I want to hate him, I really do.

When you show up to the show on Sunday night. Not before.

But when I read that, it's myself I hate more. Because I know that statement alone holds enough power to make me drag my sulking ass back to the Excalibur, heartbreak be damned.

Which is exactly why I texted him back and told him that I'd be there. I’d at least had the restraint to wait until this morning to send it, and to demand that we would talk when I got there, but, knowing what little I do about Derek, he probably already knew, even before my confirmation, that I’d be there.

That makes me want to hate him, too, even if I'm to blame for it as well.

Besides, can it really be considered heartache when you barely know the person?

According to Beth, who had shown up yesterday morning, only to find me doing my best to keep what’s happened from her and failing miserably, she seemed to think that heartbreak was exactly what was ailing me. Immediately, she advised me, “Casual is something you've never done before. You've never let yourself go in that direction. So, yeah, Josie, I do think there's something a little more going on, and maybe something a little bit more seductively sinister, than just wanting a simple one-night stand in Las Vegas.”

God, she always had to be so dramatic. Immediately, I regretted confiding any of it to her. She’d just been trying to help, but there was no help for me now, not when it came to Derek.

I'd made a mistake—a big one. I had let myself get wrapped up in the bright lights and big city, and the glint that I'd only ever seen in his smoldering eyes. It was just for a moment, but for that night, he’d had me. Owned me. And I’d loved it.

Even now, I know that one night with Derek was a mistake, and I also know that I'm making another one just by being here now, in the Excalibur. I’m floored by the fact that Beth even let me come alone, but the hopeless romantic in her must have reared its ugly head, because she’d been going gaga over the fact that he'd been so persistent in wanting me here again.

While I didn't see the romantic aspect of showing up to what I considered to be nothing more than a stripper show, I couldn't deny that being here with him so close held its own allure.

You're just a sucker for punishment, I think to myself. I know it's the truth, but I can't leave the city without at least seeing him again and getting to the bottom of why he had to leave me standing in that hotel room the other night. Just thinking about it now, it still stings like a bitch.

I'm not sure where I'm supposed to go, especially seeing as I don't have a ticket. Thankfully, there's a pretty redheaded woman near the entrance with a clipboard in her hand and a lanyard around her neck with an identification tag. She seems like a good place to start trying to find my way to wherever Derek is within the walls of this building.

I approach her and tell her my name, and without a word she runs the tip of her pen down whatever list is in front of her on that clipboard. She taps it to the board, obviously finding whatever reservation or instruction Derek left.

Obviously, he’d been confident that I would show up. That only frustrates me more.

“This way,” the redhead advises, waving her hand away from the throngs of people at the front entrance and toward a hallway that's blocked off by a clasped chain and two security guards. My stomach tightens as she leads me deeper into the building, and I know this must be the way behind the stage.

Where else would Derek be this close to showtime?

“Wait here,” the woman tells me, and I'm close enough to read her name tag, seeing Sherry scrolled across it. I only nod, staying rooted in place as she disappears amongst the countless number of people milling about in the overpopulated area. It doesn't go unnoticed that some of those people are bare-chested men, and quite attractive. Which only makes me more nervous.

Idly, I wonder how many other times these dancers have convinced women to come to their show just for the sake of getting laid? How many times have women shown up like this upon Derek's request?

I know I'm being unfair. I'm standing here, dressed to the nines in the designer jeans and flowy halter top that Derek took off me once before, hoping that he'll be able to explain everything away. Hoping this is more than it seems to be on the surface.

With Sherry gone, I smooth my hands over my hair nervously, glancing from left to right in hopes that I don't look as awkward standing in the middle of this room as I feel.

“You waiting for someone?”

The voice makes me turn sharply, and I see a very muscled, very tattooed man with shortly cropped hair watching me. One eyebrow is raised, and I decide that I must look just as out of place as I fear. “I'm actually here to see Derek,” I say, knowing full well anyone wearing the same outfit—the signature white T-shirt and well-fitted jeans—must be a dancer like Derek, and must know who he is.

The man doesn't hesitate, nodding his head toward a wide hall that leads to the other end of the stage. “Derek’s that way,” he tells me simply, pointing his finger. “You want me to tell him you're here? He's just with that wifey of his. It'll only take a second.”

The man is still pointing in the general direction, but I can't focus on anything but the words he's just thrown at me.

“His...” I try to string a sentence together, but it's no use.

“Yeah,” the man says nonchalantly. “You know, that crazy family of his. He seems to like them being here, but it's weird as shit to me, to be honest.”

My throat has constricted to the point that it's almost closed. I can't breathe, and I can't speak. There's so much I want to say, so much I want to scream, but the flood of curse words and angry phrases is lodged tightly at the base of my throat.

I have to get out of here.

Now.

“No,” I manage to choke out, unsure if I’m answering his question, or just stating my disbelief. I leave the man standing there, perplexed and probably thinking I'm some crazed fangirl losing my mind over Derek and his chiseled abs.

Unfortunately, in a way, I am.

I practically run from the room and down the hall, desperate for the cool night air.

I’d known I shouldn’t have come here. And I definitely shouldn't have trusted him in the slightest. Yet, I did. I trusted him, and I willingly brought myself here to be made a fool of.

Too bad Derek doesn't even get to see my face fall and the color drain from my cheeks. Too bad he doesn't get to see the hurt he's caused me to feel.

Too bad, because now, I have every damn right to hate the man. And I don't just want to hate him anymore, I do.