34
Staff Sergeant Matthews wished to God that he had more sense.
He’d had about eighteen too many tequila shots last night.
Okay, maybe eight, but it felt like eighteen.
Worse, he’d started the night with a hot co-ed bar babe—because God in all his blessed wisdom had put North Las Vegas campus of the College of Southern Nevada just four blocks from his job at Nellis Air Force Base—but he hadn’t woken up with her. Or any sign that he’d even been with her. No used condom, no nasty note, no wallet emptied in pissed-off vengeance.
He was used to waking up to those signs—never carried much cash for that reason—but not today.
Strikeout on all fronts.
Today he’d woken up still drunk. That had made the entire day a slow descent into the pure hell of a blinding hangover.
Why was everything
