Sleeping with Sloane was my first mistake.

It should never have happened. And if Alex Peyton hadn’t just dumped me, it wouldn’t have happened. Believe me.

But he did dump me, and I did sleep with Sloane. I had one (well, okay, maybe three) too many margaritas in the wake of Alex’s breakup with me, and afterwards, I passed out cold on Sloane’s bed; he couldn’t budge me, so he left me to sleep it off on his king-sized, silk-sheeted bed while he took the sofa.

Now, I’ve known Sloane forever, and we’re definitely friends without benefits. Not that he isn’t very easy on the eyes, and he’s got that laconic, Texas-drawl-like-honey-on-a-warm-day way of talking that can be really sexy…

…or really annoying. Depending on my mood.

But the next morning, with a live mariachi band playing nonstop in my hungover head, his sexy, down-home Texas drawl was really, really annoying.

Sloane’s a bartender. He’s got a nice apartment, plenty of female friends (a few with benefits), and his only ambition in life is to mix drinks and rake in tips from the women who flirt with him every night at the bar. He’s easy on the eyes, loads of fun, and a good listener… but he has the morals of an alley cat. In heat.

Maybe it’s because I’ve known him for so long, or maybe it’s because he’s like a brother – irritating and endearing, but mostly irritating – or maybe it’s because he knows I’ve got his number – but whatever the reason, we never hooked up. I just didn’t think of him that way.

My second mistake was telling Alex that Sloane and I spent the night together. Which was, theoretically, a true statement. Even though nothing actually happened. But Alex didn’t need to know that nothing happened, did he? No, he did not.

Still, after he dumped me, I wanted to hit him where it hurt. And inventing a rousing, tequila-fuelled night between the sheets with Sloane was the perfect way to do it.

I mean, Alex deserved a comeuppance.  He broke up with me, after all, saying he needed some space (I know, how original is that?), leaving me stunned and sobbing and my mascara running unattractively down my face.  I was out for revenge.

Alex did not take the news of my night with the long, tall Texas bartender very well. He was furious.

He punched Sloane in the face. Sloane punched back. Police were called.

When the police left, Sloane agreed not to press charges, and Alex grudgingly apologized and admitted he’d made a mistake and he wanted me back. What about your space, I asked him with a raised brow. What was her name, by the way? Sally Space? Jennifer Space? Susie Space?

Haha, he said. I love you, Dana, and I want you back. There’s no one else like you. Let’s get married. What do you say, babe?

So I thought about it for about five seconds, and I said yes.

And that was my third mistake.

But that’s another story…