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“He’s going to need more than a prayer to hook up with Taylor.” Camila pushes off the couch, reaching a hand out to me. I stand, taking it in mine and our fingers intertwine as she leads us down the confetti-covered stairs to the dance floor. The strobe lights above us do nothing to help my hazy vision. In fact everything not only looks like we’re all moving in slow motion, but it actually feels that way too.

We could have stayed up in our own little section but Camila drags us right to the middle of the crowd. The combination of all the bodies, loud music, and alcohol should be a sensory overload right now, but if someone told me we were the only two people in this room right now, I would believe them. She stops when she finds a spot, wraps my hands around her waist, and pulls me in tight behind her as she sways her body to the music. With every beat, she circles her ass into me and I’m sure she can feel how hard I’m growing behind her.

With my arms wrapped around her, I slowly bring one hand down and spread my fingers out across her thigh. I’m suddenly extremely aware of my own heartbeat. With every movement of her body, my thumb continues to rub up and down the length of her leg which feels smooth as silk under my touch.

Camila tilts her head to look up to me over her shoulder, the neon lights reflect off her distant but still gleaming eyes. She smiles, bringing her arm up and wrapping it behind my neck. All the air is sucked out of my lungs and it has nothing to do with the Vegas heat. When her head falls back onto my chest I lean down whispering in her ear. “You ready to get out of here, Camila?”

Camila

My brain isawake but my eyes just can not follow suit. There is immense pressure at my temples and my mouth is so dry it feels like I could spit dust. At this point, I’m glad I can't open my eyes because I’m positive the room would be spinning.

Okay, Camila, just relax. Inhala exhala.As I take a full breath in, I’m hit with a refined and rich scent that causes the blood to start pumping through my body. I take a few more deep breaths before I realize Taylor smells like desert rain and cactus flowers, not whatever this woodsy—albeit comforting—scent is.

With my eyes still tightly shut, I begin trying to piece together last night.Drag show, vodka, piano bar, vodka, dive bar where they threaten to cut off men’s ponytails, vodka, rooftop bar, vodka. Dancing with a complete stranger who made every hair on my neck stand up when he touched my thighs, more vodka, leaving with said stranger. Fountain, Elvis, ice cream, Walgreens.

The last few parts I’m only seeing snapshots of. Slowly peeling one eye open, I work through my disorientated brain to piece together my surroundings. I’m beyond grateful for the thick Vegas black-out curtains that are keeping this luxurious room dark when the sun would otherwise no doubt be blaring through the large windows.Luxurious room.I move to sit up, slowly, looking at the marble walls that surround the windows.Luxurious room.Beyond the bed, my eyes have to work hard to see past the doorway that opens up into a sitting room with a kitchen beyond that.Luxurious room.

This isn't my room. My heart rate increases to an alarming rate, and I can feel the bile creeping up my throat.Inhala exhala.Twisting my spine, I look over my shoulder. I’m greeted by a shirtless man with a body carved by Michelangelo himself. A close-cropped scruffy beard covers his face with the exception of where his full lips are coming through. His eyes are closed and it’s a wonder how he ever has the strength to open them with the weight his long thick lashes must carry. Before I move to get up, I steal a peek at him—from the top of his unruly dark hair, down his thick corded arms to his large hands—and immediately I know I’m going to be sick. Sitting shining on his left hand is a gold band wedding ring.

What a fucking pig.I’m completely dressed, thank God. I don't have to rummage around looking for my clothes. I want nothing to do with a man who comes to Vegas and cheats on his wife. Although to be fair, I’m fairly positive we didnothook up, seeing as how I’m completely clothed and the only thing he seems to be missing is a shirt. But still.

As slowly as I can muster, while also trying not to throw up, I begin sliding out of the bed when a gruff voice startles me. “Normally I would be grateful you're trying to sneak out on me, and in most cases, I would pretend to still be sleeping while you did so, but since we didn’t even have sex, I won't count this as a one-night stand.”

Ugh, the nerve of this guy.

Since he’s awake and I no longer have to move like I’m avoiding laser beams, I plant my feet firmly on the floor and stand. My fingers pinch the bridge of my nose as I try to stop the room from spinning before making my way to the edge of the bed. “Okay well, here's the thing,” I clap my hands together in front of my body. “I’m so glad we didn't have sex,” I say, pointing my clasped hands towards him. “I appreciate you not taking advantage of me, but I can't think of anything more disgusting than a man who cheats on his wife so…” In an unexpected event, he rears back as if I've slapped him across the face and then proceeds to look me up and down.

His scowl deepens. “I agree. I can't think ofanythingmore foul than cheating.” He enunciates the word ‘anything’ as he motions toward me.

I’m so confused by this whole conversation, and with the mass amounts of vodka still coursing through me right now, the last thing I want to be doing is having a conversation with this guy. He tilts his head and raises his eyebrows, his arm still stretched out to me. I look down and feel lightheaded when I spot the same shiny gold band on my left ring finger. I bolt to the bathroom, tripping over a high heel along the way, throw my face into the toilet bowl, and spill my guts.

Thick fingers hastily grab my hair and pull it away from my face. While a large hand rubs slow circles around my back. It takes me another minute to register what's happening and no sooner than that, I’m throwing up again. When I feel like there's nothing left, and I can be calm and rational I sit back and stare up at the beautiful man who I did NOT have sex with, but instead, just watched me vomit. Twice.

Mortified, confused, and on the verge of having a full-blown panic attack, I rest my back against the cool porcelain of the soaker tub behind me. “Okay.” I exhale a deep breath. “So are you telling me, prior to last night, you werenotmarried?”

“No. I am not married. I’ve never been married and I never plan on being married.”

My cheeks fill with air before I blow it out and point to his hand. I watch as the color immediately drains from his face. “Is there room in that toilet bowl for me?” he asks.

I close my eyes and tip my head back to rest on the tub.

Miles—I think is his name—leans against the counter with his arms crossed taking a few breaths before bringing one hand up to rub his eyebrows. He must be a doctor because he is beyond calm when he says, “Tell me exactly what you remember.”

I’m about to start listing off the same list I had made in my head maybe ten minutes ago when my phone starts buzzing on the floor just outside the bathroom door.

“Do you want that?” he asks me.

My face must read as shocked and panicked as I feel because Miles pushes himself off the counter, and steps outside to grab my phone. A shock zips through me when his fingers brush mine as he sets it in my hand. I offer him a tight-lipped but grateful smile because the only thing that could have made this more embarrassing was if I had to crawl across the bathroom floor in front of him to retrieve my phone.

The buzzing stops and the screen lights up with a missed call from Taylor. Several missed calls, actually. Before I can call her back my phone is buzzing again.

“Taylor…” I answer.

“Babe! What happened? You never showed up at the fountain which, by the way, they apparently stop running the show at midnight. Since when? I don't remember that.” I put her on speakerphone as she continues to ramble about how she had to talk Jonas out of taking his clothes off because he wanted to go swimming. Opening my photo album, the last few photos and videos I have, although mostly blurry, confirm exactly what I feared happened. “Neither one of us knew what hotel he was staying at, and I tried calling you literally all night. Anyway, he stayed in our room if Miles is looking for him, but he said he can get us tickets to the best breakfast...” she continues talking as I turn my phone over to show Miles a picture of us at the wedding chapel… with Elvis.

Thirty minuteslater and I’ve only just pulled myself up off the bathroom floor.

After reassuring Taylor that I was fine and would meet her in an hour to pack and check out, Miles sent the photos from my phone to his.