Chapter Three: Phone RouletteGriffin

It’s been two days since I stopped by that sex shop. Hindsight is such a bitch. If I’d been thinking clearly, I might have considered how shady showing up there was. But I didn’t, so I’m pretty damn sure I screwed my chances of getting Cosy to go out with me.

I should let it go. She’s in college and can’t be more than twenty-five. And that’s me being optimistic. But I can’t get her out of my head. I think she was flirting with me when I came in to buy all that shit, but maybe that’s how she is with everyone. Sadly, I don’t think I’m going to find out if that’s true, so I’m here at the hotel gym, running away from my self-flagellation courtesy of my poor decision-making.

I’m on mile five of my jog, listening to music and half paying attention to the news flashing on the big-screen TV hanging on the wall. A woman saunters in wearing tiny running shorts and a sports bra. I keep my eyes above her neck, smile and nod a greeting before I focus on the TV again.

There are six treadmills in the gym, and I’m on the one closest to the windows overlooking the pool and beyond that, the Strip. Instead of leaving one open between us, which everyone knows is gym etiquette, she hops up on the one next to me. The fan set up in the corner of the room wafts her overly floral perfume my way.

She says something, forcing me to pop an earbud out. “I’m sorry, I missed that.”

She smiles and bats her lashes. “I was just saying it’s a good time of day to work out, nice and quiet.”

It was until she started talking to me. “Sure is.”

“You here on vacation?”

“Work. You?” I keep my answers short, hoping to discourage conversation, so I can go back to fantasizing about the woman who is probably too young for me and is never going to call.

“I’m here with my girlfriends for a bachelorette weekend.”

“Fun.”

“It has been so far, and it keeps getting better.” She gives me a flirty wink.

My shirt is damp with perspiration and sweat trickles down my temple. I can’t look or smell good, so I’m not sure what my allure is, unless this woman is particularly fond of sweaty men.

She makes small talk while she stretches. She and her girlfriends are going to some club tonight—it seems like an indirect invitation—and she asks if I’ve ever been there. The last time I went to a club was the night of the bachelor party. I offered to be the designated driver because my previous club experience in Vegas hadn’t been great.

I’m not much for pounding bass and scantily clad drunk women, but on the heels of a phone call from my ex-fiancée after I arrived in Vegas, I decided a night out was exactly what I needed. I got shitfaced on shots with some woman I can only vaguely recall. The next morning I woke up in my car, minus my credit card, all my cash, and my memory of most of the night. Whoever found my card went on some kind of post-bar food binge. They only managed to charge a pizza, some cigarettes, and a bunch of crap food before I cancelled it.

My new friend lifts her leg onto the handrail and brings her forehead to her knee.

Thankfully, my phone rings, so I check the screen, noting the unfamiliar number. “Sorry. I need to take this.”

I don’t wait for her to respond. I hit the stop button, wipe my face with my towel, grab my bottle of water, and head for the hallway. The gym door closes behind me as I answer the call. “Hello?”

“Uh, hi . . . is this Griffin?”

“It is.” The voice sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place it.

“Oh, wow. I can’t believe I got it right,” she mumbles. “It’s Cosy, the sales associate you asked out at the Sex Toy Warehouse.”

I don’t know whether to smile or cringe. “Not my finest moment, but I was short on options. It would probably sound a lot less damning if the location were different, say a grocery store.”

“Possibly, but there’s a good chance you would’ve asked me out in the vegetable aisle while holding a giant cucumber, so . . .”

I lean against the wall, grinning. “That’s actually rather unlikely since I’m not partial to cucumbers.”

“What? That’s random and ridiculous. How can you not like cucumbers?”

“My brother once threw a rotten one at me, and it exploded on impact. Ruined them for me for life.”

“Wow. That’s all kinds of wrong. Makes me wonder what you did to warrant having a rotten cucumber thrown at you.”

“I can’t remember the details, unfortunately. I’d ask if you like cucumbers, but I feel like I’d be walking into some kind of trap.”