Kat’s two best friends were staring at her with wide smiles and shocked eyes.

“So wait….” Her former college roommate was twirling one of her long purple extensions as she stared at her over her cocktail, the din of the crowded bar a dull roar in the background. “After finding out that your mystery sexy man was the owner of this lodge and some big-time billionaire, you proceeded to sleep with him?” Yvette recapped, her stare filled with disbelief.

Kat nodded. “Multiple times.” Five, to be exact. Which, considering she’d also had work socializing to do, was actually quite a lot. Needless to say, she hadn’t slept.

Yvette collapsed over the table with laughter that was a little louder than normal thanks to the cocktails. “That is so not like you.”

Caleb was grinning at her, shaking his head. “That is so very Yve of you.”

Yvette slapped his arm, pretending to be offended. “Hey.”

He shrugged. “What? It’s true.”

Yvette didn’t argue the point. They all knew it was true. Of the three of them, she would have been voted “most likely to fuck the billionaire.” She nodded. “He does sound like my type.”

Caleb laughed. “By type, I’m assuming you mean a player?” He was teasing but she nodded in agreement. One thing that could be said for Yvette—she was extremely self-aware. Her addiction to commitment-phobic players was no secret.

Kat found herself bristling at that description. “I didn’t say he was a player. He’s just—”

“Hot,” Yvette finished.

“Powerful,” Caleb added.

True and true. “Yes, but he’s also… nice.” The word sounded weird coming out. It didn’t seem to fit the burly, sexy, manly-man image she’d just portrayed. But there were no two ways about it. Aside from keeping his name a secret, he’d been thoughtful. Sweet, even. After she’d bailed on yet another day of colleague bonding using her “sprained ankle” as an excuse, he’d come to her room with a heaping platter of food for lunch to make up for making her miss out on breakfast.

Of course, lunch had quickly been followed by a quickie, which was then followed by a shower together, followed by—

“Nice or not, this guy has got to be a player.” Caleb took a sip of his beer. “I mean, did he ask for your number before you left?”

“No,” she said slowly. But then, she hadn’t exactly stuck around long enough to say goodbye. Embarrassment crept over her and she took a sip of her wine rather than admit that she’d snuck out yesterday morning while Bryce was still sleeping.

She’d never done well with goodbyes.

“No,” Caleb repeated, as if it was a done deal. “Of course not.”

Well, that settled that. In Caleb’s eyes, at least, Bryce was officially a player. Not that it mattered. She shrugged. “So what if he is? Maybe I was the player here, did you ever think of that?”

They both ignored her.

Yvette stuck a cherry into her mouth. “He does sound like my type. They’re nice as can be until they’re done with you.”

Kat ignored that particularly bitter remark. Odds were Yvette’s latest loser had just ended things. If he’d ended it via text like the last guy, Kat was singlehandedly going to track down this A-hole and rip him a new one.

“Who isn’t your type?” Caleb teased, nudging Yvette’s arm in a clear attempt to get her out of her funk. He knew just as well as Kat that an unhappily drunk Yvette was zero fun to be around. She had a tendency to drunk-cry, and then drunk-dial, which was usually followed by more drunk crying.

Luckily Yvette grinned, seeming to snap out of whatever miserable path she’d been about to go down. Batting her lashes at Caleb she answered, “You. You’re not my type.”

Which was not exactly true. Caleb and Yvette had hooked up freshman year of college so presumably at some point she’d thought he was her type. For that one night, at least.

But considering Yvette’s poor taste in men and Caleb’s ridiculous dreams of settling down with the perfect woman, they’d been a disaster waiting to happen. Luckily for everyone, they’d decided to be friends. As Yvette’s roommate, Kat had become friends with him as well. By the time freshman year was over they were a well-cemented threesome, in a strictly platonic way.

Caleb wasn’t Kat’s type either. He was way far too pretty. Kat had decided long ago that she didn’t want the guy she was seeing to be prettier than her, and Caleb absolutely was. This worked out well for his day job since he starred on one of the last remaining daytime dramas.

Caleb insisted on calling them “daytime dramas,” whereas the rest of the world knew them as soap operas.

It also presumably worked out for him in his real life because women threw themselves at him. Sometimes they were fans, but other times… well, other times they were just fans of his impossibly perfect features.

Kat found herself mentally comparing Bryce to Caleb. They were both undeniably handsome. So why was it that Caleb did nothing for her whereas just the memory of Bryce had her flustered and hot?

Maybe it was pheromones.

But heavenly scents aside, Bryce had the manly man thing going on, whereas Caleb just played one on TV. In reality, he was vainer about his looks than any girl she knew and used more hair products than she and Yvette combined.

Bryce, on the other hand… Her mind pulled up a delicious memory of her hands in his hair, tugging, pulling, gripping—

“Earth to Kat.” Yvette waved a hand in front of her face.

She sat up straighter and tried to surreptitiously wipe the drool from the side of her mouth. “Sorry, what?”

Yvette’s dark eyebrows drew together, suspicion written all over her face. “What’s going on with you?”

Kat shook her head. “Nothing.”

Caleb reached for the bowl of tortilla chips in the middle of the table. “Really? Because you look weird.”

She shook her head. “Nope. I’m good.” She reached for a chip as well and tossed it in her mouth. “All good.”

“Good,” Yvette said. “Because we were just saying how great it is that you’re too smart to fall for a playboy like that.”

Kat gave a grunt of agreement. Smart, that was her. As the only business major in a group of friends with art and theater majors, it was generally understood that she was the practical one. Reasonable, rational Kat. Some might even say she was coldly efficient—at least, her coworkers would, if not her friends.

And maybe it was a bit cold of her to sneak out of there that last morning. But really, who needed a long drawn-out goodbye that would have just made things awkward? Not her. No, sir. She’d prefer he remembered her as the sexy lodge guest who’d rocked his world, not the weirdly weepy, verbally challenged weirdo with bedhead who’d shuffled out of his room at the crack of dawn.

And she had been weirdly weepy, though she’d chalked that up to PMS. And who wasn’t verbally challenged at the crack of dawn?

It was decided. She’d made the right decision.

Caleb leaned forward, intruding on her thoughts. “You haven’t fallen for this player, have you?”

“Of course not,” she scoffed, tossing back the last few sips of wine. “Don’t be idiotic.” She opened her mouth again. For some reason she felt compelled to remind them that Bryce was nice—not a player.

But before she could, Yvette grumbled, “Thank God. Our group of friends can’t sustain two hot messes chasing after emotionally unattainable men.”

Kat snapped her mouth shut. Yvette was right, not only about their circle of friends needing at least one stable member, but also that Bryce was unattainable, period.

She’d never see him again—that was the whole appeal of holiday sex. “Holiday sex” was how she’d categorized their interludes. Because really, no one had ever heard of “work retreat sex.”

Or had they? Maybe there was a whole world of corporate debauchery taking place that she’d never even dreamed about. Shaking her head, she turned her focus to Yvette, who was starting to regale them with the latest tale of asshole woe.

Poor Yvette. Yet another loser for the books.

She sighed and patted her friend’s arm in sympathy. Thank God she was too smart to fall for the wrong guy.