Jasper Vale (The Edens #4)(6)

The only good thing about her sleeping so close had been that smell. That, and my bride’s naked body pressed against my own.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I pushed up on my elbows, twisting to a seat. The sheet was tangled around my legs, covering me to the waist. I dragged both hands through my hair, rubbing my eyes and the ache in my skull. Then I looked to the window, to the dawn creeping over the desert.

How could I have let this happen? How could I have taken it so far? Of all the spontaneous things to do in Vegas, why marriage?

What now?

Eloise was on her way back to Montana.

I’d planned to stay in Vegas for a while. Now that Foster’s fight was over, he’d take a break from training. He’d spend time with Talia and his daughter, Kadence. There was nothing waiting for me in Montana except a rented A-frame cabin and snow.

Since snow and I didn’t exactly get along well, I’d thought a month in Nevada might be a welcome change. That it would give Foster some time to figure out his next move.

He’d mentioned retirement, and as much as I’d hate to lose my time with him, I wouldn’t blame him for hanging it up. He’d had an incredible career with the UFC. I was honored to be a small part of that journey.

But if he did decide to stop fighting, then I had some decisions to make. Return to Vegas? Train another fighter? Try somewhere new? It was a lot easier to think when winter wasn’t trying to freeze my balls off.

Except I couldn’t exactly stay in Vegas for too long now, could I? Eloise and I had a problem to solve.

And I didn’t even have her phone number.

“Shit.” My fist hammered into the mattress at my side. How could I have been so stupid?

With a quick yank, the sheet ripped free from my legs. I stood from the bed, prowling to the bathroom. I eyed the shower, about to turn on the spray, but changed directions, returning to the bedroom to collect my clothes strewn across the floor.

Eloise’s scent, still clinging to my skin, would be my punishment today. A reminder of the epic mistake I’d made last night.

I tugged on my boxers and jeans, then pulled on last night’s T-shirt. The shirt I’d taken off beside the fountain all because Eloise had wanted to see me without it on.

Who took off their shirt in public? Hell, if she had asked me to strip out of my jeans, I would have done it.

There was a reason I didn’t drink.

Drunk, I was a fucking idiot.

“Ugh.” I rubbed my hands over my face, like that could turn back time. Erase this humiliation.

When was the last time I’d been embarrassed? Years. The last time I’d felt like this it had also been because of a woman.

But Eloise wasn’t to blame for the icky feeling creeping beneath my skin. No, that was all on me.

I needed to get the fuck out of this hotel room.

I needed to get the hell off the strip.

I needed to never drink tequila again.

Eloise and I had both been drunk. Not blackout drunk. Not slurring, sloppy drunk. No, we’d been the dangerous kind of drunk, the kind when you thought you were still in control. When inhibitions were low and courage was high. When you were foolish enough to believe a wild, reckless idea was the challenge of a lifetime.

“Fucking tequila.”

With my shoes on, I left the room, digging my wallet from my jeans pocket. Then I took the elevator down two floors, rushing to my own hotel room. The bed was made, its white sheets crisp and undisturbed from yesterday’s housekeeping.

I owned a house an hour from here, but Foster had wanted us all close to the strip for the fight, so he’d reserved me a room. Maybe I should have insisted on sleeping in my own damn bed. Then I wouldn’t have gone to the club last night. I wouldn’t have been anywhere near Eloise Eden.

My backpack was on a chair in the corner, so I hurried to pack it up, shoving my clothes and toiletries inside. Then I slung it over a shoulder and left the hotel, walking through the lobby to the main exit.

There were cabs waiting, but I passed them, needing to walk for a while before going home. To burn off some energy. To think.

The morning air was fresh. Crisp and cool. I drew in a long breath, smelling the water they’d used this morning to hose down the entrance. The concrete was still damp in a few places untouched by the sun. Clean, for now. Someone would probably puke on it later.

Nothing ever really stayed clean.

Especially in Vegas.

That had always been part of Vegas’s appeal. No matter how many sparkling, neon bulbs they added to the strip, there was always some dirt. Grit, like the sand that waited beyond the city’s borders.

People here flaunted their fake. There was freedom to be gaudy and loud. Judgment was loosened, usually by alcohol.

Last night was the ultimate example of Vegas’s poison. Eloise, a pure, beautiful woman, had been corrupted by Sin City. Tainted by a man whose demons had come out to play.

With my chin down, I kept my gaze locked on the sidewalk as I headed toward Las Vegas Boulevard. Left would take me to the Bellagio fountain.

I turned right.

Not a chance I could face that fountain this morning. With no destination in mind other than away, I walked, my hands tucked in my pockets.

Block after block, I waited for the pressure in my chest to lighten. Exercise had always been my outlet. My refuge. Except the tension in my shoulders, the pit in my stomach, seemed to grow with every step.