Page 86 of Vegas Heat

“I was just getting ready to leave for the club. I have some work to take care of there, and then I was planning to head to Joanie’s afterward. Can you keep an eye on her, make sure she’s doing okay?” he asks. “I wasn’t planning to be home until after noon tomorrow, but I can change my plans if it’s asking too much of you.”

“Of course,” I say. “I’ll be around. Don’t change your plans.”

“Text me if you need anything. I’ll have my phone on me.” I nod, and he reaches over to squeeze my shoulder. He presses his lips together. “They sure don’t make them like you anymore.”

“Thanks, Troy. I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

He nods and leaves. I head to my room, take a quick shower, throw on some basketball shorts, and check in on her. She’s in the exact same position we left her in.

I head downstairs and find some water and ibuprofen for both of us. The house is quiet, so Troy must be gone. I climb back up the stairs and set the pills and water on Gabby’s nightstand, and I stare down at her as she sleeps peacefully. She’s going to be hurting in the morning.

I shift her a little so she’s resting more comfortably on her pillow, and then I glance around her bedroom.

There’s a textbook open on her desk. I walk over and glance at what it is. Something about consumer behavior that looks boring as fuck.

I spot a t-shirt and pair of short shorts I’ve seen her sleep in, and I’m sure they’d be more comfortable than the jeans and tight shirt she’s currently wearing, but I feel like I lost the right to undress her when I told her we couldn’t be together.

I finally settle onto the chair at her desk and turn it so I can prop my feet up on her bed. I pull my phone out and start doing a little research on the Vegas Heat.

I learn who’s already publicly signed with the team. Aside from myself and Danny, I spot former White Sox pitcher Rush Ross along with former Braves right fielder Duke Owens. Troy’s building a team of superstars, and I’m not mad about it.

Her phone starts ringing—loudly, and it interrupts my research. I spot the brick outline in her jeans pocket. I slip out her phone and glance at the screen as I click the side button to silence the call.

Justin Larson.

I’m pretty sure that’s the Spongebob jackass.

I think about answering, but it’s not my right to. I shouldn’t even have looked at the screen, but the fact that they exchanged numbers already and he’s calling her when she disappeared from the bar speaks volumes.

I decline the call and click the volume off so the loud ringing doesn’t wake her should she get another call, and then I pace around her room a bit as I try to figure out what to do. She’s fine. She could sleep in here alone. I should go back to my own room.

But I promised Troy I’d look after her.

She’s already tossed up most of the alcohol, so now it’s just about sleeping it off and curing an epic hangover in the morning.

And maybe when morning comes, we can have that talk we need to have…if she’s up to it.

CHAPTER 12: GABBY

I’m hot.

Too hot.

It takes me a minute to realize it’s because I’m sleeping in my jeans.

Why the hell am I sleeping in my jeans?

I’m in my bed…I think. The room is dark, so at least I was coherent enough to close the room darkening shades my dad had custom-installed, which normally I’m grateful for but today they’re just confusing me. There’s enough light peeking in around the sides that I know the sun’s up.

What the hell time is it?

And how the hell did I get home?

I pry my eyes open and glance over at the clock, and the numbers haven’t quite registered when my bed shifts beside me.

“Ahhh!” I scream, and I push the offending figure clean off the bed, using both my hands and my feet before I realize maybe I’m overreacting just a smidge.

Cooper Noah’s head pops up from the floor, and his eyes are sleepy and confused. If I wasn’t the most hungover I’ve ever been in my entire life, I might find this amusing.

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