Shit, where was it?
Luke bit his lip and ran his hands through his hair in frustration.
It had to be around here somewhere. You didn’t just leave a winning lottery ticket sitting around where someone could take it.
But then, who would take it? He lived alone and he rarely had visitors. And his visitors were better people than that.
There was only one possibility: he’d lost it. He’d lost that damn ticket.
He patted his body down as if it would somehow help to reveal where he’d either put it or left it.
It was then that the realisation hit; he knew exactly where he’d left it.
He’d put it in the pocket of his black jacket which he’d worn to the club which had had a drink spilt on it which was why it was now at the dry cleaners.