That was crazy,” he says as he takes a seat by the bar. “A Macallan for me, and anything my lady luck wants.”

“Big winnings, huh?” the bartender asks with a big, opportunistic grin as he rushes over. Here in Las Vegas, every service provider who dreams of making a fortune learns to quickly identify lucky gamblers who are ready to celebrate.”So what does lady luck drink?”

“Um, a mojito, please.” I take my high leather seat and look around.

Is this a new restaurant? I haven’t been home for a while and things change so quickly here. The interior is dominated by the black, textured wallpaper and the dark-stained chunky wooden furniture.

“A mojito! Excellent choice,” the bartender says. Lowering his voice, he says, “I happen to have yerba buena from Cuba tonight, and I can use that instead of regular mint in your drink for a special winners’ version.”

Normally, I’d say yes to that offer, but I’m pretty sure it’s significantly more expensive, and I’m not paying for myself right now, so I turn to the guy who’s buying me this drink.

“Of course! My lady luck deserves the best,” he says to the bartender.

What was that? What did he just say?

My chest tightens. I thought that old wound has healed, but turns out it’s just hardened into a shell around my heart. The stranger’s words pierce through that armor and stab into me.

There’s something familiar about those words, and about him.

How can I feel this much attraction to a man I’ve just met? It doesn’t make any sense. I’ve only ever felt this way about one boy.

“I really shouldn’t be drinking,” the stranger says. “I just met a few old friends and had too many drinks already. But we’re celebrating, right?”

“Of course! You’re in Vegas! Do what you want to do,” says the bartender. Another self-serving suggestion.

I watch the stranger sitting beside me.

His sharp gaze, his chiseled jawline, the five o’clock shadow all over the lower part of his masculine face. This man can’t be him. My Aiden was a lanky kid who was adorably awkward; this man is built like a Greek god and a little cocky.

But then again, he was only sixteen when he left, and a lot of things could’ve happened in ten years. He could've gotten a gym membership, for example.

After the bartender puts both our drinks on the counter, the stranger leans forward to rest his strong forearms against the dark wood. With the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled up, I can see the veins popping just under the skin of his forearms.

He turns his head to look at me, as if he’s expecting me to say something. Does he feel this strange aura, too? Does he feel like we know each other, too? He stares at me strangely, and a small frown appears on his golden skin.

My heart picks up its speed as I watch his lips part. The way he’s gazing at me so intensely… could this man really be him? Has he realized who I am?

Without saying anything, the stranger picks up his drink and holds it up. “Cheers?”

“Oh, right,” I say nervously. I realize I’ve been zoning out.

Of course he was just waiting for me to pick up my drink too.

Jeez, Aubrey. Desperate much? You’ve literally just met this guy a few minutes ago, and now you think you’ve mastered the kind of telepathic looks that Hannah shares with the father of her child?

There’s no need to read too much into a look.

I raise my glass of special, authentic Cuban mojito and clink it against his glass. I give him a smile as I crane my neck to look just outside the restaurant.

“Sorry,” I say after I take a gulp of the mojito. “If I seem a little distracted, that’s because I’m waiting for my family right now.”

“Family vacation?” he asks with a grimace.

I laugh. “No. A wedding.”

“Oh, one of those. I’m here for a wedding, too,” he says. “But it’s not like the couple decided to elope or anything. They just live here in Vegas.”

“Right.” I decide to get to the point. “Do we know each other?”

“We’re sitting at a bar having drinks together, lady luck, so I’d say yes. Yes, we know each other.”

“No, I mean… Have we met before?” I ask.

His lips spread across his cheeks to form a wicked smile, matched perfectly by the sinful glint in his eyes. “Is that a pick-up line?”

“No,” I say, irritated. I was trying to ask a serious question.

“Now that you mention it, you do look familiar…” he says as his intense gaze studies me.

I swallow my nerves. My body grows hot under his stare, even though the casino is air-conditioned and I’m wearing a light floral sundress. But I can almost feel the caress of his stare over my curves.

Could it really be you, Aiden?

“Bee!” a kid’s voice stabs my ear.

Oh, no.

Before I can twist to look at the source of the noise, I can already tell it’s Marcus. There’s no mistaking that piercing shriek.

