Maisey Yates - Tough Luck Hero

What kind of friend was she? What kind of bridesmaid slept with the groom?

Though, in fairness to her, Natalie hadn’t shown up to the wedding, so the groom hadn’t really had a bride. And also in fairness to her, her friendship with Natalie was already splintered and—according to her friend—Lydia had already committed a heinous betrayal by running for mayor against Natalie’s father.

But the bridesmaid dresses had already been ordered and fitted, and there had been no way to shuffle things without creating ripples in the community. And both Lydia and Natalie had wanted to avoid ripples.

Lydia nearly laughed. At the moment she wasn’t experiencing a ripple. Right now she was in the middle of a tidal wave.

She got out of bed, dragging the sheet with her while making sure the thin bedspread stayed in place to keep Colton covered, and started to tiptoe around the hotel room. She assumed it was a hotel room. Unless Colton’s bedroom was very strangely decorated.

Her hideous bridesmaid dress was on the bar. The hideous bridesmaid dress her mother had pointed out was her unlucky number three bridesmaid dress.

“Three times a bridesmaid, Lydia. You know what they say.”

Well. She had not actually been a bridesmaid. So her mother’s fears were unfounded. At least, that specific fear.

The bar was huge, with a wide selection of alcohol her dress was currently draped over. This wasn’t just a hotel room. It was a suite of some kind.

In Copper Ridge? There wasn’t a place like this that she could think of.

She wandered across the room and grabbed the edge of the violet-colored dress, then dropped the sheet as she quickly put it on, the tulle and netting rustling as she tugged it up over her bare curves.

There. Now her dignity was restored.

She laughed, a kind of short, hysterical sound that she quickly tried to tamp down. She did not want him to wake up. Not now.

Sanity. She needed sanity. And coffee. And to figure out what had happened to bring them to this point.

Lydia had never, ever gotten drunk enough to leave the previous night a total blank space in her mind. She had never even been hungover. It wasn’t fun. Not at all.

From across the room, Colton groaned and rolled onto his back and Lydia froze.

Please, don’t wake up. Please, don’t wake up.

She tiptoed across the room and over to the window, because she needed to try and get her bearings so she could figure out how she was going to get home. Without involving Colton in any way.

Maybe they would never even have to speak of this. Maybe they could pretend it hadn’t happened.

She paused in front of the curtains and steeled herself for more sunlight. It looked awfully bright out there beyond the curtains for their misty Pacific Northwest mornings. Maybe it wasn’t even morning. How would she know? She was disoriented. And fuzzy. And she’d had sex for the first time in way longer than she wanted to admit and she didn’t even remember the sex.

Today was not going to be a good day.

Taking a bracing breath, she pulled the edge of the curtains back and poked her head past them, trying to minimize the amount of light she let in so she didn’t wake her partner in licentiousness.

And her stomach dropped straight into her feet.

The view in front of her was a sun-washed contrast to the misty green of Copper Ridge. The sky was pale and clear, the mountains in the distance brushed a hazy tan color that made them look thin and faded. Like the sun had burned the intensity out of everything it touched, leaving only a husk behind.

Then she started soaking in the rest of the view. A concrete sprawl rising up out of a desert and—and the Eiffel Tower.

“Oh,” she said, suddenly not caring if she woke Colton up at all. “Oh no.”

She heard rustling behind her, a very masculine groan that skittered along her already frayed nerves.

The view didn’t look like Copper Ridge, because they weren’t in Copper Ridge.

Another piece of the puzzle locked into place, and when it did, it hit hard.

They were in Las Vegas. She put her hand on her forehead, trying to remember exactly what had happened.

She’d been at the front of the aisle. And Colton had been too. Then the music for the bride had played. And played. And played.

But there was no Natalie.

Colton had taken charge and told everyone to go ahead to the reception. Natalie’s parents had been frantic. And then...well, then Colton had gotten a text and it had become clear that Natalie had chosen not to show up.

The reception had been overtaken by manic energy. Colton’s father had been holding court, trying to take control of the situation, while his mother had started drinking.

Natalie’s parents had been fighting.

Colton’s brother-in-law Ace had been worrying over Colton’s very pregnant sister, and his other sister, Madison, had been nowhere to be seen.

And then she’d seen Colton slip off by himself.

For some reason—a moment of insanity, of compassion—she’d followed after him.

Let the sound of the reception fade into the background.

“You want to get out of here?”

He turned his head, his brows lifting in surprise. “With you?”

“Why not? The alternative is hanging out and waiting for Natalie to decide to come back.” For some reason, she hadn’t been able to stand the idea of him doing that. “Do you want to be here if she does?”

“Hell no.”

“Well...almost everyone is here. So no one will know if we make an escape.”

And they had. They’d gone to Ace’s bar—where Ace was not since he was still at the non-wedding—and started ordering shots.

From there, Colton had called the airport. And after that, things were a little blurry.

She knew they’d had a discussion about where they could get to quickly, and she knew they’d had more to drink on the plane and landed and...and...

She couldn’t remember much more after that. But hey, they were naked in a hotel suite. The blanks sort of filled themselves in.

She heard the covers rustle behind her and she realized that her chance to process this alone was coming to an end. She had to face the music. And the naked guy that was in her bed.

She swallowed hard, turning away from the window and looking very determinedly past the bed at the back wall. Whatever had happened last night, she didn’t remember it. She was not about to refresh her memory.

No. Some things were better left buried.

“Good morning,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice crisp and even. A sharp stab of pain answered immediately. Her hangover obviously didn’t appreciate her tone.

“What?” His voice was very male, very husky. Unfamiliar. She did not often wake up with men, so she didn’t usually hear their rusty morning voices. And she had never, ever, heard Colton West’s rusty morning voice.

First time for everything.

“We’re in Las Vegas, Colton,” she said, sounding a little harsh even to her own ears.

He sat up, the motion drawing her eye to him and she gave thanks that the sheet was firmly over his lap. “I...” He studied her. “I’m not supposed to be in...Vegas. What the hell?”

“Well,” she said, “I’m not supposed to be in Las Vegas, either. I don’t gamble. I don’t really drink, for that matter.”

He laughed, then winced. “If you have a headache like mine I’m pretty sure we both had something to drink last night.”

“I have a feeling last night contained more than one aberration.”

“Right.” He looked around the room. “How did you get into my room?”

She snapped her mouth shut. She was wearing the dress from last night, and, ever since he had been conscious, she had been standing. Which meant he didn’t realize... She considered, for a couple of seconds, allowing him to maintain the illusion. But, ultimately, she kind of wanted him to be horrified by his behavior right along with her.