another one.

Chapter 2-

Shana

Trevor hands me a bottle of red Gatorade after untwisting the cap. “Here you go. While you were still sleeping, I went to the store off the lobby and bought you this." He shrugs. “I hope you like red. It's my favorite after a little too much to drink."

“You didn't happen to find something for a headache, did you? I'm going to be a terrible maid of honor."

From the bedside stand he grasps a small packet of over-the-counter pain relievers. “Before you're too hard on yourself, you only had three shots."

“Three?" Why does it feel like I drank the whole bottle?

“Three," he repeats before he shrugs. “Or four. How about you tell me what you remember?"

After a long drink of the Gatorade and swallowing the pain relievers, I lean back against the headboard and begin to recall. “My flight was delayed..."

I go on sipping the Gatorade and talking about my misfortunes while traveling from London, where I now live and work, to Indiana for Kimbra's wedding. It wasn't getting to the United States that was the problem, but getting from New York to Indiana. The direct flight was cancelled due to mechanical issues. After much pleading, I was put on a standby flight with one stop. Despite little to no sleep, I still made it to Indianapolis with two hours to spare for the rehearsal.

“You weren't at the rehearsal," I say, remembering the scene.

“No. Duncan asked me to be in the wedding, but I'm not the greatest brother."

“Really? You're here. Didn't you want to be in it?"

He shakes his head. “I did. And I'm here. It was that when the big event was being planned, I wasn't sure I would be." His eyes grow large. “It isn't because I'm not happy for them. I am. Kimbra's the best thing to happen to my brother, ever. It's that I'm working on a huge project in Washington." He waves his hand. “The details aren't that important, but there've been a few issues with construction. The project is behind schedule, and I was afraid that if I took too much time away, the foreman might be tempted to cut corners to speed things up. Let's just say, that wouldn't be good for anyone."

“So you're not in the wedding?"

“No. But Duncan understands work. He wasn't upset. I told him I'd be here. I haven't seen him yet, since I just arrived after ten last night."

I try to think back. “The bar." It was a revelation as well as the opening to my faded memories.

“You remember the bar?"

Slowly, I nod as a knock upon the entrance door echoes through his suite.

Trevor stands, the sheets falling away to reveal loose-fitting basketball shorts, hanging low on his hips, his trim waist disappearing in a V, and long muscular legs.

My bottom lip slips under my front teeth as I imagine what is not well hidden under the shorts and the way those legs would feel surrounding me. How could I know and not remember?

“Trevor?" I ask as he starts to move toward the door.

“Hmm?"

“We didn't... we didn't..." I can't completely finish the sentence. One-night stands aren't my thing. I mean, they never were. I'm a third-date girl. And since moving to London, I've been a not-in-a-million-years girl.

I love my job, but it's been all-consuming. I'm a buyer for Saks Fifth Avenue, overseeing the Junior line. The job title is everything I've ever wanted, and so is the responsibility. I love the excitement of a runway show and the anticipation of next season's fashions. It's the schedule that is daunting. I've dated a few different men since I moved across the pond, and if I am completely honest, it's usually their accent that hooks me or the way they use different words.

“We'll take the lift…" Or... “Shall we put your bag in the boot?" Yes. I c***k a smile every time. The first time someone asked, I wondered how my bag would fit in a boot and why I'd want it there. The language idiosyncrasies are a never-ending source of my amusement. Lovely has become my favorite adjective. “I had a lovely time." “It was simply lovely."

Nevertheless, even with the cute phrases, the attraction doesn't last—at least it hasn't. There hasn't been a spark with any of those men, not like the one I'm feeling right now.

Maybe it's the Gatorade or my undeniable attraction; however, just talking with Trevor, I'm beginning to feel better than I did when I woke.

“Did we?"

His head tilts in the most adorable way as he grins my direction. “Your coffee awaits, my lady. Then I'll tell you my story."

As he goes toward the door, I make my way out of the bed and hurry to the bathroom, my mind filling with scenes and more questions. After closing the door, I take a deep breath and turn on the light. Even through squinty eyes, the reflection in the mirror isn't nearly as bad as I expected. My blonde hair is a wavy mess, and my blue eyes have a bit of red, but it isn't anything that can't be fixed with a brush and a few eye drops. I quickly splash water on my face and reach for a toothbrush.

As my fingers graze Trevor's toothbrush, I decide that no matter what happened last night, I don't know him well enough to share oral hygiene utensils. Instead, I squeeze a dollop of toothpaste on my finger and make quick work of removing the tiny fuzzy sweaters that someone knit during the night and currently fit tightly around each tooth.

Don't let anyone fool you. Fireball is not your friend.

After another minute or two, I decide that just maybe I'll be able to pull off this maid-of-honor show. It's then that I notice my phone on the counter. It's turned off, and I pray it has some battery remaining. The charger is hopefully back in my room.

After a few seconds of pushing the power button, with a chime the screen comes to life. I swipe it and am met with multiple indicators of voicemails and text messages. Looking first at the text messages, I see that they're all from Kimbra. The first one asks if I made it to my room safely, followed by separate question marks, followed by the next one.

“TELL ME YOU'RE WITH SOME HANDSOME MAN, OR I'M COMING TO FIND YOU."

Next: “SHANA! I NEED MY BEAUTY SLEEP. GIVE ME A THUMBS UP—ANYTHING."

