The No Try Zone (Atlanta Granite #2)

Prologue

THE FIRST THING I notice when I wake up is the ring on my finger.

The second is the complete absence of the person who put it there.

I bolt upright, then wince at the throbbing in my head.

It’s too bright, my mouth as dry as the desert this city was built in.

I look around, patting the mattress and searching for…

what? An invisible man to suddenly appear?

My pulse ratchets up, notching into place just this side of panicked as I clench my jaw, adding a fresh layer of pain to the mix.

Think, Sam.

Matthew. His name was Matthew. And last night we got married? No. I wouldn’t have done that.

Except something that looks suspiciously like a wedding ring is on my finger and I can’t remember how it got there. I stare down at the jewelry and will it to trigger a memory, but the square white gem refuses to do anything but glitter brilliantly against a simple gold band.

With a sigh, I squint against the too-bright light and scan the room again, my gaze landing on the bedside table. My phone is there, but nothing else. I grab it and swipe it open, searching for answers.

I groan and slap a hand over my eyes, then peek through my fingers. There are two new pictures, and neither of them are of his face. The first is of his…well. And the other is a blurry close-up of me and his bearded chin. No telling what was supposed to be happening there.

I flip back to the other photo, drawn to it like a bloody moth to a flame, compelled to study it for reasons I can’t explain. Clearly he was, erm, in the mood. And as far as dicks go, it’s quite nice. Not that I’m saying this random stranger has a nice dick.

What am I doing?

Closing the photos and tossing the phone to the mattress, I look around again.

This isn’t great, but I’m sure it’s fine.

I wouldn’t have done something so reckless as to get married.

There’s an explanation for all of this. I just need to relax and breathe, find some headache medicine, drink a lot of water, and figure everything out.

Right.

Yesterday’s clothes cling to me as I roll out of bed. Which has to mean that nothing happened, despite the picture in my phone. Not in that sense, anyway. I use the restroom and dig in my purse, finding pain meds and tossing them back with some water.

Time to search.

Five minutes later, I type furiously on my phone, no closer to answers than I was when I woke up, and a hell of a lot closer to a state of hysteria.

Nothing is here to give me a hint. Absolutely nothing.

The sink is dry, but the soap and hand towel have been used.

My suitcase isn’t here, so that means I have to get back to check out of the other hotel.

One lone card key lies on the table in the front of the suite, but everything else is spotless.

I wasn’t just ghosted – the man seems to have actually been a ghost.

It’s time to bring in the big guns: Kari, my best friend and a member of the Atlanta Granite’s PR team; Elodie, the sweet girlfriend of the Granite’s team captain who’s pulling her professional life back together after it unceremoniously exploded a couple months ago, and Allyson, who’s engaged to one of the Granite players and owns her own private investigation company.

They knew I was coming here, and while we discussed visiting as a group, I wanted the experience of doing it alone.

Dumbest. Idea. Ever.

SOS

KARI

Are you hurt? Safe? Where are you?

Vegas

ALLYSON

Damn, girl, for a minute I thought it was serious.

Oh, this is serious. This is bad. So bad. Where’s El?

ELODIE

I’m here. What’s going on?

I need everyone to answer this FaceTime immediately

I hit the button, and they instantly appear on screen. Kari looks like she’s barely woken up and is less than pleased that I’ve scared the shit out of her. Elodie is in her and Ansel’s kitchen, concern drawn across her face. Allyson is at work, a window overlooking the Atlanta skyline behind her.

I don’t bother with hellos. “I am so fucked.”

They all seem a little confused, but that changes the instant I raise my left hand to the camera.

“Is that a ring?” Kari asks. And look at that: I’ve managed to actually shock her.

“You said you were in Vegas?” Allyson chimes in, all business.

“Tell us what happened,” Elodie demands.

But all I can do is repeat the same thing that’s been circling in my head the past ten minutes. “He’s not here. He’s not here.”

“Who?” they all ask.

“Matthew!” I choke his name out.

“Who’s Matthew?” Kari presses.

I’m about to snarl a who do you think he is, Kari, but Allyson beats me to it.

“By the sound of it, it’s her damn husband, Kari, keep up,” she snaps.

“Okay, shit,” Kari breathes, holding a hand up in apology. “Calm down.”

Allyson glares at the screen, and I’m grateful for it. Someone needs to be mad, and I’m too rattled to be angry right now. “Don’t start with me,” she tells Kari. Her gaze shifts to me. “Sam, what’s his last name?”