“Bee!” A pair of little arms wrap around my thighs, and I melt.

Aww… Maybe it won’t be so bad, having Marcus here.

“What are you doing here, Marcus?” I ask. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Mom and Grandma?”

“Yeah, they’re done. Finally.” Marcus rolls his eyes. Despite his theatrics, he was asleep the whole time I was at Hannah's meeting.

“I feel your pain,” I say. “Where are they now?”

“They saw you walking in here, and they said I could come be with you while they meet another wedding lady.”

I ruffle Marcus’ fair, blond hair.

I look at the handsome stranger. “This is my nephew, Marcus.”

“I know him,” Marcus says.

“You do?” I ask.

“Yeah. He was at the parking lot yesterday.”

I frown. That can’t be right. We were still in San Francisco yesterday. I give the guy a questioning look, but he just shrugs.

“Are you sure?” I ask Marcus.

“Yeah. He told me to wear a helmet and he said you were irris… irristable… irrisponsive… irrisponsive-bubble?” Marcus asks.

“Irresponsible?” I ask, getting ticked off again at the rich guy with the expensive car from the mall parking lot. How dare he say something like that in front of my nephew? Now he’s repeating it in front of a stranger I’m trying to impress.

“Yeah!” Marcus says as he dramatically points his index finger to the ceiling.

The stranger laughs as he stares at Marcus. “He’s right. I did say that. How are you, kid?”

Wait a minute.

“You really were the guy from the parking lot yesterday?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yeah.”

“You mean in San Francisco?” I repeat the question with more detail. I can’t believe he’s not mistaken.

“Yeah.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles, and then he cocks an eyebrow at me. “You must’ve followed me.”

“I did no such thing!” I say, a little too loudly.

“Eh, it’s okay if you don’t admit it,” he says. “But you should really pay more attention to your kid.”

What is it with this guy? Is he trying to make me angry? I can’t believe I thought he could be Aiden.

“Okay,” I say as I take a deep breath. “Firstly, he’s not my kid. He’s my nephew. Secondly, even if he were mine, it’s not your place to tell me how to raise him. I’m sorry if he damaged your car yesterday, but—”

“Whoa, hold your horses. This is not about the car. The car was fine. I just—”

“The car was fine? So you told him off and made him cry over nothing?” I ask incredulously as I put my hand around Marcus’ tiny shoulders protectively.

“I meant every single thing I told him yesterday. He almost got seriously hurt. He needs a helmet.”

Maybe he does. I don’t know. I’m not going to pretend to be an expert on skateboarding gear. I’ve never touched a skateboard in my life, and I’m not the one with a kid who rides one.

All I know is, I’m not going to stand here and let this guy tell me I’m “irresponsible.” That “meant every single thing” comment was obviously a passive-aggressive way to bully me into complying with his own notions of how things should be done.

I’ve had enough of this kind of treatment from my dad. I don't need anyone else trying to shove his opinion down my throat.

“Listen, I’ve had a really bad day, and the last thing I need is some stranger telling me what to do,” I say as calmly as I can, keeping my anger tightly under a lid.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t win at the slot machine,” he says with a dismissive shrug.

But then, a wicked glint flashes in his blue eyes, and he leans closer until his lips are just inches away from my ear.

He whispers, “It’s not too late to turn this day around, though. You can still get lucky. I’ll show you. All you have to do is come up to my room.”

“Are you serious right now?” Lowering my voice, I say, “My nephew is right here.”

He grins, and again I smell alcohol in his breath.

What am I doing, arguing with a drunk guy? He's probably not even going to remember this when he wakes up tomorrow.

“I’m done here.” I hop down from my perch on the bar chair and sling my bag onto my shoulder. “Come on. Marcus.”

“Okay, Aunt Bee,” he says, thankfully cooperative for once.

“Bye, Marcus,” the stranger says.

He’ll remain a stranger forever now. I don’t want to see him again, and I definitely don’t think he’s Aiden anymore. Aiden would never be rude enough to ignore my waving or call me irresponsible to my nephew’s face.

I turn my back on him and start to make my way across the restaurant. From behind me, I hear Marcus ask the stranger, “What’s your name?”

“Aiden,” he says.