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I dart my eyes around the room, grab the trash can that’s next to the toilet, and hand it to her. She falls to her knees next to me, clutching the trash can, and begins to vomit.

Fuck my life. Now there are two of them.

I have one hand rubbing small circles on Gabriella’s back and the other now holding a trash can for Kate as they throw up in tandem.

How did I end up here?

Kate finally stops vomiting, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her mascara running down her cheeks. She looks like she’s been through the ringer. She collapses back against the wall, still clutching the trash can, and groans. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. Please don’t fire me.”

I chuckle. “You’re good, Kate.”

“This is why my boyfriend broke up with me. I know it. I have no gag reflex. It was a real issue for him.” she mutters to herself.

I can’t deal with drunk women, yet somehow, I am always the one holding the sick bucket.

Not knowing what to say to her, I turn my attention back to Gabriella, smoothing my hand in circles on her back as she seems to have settled down and stopped vomiting. Christ, I’m sweating from the stress. I’m feeling the need to strip off my shirt before I pass out or start vomiting too.

“What the hell’s going on in here?” My head spins to see Ali standing in the doorway, her eyes scanning the room, taking in the scene.

“Apparently, everyone has a weak gag reflex and can’t handle their liquor,” I reply dryly.

“Sounds about right,” Ali agrees, bending down to help Kate up. “Come on, girl, let’s get you and your weak gag reflex to bed.”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t handle it.” She begins to cry, wrapping an arm around Ali. Christ! Vomiting, drunk girls are one thing, drunk girls crying is another thing altogether.

“I know. Just don’t go deep throating anyone this weekend, okay?” Ali jokes.

“Okay?” Kate whines, leaning on Ali.

They leave the room as Gabriella sits up and falls into my body.

“Ugh.” She groans. “Am I a mess?”

“Only a little.” I chuckle.

I help her stand and take her to the basin. I take what I hope is her toothbrush, put some paste on it, and hand it to her. She manages to brush her teeth with her eyes shut, swaying side to side. I place my hands on her hips to steady her, stepping in a little closer, and despite her intoxicated state and the vomiting, she still smells sweet like cherries. I can’t help but inhale and nuzzle my nose into her hair; her scent does something to me. There’s a weird flutter in my belly. I need to get a fucking hold of myself here.

“Right, let’s get you to bed,” I suggest, needing to distract myself from my wandering mind. I lift her, knowing she won’t make it to the bed on her own. I follow the sound of Ali’s voice talking to Kate and carry her into a large cream-colored room with a huge bed in the center that faces the wall full of windows overlooking the Vegas strip.

“Here, put her in bed with me. They can both sleep with me.” Ali gestures to the bed. “If these two hadn’t let the team down, we could have given you the night of your life, prison break.” Ali teases, and I can't help but chuckle a little at the use of the nickname Ali uses for me.

“Minus the vomit and the unconscious state, this would be any man’s fantasy,” I say, shaking my head as I lay Gabriella next to Kate, who is face down on the mattress snoring.

“I think she needs this dress off,” I call to Ali.

“I can sort her. Thanks for carrying her in. Usually, I have to do it. Poor girl can’t hold her liquor.”

“She really can’t,” I agree, looking down at an already sleeping Gabriella curled up on her side. “Keep her on her side or her front, and give her some water, and call me if you need anything.”

“Yes, Dad,” she mocks. “This isn’t my first rodeo with drunk Gabby. I got her. I’m just going to grab some water.”

I nod, and without thinking, I lean down and press a chaste kiss to her forehead.

“People have you all wrong, you know.” I startle, lifting my head to see Ali hasn’t left the room, and she’s watching me from the doorway.

I furrow my brows, unsure of what she means.

“You have this whole big, bad Brad thing going on.” She waves her hand around. “The stern face, the tattoos, the ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude. You’re single, in Vegas, could be off doing whatever you want, yet you are here, looking after a drunk girl holding her hair back, and putting her to bed. There needs to be more men like you,” she says softly.