezed the excess water out of my hair and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around myself. “Okay, here you go. I’m done.” I got out of the shower and left her to her business. When I stepped out into the room, I found Kelly standing by the end of the bed looking at a little piece of paper.
“What’s that?” I asked, pulling some underwear out of my bag and sliding it on under my towel.
“Not sure.” She flipped it over. “Some kind of claim check, I think.”
I walked over and took it from her. All it had was a number on it, no other identifier. “Did we put our luggage or a coat or something somewhere?”
Kelly shook her head. “I don’t remember doing it, but I guess it’s possible.”
I put the paper in my bag. “I’ll keep it just in case.”
Kelly shrugged. “Okay. I’m going to get dressed. When does our plane leave?”
I looked at the clock on the bedside table. “Three hours. Better hurry up. I need to eat something.” I was hoping it would calm my stomach to put some food in it. I couldn’t remember ever being this hung over. “Those margaritas or whatever they were kicked my butt.”
“Tequila is pronounced ‘ta-kill-ya.’ It’s not a joke.” Kelly left the room.
I stood there for a second in silence. The nagging feeling that this paper Kelly had found was important wouldn’t go away. I walked back over to the bag and pulled out the ticket. “Where did you come from?” I asked it. The ticket didn’t respond.
Picking up the telephone, I hit the button for the receptionist. When a man with an Indian accent answered, I used my best attorney-conducting-discovery voice.
“Hello. Hi. This is Andie Marks in room . . . oh, you already know. Okay, well, the reason I’m calling is I found a claim check I think in my room, and I was wondering if you could tell me what I asked you to hold there . . . in your baggage room, maybe? Last night is a little fuzzy for me.”
“What is the number on the claim check, please?”
I read it off to him and waited on hold.
While I was listening to the hold music, a yelp and a scream came from the bathroom.
“What happened?!” I yelled at Candice through the door. I couldn’t make the phone stretch far enough to go see her.
“I’m sorry, Andie, I really am!” Candice shouted back, her voice a little muffled.
“About what?”
“Shit! Shit! Shit! I just accidentally knocked your cell phone into the toilet!”
“Well, get it out!” I screamed. A feeling of dread crept over me. All my client contacts were in there and a million emails. I had them all backed up, but this would mean an entire day of being out of contact with my office. Talk about a nightmare.
“I did!” She stuck her head out the door. “But I think I killed it. I’m so, so sorry.” She looked ready to cry.
I was about to give her a serious guilt trip, even though it was pretty much my fault for leaving the stupid thing on the back of the toilet, but the reception guy came back on the line, so I just frowned at her sternly and waved her away.
“Ma’am, are you still there?” He sounded possibly nervous.
“Yes, I’m still here.” Still here and now doubly annoyed.
“Well, . . . there appears to be a slight problem.” Yep, he was definitely, positively nervous.
“How so?” I asked, feelings of misgiving washing over me. What did I leave at the desk? Please don’t let it be a monkey.
“Well, some gentlemen came to reception this morning, insisting that we held their bags for them yesterday, but they were unable to produce a claim check. We allowed them into the baggage room, and, well . . .”
I sighed. “Spit it out. I’m not going to be mad.” At least I didn’t think I was going to be.
“Well, they identified what they claimed to be their bags, and we allowed them to take them.”
“What did the bags look like?”
He whispered to someone on his end before answering. “Four duffel bags, ma’am. Like athletic bags.”
It was the ma’am that he used that made something click in my head. “Was one of them wearing a cowboy hat?”
“Yes! In fact, all of them were.”
I nodded, sadness washing over me. He’d left. Without even a good-bye. Or maybe with a good-bye, but not one I remembered. “It’s okay. It was my friend’s bag. You’re cool. I’m not mad.”
He breathed out an audible sigh of relief. “Oh, good, good, good, that is wonderful news. And for your trouble and stress, please allow me to offer you and your guests a free voucher for another night’s stay with us.”
I raised an eyebrow at that. “I’m leaving today.”
“It has no expiration. Surely you’ll be back someday, yes?”
No. “Sure, maybe. I’ll come get it when I check out.”
“Wonderful, perfect. Thank you, Miss Andie.”
“You’re welcome. Bye.”
I hung up the phone, staring at the claim ticket. Why did it bother me so much that the cowboy had taken his bags and gone? I looked at the trashcan and stretched my hand out to toss the ticket in, but at the last second, I didn’t. Instead, I walked slowly over to my bag and shoved it into the side pocket.
Shaking my head at my own silliness, I went about the work of getting ready to leave. Our flight was leaving soon, and we had breakfast to wrangle and a taxi to hire. I ignored the haunting memories that were telling me there was something I should be remembering.