DISCLAIMER: Twilight and all its characters and stuff belongs to Stephenie Meyer and Little Brown. I’m merely playing with others’ toys. They will be returned in the condition in which I got them (or maybe better).

Dedications: As always, this story is dedicated to the glorious Boo (seriously, go read Turning Dust Into Gold and the story she co-writes with Tamelaine, Going For the Gold. You won’t be disappointed). It is also dedicated to both Carrie Underwood and Katy Perry for inspiring this story with their songs (links to the songs in question are on my profile).

Author’s Notes: This story is only partially-formed in my head. I know specific things I want to happen in it, but am a bit sketchy on the rest. And, for that reason, I’d love to hear what you all think and any thoughts or ideas you have on what you’d like to see happen. I can’t guarantee that I’ll use the ideas, but I’ll certainly give them much thought. You can share your ideas in your reviews or hop on over to the Twilighted forums and reply in the BiotC thread (link on my profile).

So, without further ado, enjoy!

Prologue

BPOV

Thud! Thud! Thud!

I woke slowly to a constant, horrible rhythmic pounding. I felt absolutely horrible. Had I gotten into an accident last night? I couldn’t remember. The night was a swirling mass of darkness not unlike a black hole.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

I began to catalogue my symptoms. My mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. Unfortunately, the cotton wasn’t restricted only to my mouth and had infused the rest of my head as well. My stomach threatened to rebel if I shifted even the tiniest bit. I think I was starting to understand what had happened to me, but my fuzzy mind couldn’t seem to focus properly. It almost hurt to breathe, my entire body protesting the necessary, involuntary action. There was a heavy weight lying over my waist.

Oh my god, did I have a horrible fall? Was I paralyzed from the waist down? Why won’t my mind focus?

My melodramatic tendencies went into overdrive, another indication of the conclusion I just couldn’t grasp. And, to top it all off, someone wouldn’t stop pounding on the fucking door.

I tried to open my eyes to assess the damage only to snap them shut immediately. The curtains were open, the Venetian blinds not doing nearly enough to block out the bright, desert sun. I stifled the groan that wanted to burn my throat. The sunlight wouldn’t help matters, especially now that I was finally able to grasp onto what was wrong with me and was able to realize that the pounding wasn’t someone at the door. It was my own head.

What had happened last night? The last thing I can remember is getting dressed up to go out clubbing with The Girls (as we called ourselves). What had happened after that? Well, obviously I had gotten drunk, which would explain everything that was currently wrong with me.

I felt the bed shift—I had to suppress my stomach’s will to yell out “Shark!” and evacuate all swimmers from the beach—and the weight around my waist tightened its hold, pulling me closer to something hard and warm. Something hard, warm, and breathing. Not a weight—no threat of permanent paralysis—just the arm of some unknown man.

I took a moment to ponder.

Okay, I had gotten drunk and had a one night stand. That wasn’t so bad, considering what could have happened in this godforsaken place I was forced to visit. I hoped I had at least had a good time with the mystery man beside me. And if I hadn’t, then at least I didn’t remember it. Oh, lord, I hoped he wasn’t a clingy dork-type…thing.

I gathered my willpower and prepared myself for the light as I slowly cracked my eyes open, the light diffused by my eyelashes. I looked over everything I could see without moving my head too much—I don’t think my stomach would be able to handle much more movement.

The room was beautiful. The walls were a deep cream color, the little bit of the carpet I could see from my vantage point was a lighter shade of the same. The bedside table and the nearby desk were a dark mahogany color and the chairs I could see nearby were a nice taupe color. The sheets—all I could see of the bedding—were white and tangled around my legs, leaving the bulk of my body—Dear lord, I’m naked! Knowing it and actually fully realizing it were two different things—uncovered. I couldn’t adequately judge the size of the bed, but I thought it was large. This was a hotel room (and judging from the vague familiarity of the room, I’d guess that we were still in the Bellagio, where Alice and Rose sprang for the rooms); just not my hotel room. It must be his. At least I wouldn’t have to deal with The Girls barging in with much more exuberance and volume than by body could handle at the moment.

I relaxed deeper into the bed and started to close my eyes. It didn’t feel like Mystery Man was waking up any time soon and I definitely wasn’t in any condition to get up myself. My eyes had just closed when I forced them back open.

Oh. My. God.

I stared at what my sluggish mind had taken its time to notice. I closed my eyes again—praying that what I was seeing was just a hangover-induced hallucination. I opened my eyes.

Damn. It was still there, mocking me.

I was officially a statistic. Good girl comes to Vegas, gets drunk, and marries a stranger. A tiny voice inside my mind pointed out that it might not be a stranger, but I wasn’t sure if that would make it better or worse.

I really don’t think this is what my friends meant when they told me to loosen up and have a little fun. That Vegas wasn’t going to be as bad as I was thinking it was going to be.

How did this happen? And to me? I could only come up with one answer.

Fucking Jose Cuervo!