When her sister motioned her over, Coco pulled off her stiletto and winced, using her aching feet as an excuse to stay put. Gigi blew her a kiss and lost herself in the wild crowd.

Coco could probably go now. No one would notice if she slipped out. She’d just text her sister, let her know.

A prick of awareness had her looking over to find one of the guys still sitting at the table. Watching her, he cocked his head. You all right?

She nodded. Sure. With his honey-blond chin-length hair and muscular build, he was undeniably hot, but Coco hadn’t even been single twenty-four hours. Too soon. It really was time to leave. The flashing lights and pounding bass held her brain in a vise.

She finished off her drink, just for the snap of lemon and rush of sugar in her mouth, and then punched in the code to open her phone. She couldn’t stop the leap of hope that she’d find something from her boyfriend—

Ex-boyfriend.

Face it. He ghosted you.

She could stop waiting for him. He wasn’t going to magically appear, apologize for blowing off their appointment with the realtor, and tell her he was ready to build the future they’d planned.

Nope, she was on her own.

Fear knocked the air out of her lungs.

What am I going to do now? She’d banked everything on him.

A heavy body dropped onto the couch. Long, athletic legs spread out, as the surfer dude slouched beside her. “House music sucks.”

Not expecting him to say that, she actually smiled. “Then, what’re you doing here?”

“Jimmy…” He leaned in so their shoulders touched and pointed to a red-haired guy on the dance floor. “He’s never been to Vegas. We promised him a survey tour.”

“Gotcha. So…” She ticked off one finger. “Casinos.”

“He already lost two grand.”

“Yikes. That’s not good.” She touched the tip of the second finger. “David Copperfield or Celine Dion?”

“Worse. Everything was sold out. The only tickets we could get were for the fuckin’ Lollipops, which is proof just how much I love that guy, since I’m willing to lose a piece of my soul for him.”

Her grin grew wider. Her sister was the lead singer of that band, but she didn’t see a reason to tell him. She didn’t want to embarrass him as much as she didn’t want to draw out the conversation.

“Now, that’s a smile.” He leaned forward, drawing his legs in. Elbows on his knees, he cut her a look. “And I’ll bet that one doesn’t hurt.”

Heat rushed up her neck and fanned across her cheeks. “Please tell me it’s not that obvious?”

He watched her for a moment—studying her expression, as if he actually cared.