Text number six: “THE HOTEL WON'T TELL ME s**t. GRANDMA HELEN CALLED, AND ALL THEY TOLD HER WAS THAT YOU WERE CHECKED IN. WE KNOW THAT. AT LEAST IT WAS MORE INFO. I THINK SHE SCARED THEM. LOL."

Lastly: “I'M STILL WORRIED. CALL ME BACK, OR GRANDMA AND I ARE COMING TO LOOK FOR YOU. IT'S NOT A SLUMBER PARTY YOU WANT."

I check the current time—7:40 in the morning. Since it's not even eight, and Kimbra was texting until after midnight, I decide to text back instead of calling.

My fingers hover over the keyboard. “SORRY I DIDN'T CALL OR TEXT. I WAS BUSY MAKING OUT WITH YOUR FUTURE BROTHER-IN-LAW." ...Backspace and erase…

Starting over: “DO YOU REMEMBER THAT TIME IN NEW YORK WITH THE FIREBALL? YEAH, NEITHER DO I. I ALSO DON'T REMEMBER LAST NIGHT IN INDIANAPOLIS." (Smiley face emoji)

I contemplate hitting send.

Backspace…erase...one more try...

“HEY, BABE. SORRY. I CRASHED LAST NIGHT WITH MY RINGER OFF. I'M ALIVE AND WELL. CAN'T WAIT FOR THE WEDDING. THE YOU, ME, AND GRANDMA HELEN SLUMBER PARTY WILL HAVE TO WAIT FOR ANOTHER TIME. YOU KNOW I LOVE YOUR GRANDMA! LET'S GET TODAY'S PARTY STARTED. YOU'RE GOING TO BE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BRIDE."

Seconds after hitting send, my phone chirps: KIMBRA flashes on the screen.

“b***h. YOU HAD ME SCARED TO DEATH. GRANDMA AND I WERE GOING TO DRIVE BACK TO THE CITY, BUT SHE WAS WINNING AT POKER AND KEPT SAYING ONE MORE HAND. (Laughing emoji) DUNCAN EVEN TEXTED HIS BROTHER, ASKING IF HE'D SEEN YOU. HIS BROTHER IS STAYING AT THE SAME HOTEL. INTRODUCE YOURSELF IF YOU SEE HIM. HE LOOKS LIKE DUNCAN, BUT NOT AS SEXY, WITH BLOND HAIR AND WELL, NEVERMIND. YOU'LL MEET HIM AT THE WEDDING. DON'T FORGET HAIR AND MAKEUP AT NOON. SEE YOU THEN. LOVE YOU."

I shake my head. Only Kimbra would start her text by calling me a b***h and end it with “love you." I think for a second about her description of Trevor. I could call her and tell her that she's completely wrong about him, but that would give away my uncomfortable situation. Maybe before giving anything away, I should learn more about last night.

“Shana?" Trevor's voice calls from the other side of the door.

“Yes?"

“The bellhop is here. He needs to see you."

“See me?"

His voice becomes softer, more of a stage whisper. “Apparently, he thinks I'm trying to get a key to your room for nefarious reasons. He will only give it to you."

“A key..."

The clue is a figurative light bulb to my lost memories.

Last night I couldn't find my key. My heart beats faster. It was more than just my key. It was my purse that I also couldn't find. I'd lost it. Oh God. My purse has my ID and my room key. They wouldn't give me one without the other. No ID, no key. No key and I can't get into my room. In my room is my passport. Without that, I can't get back to London.

My hands begin to shake as I search the bathroom for something to wear. I can't go to the door and speak to the bellhop wearing only Trevor's shirt and my panties. Just then, another soft knock taps on the bathroom door. The door opens a c***k, and Trevor's hand comes into view, holding a soft white hotel robe.

“Thanks," I say with a grin.

The too-big robe swallows me as I cinch the tie around my waist. Doing my best to smooth my messy blonde hair, I take a deep breath and enter the suite. Standing just inside the room next to Trevor is an older man. He's shorter than Trevor and dressed in a hotel uniform; however, my eyes go to Trevor, who is now also wearing a T-shirt along with those sexy basketball shorts. I almost pout, missing the defined abs.

And then, my attention is diverted by an appetizing aroma. Saliva returns to my mouth as I notice on the table in front of the sofa a tray that holds a carafe of what I assume is the coffee Trevor promised, as well as two dishes covered with silver lids. Suddenly and loudly, my stomach rumbles in anticipation at the promise of food.

“Ms. Price?" the older man asks, his voice bringing back my panic over my purse.

“Yes. I'm Shana Price."

“Ma'am, I apologize for the mix-up last night. The employee is new; however, it's our policy to not dispense keys without identification."

I nod, remembering bits of the conversation. “The thing was that I misplaced my purse, with my ID. I lost both."

His eyes twinkle as he reaches inside the cloth bag I hadn't realized he was holding. “If you can give me the information on this driver's license, I believe that I can return your handbag, ID, and room key."

“Oh!" I reply, relieved to be able to get back into my room, my passport, and to the dress hanging on the curtain rod. After rattling off all of my information, the bellhop hands me the entire cloth bag. Peering inside, I let out a long breath, the mint of Trevor's toothpaste tickling my nose. Inside the bag is everything the bellhop promised. Opening my purse, I find all my cash, my credit cards, and my ID. Nothing is missing.

Handing him a tip, I say, “Thank you so much. Did someone turn this in?"

“One of our custodial employees found it last night after hours by the fire pit outside the piano bar."

My cheeks warm as pink undoubtedly rises to the surface, and I turn a bashful gaze toward Trevor.

The fire pit.

It's all coming back.