Tatum had pounded some serious quantities of vodka and Red Bull, but I’d stayed pretty in control and recalled every minute. Before I even realized it, a smile crept over my face, and I rolled over, planning to slip my arm around Tatum and wake her up in a way that would put her in the mood for some wake-up sex. But she was gone. I got out of bed, hoping that she might be somewhere in the huge suite that I owed the concierge several very large favors for. Since I had every intention of picking her up and taking her back to bed, I didn’t even bother to put clothes on. But she really was gone. She’d collected her clothes and left without even saying goodbye. Normally, I’d have been thrilled—avoiding the awkward chitchat that girls always wanted the next morning, hoping and hinting that they wanted me to ask when I could see them again. That wasn’t my M.O., though. But I had a craving for Tatum. When she’d walked into the casino the night before, she’d nearly taken my breath away.