That is such a great question. Really, really great question. Wish I knew. I have the vaguest memory of it starting with a Th, maybe? I whimper.

Finally, Elodie speaks. “Where are you exactly?”

Wordlessly, I flip the camera to pan the suite.

It’s beautiful, decorated in creams and blues.

I keep going, showing them the view outside the floor to ceiling windows.

The Strip is directly outside, relatively empty of people and cars at this time of morning, but still packed with buildings I can’t name.

The giant Ferris wheel juts into the sky, unmoving, and the Sphere is lit up in bright colors that make me wince.

In the distance, purple-hued mountains rise to meet a clear blue sky.

The sun is bright, bathing the scene in a cheery yellow that makes me want to puke. “I’m at the Fontainebleau.”

Kari whistles. “Okay, queen.”

I flip the camera back to me. “It was just for the night.” That much I remember. Did I win it? Did he? Something about a VIP thing?

This is why I have one unbreakable rule: one drink. Just one. Which I clearly broke last night, big time.

What could have made me break my rule? Was he that charming?

Why can’t I remember?

“What’s his last name?” Allyson repeats.

All I can do is grimace.

“Are you sure you’re married?” Kari asks dubiously.

I bite my lip. It’s another incredible question that I can’t accurately answer. “I think so?”

“What was the name of the chapel?” Elodie presses.

There’s no stopping the groan that comes out. “I don’t remember.” There’s a reason I don’t have more than one drink: I make impulsive decisions that result in bad things happening.

Clearly.

“You had to get a license,” Allyson says. “Is that in the room somewhere?”

“No!” My eyes fill with unbidden tears, and I can’t be bothered to care. There is nothing in this room. No sign of Matthew, no proof he even exists outside of a dubious picture, never mind a bloody license. I barely sound like myself as I practically screech, “What have I done?”

“Nothing we can’t undo,” Kari says, her voice calm and low. “Right, Allyson?”

“How would I know?” she asks.

“You know everything,” Elodie explains. “Except how to plan a honeymoon, but that’s my job.”

Allyson winks at her. “Thanks, boo.”

“Maybe he’s coming back,” Kari says thoughtfully. “Is there a note?”

There’s no note. I’ve looked. But I need a minute to myself, so I tell them, “I don’t know. Hang on.”

I drop the phone on the table and calmly walk into the bedroom, fling myself onto the middle of the mattress, and scream into the pillow. Then I scream again.

With that handled, I roll off the mattress and pull every single thing off the bed: pillows, comforter, flat sheet, fitted sheet. Then I take the cases off the pillows. Maybe there really is a note somewhere and I just need to look a little harder.

I’m lying to myself, I know this, but I need to look. I have to.

Nothing.

I go back to the sitting room and pick up the phone. “There’s no note. There’s nothing.” Then I drop the next part. “He’s not in my contacts. I didn’t call him or text him, and he didn’t call or text.”

“Do you have a picture?” Allyson asks.

I knew someone would ask, and it’s beyond appropriate that the private investigator would be the one to do it. Biting my lower lip, I give a quick shake of my head. “Just a blurry one of my head and his chin. And another one of his thick dick.” I mumble that last part.

Kari’s eyes pop. “What did you just say?”

Allyson cackles. “She doesn’t have a picture of his face, but she’s got one of his dick! That’s a hell of a set of priorities.”

She’s…not wrong. And to be clear: this would be hilarious if it weren’t happening to me. I let out another whine and wipe a hand down my face. “What am I going to do?”

“Can you pretend it never happened?” Elodie asks.

“No!” Allyson exclaims.

“Eh, maybe?” Kari muses, her public relations brain whirring.

I consider it. “I like this idea. Sort of. Maybe. Ugh, I don’t know.” Wait. Allyson. I’ve had the silver bullet here the whole time! “Allyson, can’t you hack into some security systems and figure all this out?”

“Hell no, child.”

My shoulders droop.

She continues. “I have a lot of tricks up my sleeve, and I may or may not be able to do something like that – but if I could, and I’m not saying I can, but if I could, it wouldn’t be for this.”

“But –” I start, hoping to change her mind.

Allyson holds up a finger. “No. Don’t ask me. Things gotta get a lot more desperate before I even consider leveraging my resources like that.”

“You’re such a badass,” Elodie tells Allyson, a hint of hero-worship in her voice.

Allyson shrugs. “I know.”

They’re not wrong. If I ever launch my own company, I’ll do whatever I can to hire Allyson.

“Sam, how much do you remember about last night?” Elodie asks.