“She was a mistake.” A huge one. Jack was thankful his heart never got involved.

“Jack Morrison. Hey, you wouldn’t happen to be related to Gaylord Morrison, the owner of the hotel, would you?” Russell asked as he pulled out onto the strip.

Dean, Mike, and Tom started laughing.

“Did I say something funny?”

Jack buckled his belt and sat back. “That would be my dad.”

“Overdue…overdue…oh great, a shut-off notice.” Jessica Mann placed the highlighted water bill on the top of her pile with a grunt. Looking around the tiny break room of the twenty-four-hour diner she worked in proved just as bleak a view as her future. She really did need to make some changes in her life, and soon.

Leanne, the other graveyard shift waitress who worked with her, poked her head through the door and said, “You’re up. A party of four just sat on twelve.”

Jessie glanced at her watch and saw that it was twenty minutes past two in the morning. The after-bar crowd would soon start strolling in for black coffee and a place to sober up before their trek back home. Like clockwork, Sunday mornings were the worst. The truly stupid actually thought they could grab a cup of joe and still manage to make it to work on time. After tucking her bills into her purse, Jessie stepped out of the break room, through the short hall separating the kitchens from the service counter, and proceeded to table twelve. With any luck, one of the four people in the party would be sober enough to remember to tip her before they left.

Hearty male laughter met her ears before she rounded the corner to greet her customers.

Two faces peeked over open menus while the other two caught her gaze as she approached.

“Whew, hey, darlin’. Are you our waitress tonight?” a dishwater blond sitting on the end of the booth asked. With his question, the other men at the table lowered their menus to look at her.

A quick assessment told Jessie that the yahoos at the table were definitely coming off a night of drinking. Maybe even a couple nights from the state of their five o’clock shadows.

Dishwater flashed his white teeth and a little-boy smile. The man to his left elbowed him in his side. “Pay no attention to Dean. He hasn’t been sober for three days.”

“You’re one to talk, Mikey.” These words came from a robust man wearing a baseball cap and at least two days of stubble on his chin.

“Jack is the only one remotely sober,” Mikey said.

Yep, definitely a party crowd.

The one they called Jack took his time lowering his menu before acknowledging Jessie. His dark brown hair, topped with a Stetson, tilted as he moved his head. The stubble on his chin held the perfect amount of sexy. The slow, steady soaking in of his stare settled on her from the most unusual gray eyes Jessie had ever seen. Those smoky eyes took their ever-lovin’ time as his gaze slid over her hair, her face. After looking his fill, he caught her eyes again and held them. As if calculated for effect, Jack allowed a slow and delicious smile, complete with dimples, to spread over his face. A smile meant only for her.

Smiles like that should come with a warning label. His staunch attention did a number on her belly and raised gooseflesh on her bare arms. She swallowed hard, and her skin tingled as if he’d caressed her.

Jessie blinked a few times, broke eye contact, and asked, “How about some coffee?”

“That would be great,” Jack replied with an accent that matched his cowboy hat.

The Texan accent pulled a warm and fuzzy blanket over her insides. Southern California natives didn’t have any discernible accent at all, so when she heard one, she remembered it.

Pivoting, Jessie shoved her notepad into her apron and walked to the coffeepot.

“Isn’t she something to look at?” one of the party boys said.

Jessie knew she wasn’t ugly, but she didn’t see all that much when she looked into the mirror. Her light brown hair sat twisted into a knot at the base of her neck; her dull hazel eyes had dark smudges beneath them indicating a lack of sleep, and it was hard to be fat when all her money went to bills and care for her son, Danny.

The four men…no, make that boys…at table twelve probably didn’t have one decent responsibility to scrape together if they combined them. They were all wearing jeans and T-shirts, and two of them smelled like beer.

Frat boys who never grew up. Heck, maybe they were all still in school. Jessie guessed their ages to all be about the same, around twenty-eight or so.

Returning to the table, Jessie set down coffee cups and filled them. “Thank you…Jessica,” Jack with the mysterious gray eyes said after a quick glance at her name tag.

“Jessie, actually. Where are you boys coming from?” she asked, making conversation.

“Weekend in Vegas,” the one named Mikey told her.

She should have guessed.

“Our buddy Dean here is tying the knot in a few weeks, so we decided to send him off in style.”

“Vegas can be a dangerous place to have a bachelor party,” she said.

“See, that’s what I said,” the man sitting next to Jack told them. “But does anyone listen to Tom? Heck no. You think everything went great and next thing you know your drunk ass is dancing naked on YouTube with some chick you don’t even remember.”

“I didn’t dance naked with some chick…did I?” Dean rubbed the back of his neck and frowned.

Jack shot a dimpled grin at his friend. “You were pretty wasted.”

“I still don’t remember any naked dancing.”