Perfect Odds

. If only I were so lucky. I giggle as my vision clears. No! That wou

seat in front of me, fumbling to find my purse. When I find it, I grab my planner—the pink, ye

closer to Jayce so he can see what I write. God, he smells good. Citrusy, with hints of wood and warm musk and something else undeniably him. “First and foremost, I

you?” h

e. He’s my soulmate. He can’t not marry me, rig

soda,

s are glued to Jayce. I shouldn’t be bothered by this, but I am. I look to him and find his eyes glued to me.

else? So

ce says, just as I

bothers me even more. My life is falling apart and he doesn’t even care enough

e time to decide,”

t her retreating back

yelling,” Ja

back, I see a teen with an older woman

times I tried he wasn’t that into it. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I need to spice things up a little. I’

pectantly and he

t think you should be making

I need to remind him why he fell in love with me. I need

you say

e wanted to stay in instead of going out for dates. He was there, but he wasn’t present. I think back to what he said when he called. He told me to go home to my parents’ house. I’ve been living with him for over a year and the day we’re to leave f

b is important and maybe he feels threatened by my success, but I need to make sure he understands

to your wedding,

ig

iancé didn’

work, so he’ll come late

ime. Where are you

eddings, breathtaking scenery, and a

that,” he say

. No! It finally occurs to me that maybe I shouldn’t be sharing my plan with him, but he came and sat by me, so we’re committed. Maybe he just needs a drink. I repeatedly push the call butt

iously, we met on the plane and he said every bit of twenty words while I practically told him my life story and he somehow translated that to mean he could go caveman on me. He ignored me until we arrived at the resort. Then he decided to tell me we were goin

glass doors of the main entrance. It was dazzling; all brick and smoky glass and a feat of architectural delight. When I tried to say that, the only thing that came out was projectile vomit. Everything after that was a blur

ecided on one of the ‘Ladies’ Suites’ instead. Thick, gold bedding, inlaid with red threading and soft goose down blanketed the king-sized bed. There were no curtains, but with the push of

an’t remember the name of. Today I was informed that Mr. Cranston cut off my alcohol. Stupid, sexy man. The more I drank, the more I began to think that maybe Colin was right about us being a mistake. Why I else would I think the caveman stalker was sexy? I needed alcoho

. From the information I read online, they serve alcohol to the patrons that are gambling. See