Page 1 of Win Big

1

EVERLY

They saythat everything happens for a reason.

But sometimes that reason is you’re drunk and make bad decisions.

In my own defense, it was New Year’s Eve. Who doesn’t get drunk and make bad decisions on New Year’s Eve? Right?

Not me. I never make bad decisions. Well, not anymore. Not since I was sixteen years old and broke my parents’ hearts, destroyed their trust in me, and nearly wrecked a bunch of lives. Since then, it has been my life’s goal to never disappoint them again. That means never screwing up, working hard, being perfect. Easy peasy.

I’m lying in Wyatt Bell’s bed.

This is totally contrary to my life’s mission, on so many levels.

At least I’m alone, thank fuck.

Wyatt Bell. Six feet two inches, two hundred twenty pounds of sex on skates. Plays defense for the California Condors.

I know we made out for a while with our clothes on. It was hot as hell and I was happily oblivious to all the reasons we shouldn’t be doing that—chiefly, the fact that I hate him—as my lady parts combusted in a feverish explosion of lust. Wow.

I nearly have to wave a hand in front of my face as scorching heat rises to my cheeks.

A hockey player. On the team my dad owns.

God!Howstupidcould I be?

Anyway, my clothes are still on—a body con, short black dress, bra, and panties. Not like I had a lot to remove, but there’s comfort in the fact that I’m still clothed. And alone.

Where is he?

A headache drums at my temples and I lift my hands to rub there, closing my eyes. My mouth tastes like I licked the inside of a dumpster, and my stomach is... iffy. I think I have a hangover.

I’m not sure because it’s been that long since I had one. I don’t get drunk enough to be hungover.

I’m annoyed at myself.

I crack open my eyes. Daylight brightens the edges of the window around the blinds. I have no idea what time it is, but obviously the sun is up. I lift my head, which makes it pound more, and peer at the bedside table. No clock.

I go backward in my mind... pretty sure I brought my purse... which has my phone in it... it has to be here somewhere.

And where is Wyatt?

Welp. Best find out.

I throw back the covers and swing my legs over the side of the bed. A sick wave washes over me, but it doesn’t last long. I think I’ll live.

I eye the room. The open door appears to be an en suite bathroom. Excellent.

Feet bare, I pad across the big bedroom to the bathroom. I barely note the gorgeous stone tiles, a massive shower with multiple heads, and the big granite vanity as I take care of business. As I wash my hands, I observe my reflection. Hairstanding on end, mascara smudged beneath my eyes, and... is that...whisker burnon my jaw? Dear God. I close my eyes.

Then I draw in a deep breath and tiptoe across the bedroom to the other door. I’ve never been here before and even though this condo is in the same building as my nephew’s, where I’ve been many times, it’s a completely different layout. But I find my way to the kitchen/living area, which I now vaguely remember from last night.

The place is empty.

This is good. Great. I spy my purse on the coffee table and make a beeline for it. I can grab it and get the hell out of here before I have to face Wyatt.

“Morning.”

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