The first time I met Slade was in the hospital when Vincent, his boss and best friend, was in a coma. I was there to help my friend Eve, who is now Vincent’s wife. Despite the horrible circumstances, I took one look at Slade, and my mind turned to jelly. He’s just so strong. And his eyes? I look into them and feel like I could get lost and still be safe. Maybe it’s because Eve told me he was a Navy SEAL. My mind has obviously gotten mangled between the hero dream man and reality. I mean, sure, he’s protected our country, but—

“You’re here. In Vegas.” His voice is sure. Friendly even. So warm.

“Looks like we both are.”

The hours we shared in his truck at the wedding? Arguably, the best I’ve ever had. Maybe I need to look on the bright side. Sure, my friends and I have hit a crossroads, and, at this rate, I might never find love and marry. But I’ve got Slade in front of me—also known as the best sex of my life. He doesn’t want anything long-term with me—this I know to be true. Maybe God is throwing me a bone for the night. Who am I to say no to a miracle?

A finger taps the center of my back. “That one’s free.”

I turn to the bald guy behind me, who points to the second door on the right.

“Ladies first.” Slade grins. “I’ll meet you by the sinks.”

I walk into the hallway, lined on each side with individual bathrooms, and try not to sway. I can feel Slade’s eyes trained on my backside and give myself a mental high-five because I know my ass looks good tonight. I’m not dressed as slutty as most of the girls in this club, but my costume still shows that I’ve got the goods. When I step in, the door shuts behind me. After sliding the mangled silver lock closed, I finally let out the scream I was holding in.

“Slade! SLADE! He’s here!” I do a little dance, careful not to let my legs brush against the nasty toilet, but I curse when I realize there is no mirror in the stall to evaluate how I look.

After finishing my business, I step out to the communal sink and check myself out in the large, horizontal mirror.

I’m glad to see my shelf life is still kicking with no expiration date in sight. My eye makeup is smudged, but it looks dark and smoky. My hair is in tousled waves, which is perfect for a hot and sweaty night. I switch the part in my hair to give it a little extra volume, noting that I’m overdue for highlights; my black roots are showing more than usual. No thanks to my Persian heritage, my naturally jet-black hair is crazy thick and difficult to handle.

I turn on the sink and begin washing my hands when Slade moves up next to me. There is no soap, so after drying my hands with a paper towel, I pull out a small bottle of Purell from my bag. His eyes squint in confusion as I squeeze a few drops into my hand.