Truth Serum

The thoughts that broke through the mother of all headaches were these: She was in Vegas. She was wearing a wedding band. There was a man in bed with her, and she knew by his scent alone - gunpowder and real cologne, not pineapples and awful knock-off cologne - that he wasn't Shawn. And above all she knew that every bit of this was absolutely vodka's fault. *Lassiet!*