“They’re both royally screwed up. They deserve each other,” I say miserably, finishing my drink. Whiskey goes down way too smooth when it’s mixed with ginger ale…and an aching heart.

“I think there’s been some kind of a mistake,” Mark muses, toying with his still half-full glass. Compared to the way he was slinging them back last night, he’s exerting quite a bit of self-control. Or maybe he’s hung over and taking it easy. Regardless, he seems to be thinking hard about what I just described.

“A mistake?” I snort, rolling my eyes. “I should’ve known better than to think I’d get any sympathy from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re bros, right? You wouldn’t take my side here. Not that I really have a side,” I admit, staring at my empty glass.

“Thanks for giving me so much credit.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t you guys have a stupid code or something? Wouldn’t he defend you if you were in his shoes.”

“I never said I was defending him,” he argues, leaning in. “I just said it seems like there’s a mistake here, somewhere. I know Brock. And he wouldn’t do this.”

“Stop. Just stop, okay? This is the mistake, right here. Talking with you about this.” I start to stand.

He holds me in place. Just as demanding as his buddy. “You’re going to wait a minute, and I’m gonna clear up a few things for you.”

I slam myself back onto the vinyl stool. He’s right about this place being a dive. Windowless, a little grimy, and very depressing. Strangely, this is exactly what I expected when I came to Las Vegas. It was from a movie I saw when I was a kid. The sort of hole where losers come to drink their troubles away after taking a gamble and losing everything. I took a gamble, and look where it got me.

I sigh. “What could you possibly clear up?”

“For one thing, Brock is not in love with Charlotte.”

I rear up instantly. “Bull. That’s the reason he brought me here in the first place, because he’s so hung-up on her.” I pat his shoulder in a fake show of sympathy. “It’s okay. I understand. Sometimes, even best friends don’t share everything.”

“You don’t know half of what you think you know,” he insists. “Stop with the smartass comments and listen for a minute. Do you know how to listen? God, no wonder he likes you so much. You’re both just as thick-headed as the other.”

“Very nice,” I mutter.

“I’m serious. Just listen. Please.” He takes my hand, and holds it tight in both of his. “Brock isn’t in love with Charlotte. He was never in love with her. I don’t know what it was, really. Lust. She was his mistress, you know? He gave her lots and lots of money and she gave him sex. It’s how he operates. I’m sort of the same way, so I get it.”

Yeah, I know how he operates. He’s giving me lots and lots of money too.

“When he found out she was getting married, he probably felt secretly relieved. Especially since, it’s so obvious that it all was such a sham. I mean, me as the best man? When I never met the groom before this weekend, and was never friends with her? It’s painfully obvious this was all an elaborate ploy to get under his skin, and looks like it failed big time too.”

“Actually, judging by the fact that I found her in his bed, her plan worked very well.”

“You still don’t get it,” he insists. “He didn’t come here out of love for her, or some deep need to make sure she knows what she’s missing out on by marrying somebody else.”

“Oh, really? Because that’s what he told me. He brought me here to make her jealous, because he couldn’t stand seeing her marry somebody else. This was all a great, big lie. Like I said, I don’t think you two are on the same page.” I shrug, as though it doesn’t matter, as though my heart isn’t breaking into a thousand pieces. “I get it. You’re guys. You don’t want to talk about your feelings or whatever.”

“You’re the one who’s two steps behind,” he says. “Listen to me. Really think about this. Don’t you remember Brock? From when you were kids?”

I stare at him. This is unexpected. For the second time today, I’m truly gobsmacked and have no idea what to say. “From when we were kids?” I eventually whisper, more to myself than to him. “I met him for the first time a few days ago.”

He chuckles. “No. You didn’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Both of you know each other.”

I frown. “We do?”

“Well, maybe you weren’t good buddies or anything. But he remembered you the minute he saw you. He told me all about it. God, I wish he would’ve just told you. This would’ve all been a lot simpler.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You went to the same school before you got sent away. Really think. Don’t you remember him at all?”

He’s right. I remember the feelings of déjà vu I keep getting every now and again. I think. I think hard, combing through memories I would’ve just as soon have forgotten forever. Brock, in my past. Was he there? In school? I hate thinking back to those days and all the boys who made fun of me and laughed, yet would stand in line to buy kisses—

And that’s when it hits me. The dark-haired boy. Standing against the wall, watching me. Staring. And how I cried because it was him I wanted to be kissing, not the poor fat boy in front of me. How ashamed I suddenly felt, knowing he was watching as I sold my kisses out of the sort of desperation only hunger can inspire.

“My God,” I whisper, suddenly seeing everything in a different light.

“I guess you made a strong impression,” Mark observes with a wry grin. “He’s been crazy about you ever since those days, even though you disappeared. Maybe because you did, I don’t know. He’s never been able to get you out of his head. He always wondered what happened to you. When he saw you again, he had to find a way to keep you with him. So, he pretended to need you to show up Charlotte. That’s all. It had nothing to do with her and everything to do with you.”

I can hardly believe it. My heart’s racing to the point where even breathing is a struggle. “Tell me—you’re serious. Please.”

“I’m serious. Which is why I’m sure what happened up there with Charlotte is a mistake. If I know her, she set it all up. Go to him. He’s probably out of his mind by now, trying to figure out where you ran off to.”

And I do, but only after I throw my arms around Mark’s neck and squeeze as tight as I can. “Thank you.”

“You want to thank me?” He laughs. “Defend me when he threatens to kick my ass for outing him like this.”