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Chapter Five
     
     
    Bobbi woke up swimming in a haze of sunlight
and pain. With a groan she rolled over and winced, burying her head
in the pillow in an attempt to block out the light.
    Oh God, what the hell had she done last
night? It felt as if she had drank an entire bottle of…
    Oh, wait. Something stirred in her mind and
she groaned again. She had downed an entire bottle of
whiskey, or damn near all of it. And maybe some tequila thrown in
as well. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She hadn’t touched a drop of
alcohol other than the occasional glass of wine in years.
    Intoxication and control didn’t go hand in
hand, and lord knows she was all about control these days. What the
hell had she been thinking?
    Right. She hadn’t been thinking. Because
thinking and control went hand in hand and the alcohol had totally
trumped them both.
    Bobbi waited a few seconds for her head to
settle and then a few more while her stomach stopped rolling, and
then she opened one eye, swearing as the sunlight streaming in from
the window hit her dead center. Slowly, her vision focused, and she
let out a yelp—which only made her head pound worse—and rolled off
the bed in a hurry.
    Clutching her cranium she turned back and
stared into the dark eyes of a dog with a longish coat the color of
caramel. No, not so much a dog but a mutt really, one who was on
the bed as if it had every right to be—which for all Bobbi knew, it
did.
    The dog rose and hopped off the bed. It ran
over to Bobbi’s side as if waiting for her to do something. Its
ears were overly long, with tufts of white hair gracing the ends
and its eyes were as big as a deer’s. Its short stubby tail wagged
madly, so hard in fact that Bobbi was afraid it would fall
over.
    “Who are you?” she murmured, glancing down at
herself and noticing for the first time she was dressed in nothing
but a T-shirt—a large men’s T-shirt that hung nearly to her knees.
She flipped up the edge and felt a wave of relief when she saw her
black panties were still on. Though, as her hands crept up to her
chest she realized she was braless.
    That feeling in her gut—the one that told her
shit was about to hit—shot up a few notches as she pushed her
tangled hair from her face and glanced around what was, without a
doubt, a bedroom. There was a bed. And it was in a room.
    She was in someone’s bedroom. Shit.
    She spied her wedding dress draped over a
comfy looking chair and crossed over to it quickly, her hand at her
temples as she reached for the expensive raw silk gown. Memories
were slowly starting to filter through the haze inside her head as
she gazed at the stains that marred the otherwise perfect dress.
Then the dread in her stomach ramped up to an extreme level of
alarm.
    Where was she?
    Her fingers trailed over the bodice and then
her gaze moved to the jeans slung over the arm rest. Faded
jeans.
    Guy jeans.
    Faded guy jeans.
    For one second her world tipped a little to
the left and if she hadn’t immediately reached for the chair she
probably would have fallen on her ass. Hold on , she thought,
breathing through her nose and exhaling slowly as she fought to
keep her world balanced.
    The Hard Rock.
    Danny the bartender.
    Whiskey.
    She shuddered. Tequila.
    Damn, the tequila.
    Shane .
    Her head whipped up, which was the wrong
thing to do because pain took over again and she stumbled to her
right, stubbing her toe on the edge of the chair and cursing like a
sailor as she struggled to keep herself from falling on her
ass.
    What the hell had she done?
    Carefully Bobbi turned in a circle. She saw
the massive king size bed, the plain navy blue bed sheets—bed
sheets that were a tangled mess—and she swallowed hard as she
dragged her eyes away. There wasn’t much furniture in the room. A
large armoire stood between two floor to ceiling windows, its
elegant design simple, and other than the chair and a desk on the
opposite wall, the room was empty.
    The floors were dark wood, from the looks