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I pull on the ring, then jump out of bed as if that will give me more leverage. I pull on it again. It doesn’t budge.
Why do I have a bubble gum machine ring on my finger? The wedding ring finger? And why is Rake asleep in my room?
I tiptoe to the bathroom, where I lock the door and start running water on my hand, hoping that will get the ring off. When it doesn’t, I grease my finger with soap. Still nothing.
A snort comes from the bedroom, so I open the door, just a crack. I peek out to see Rake’s still sleeping, having somehow wedged himself in sideways in the too-small chair. If I wasn’t so weirded out, I’d take a picture. He looks hilarious.
I retreat back into the bathroom, trying to remember the events of the evening and, painful as they are, I can’t deny I just fucked up. Big time.
I accidentally got married.
13
PETAL
I playthrough the evening like a movie on rerun, going all the way back to dinner. After we stuff ourselves on dessert, we go to the casino, where Jonas takes it upon himself to coach me.
“Let’s start with craps,” he said. “You want to roll a number and then the same one again, before a seven is rolled.”
“Why?” I say.
He shrugs. “Because that’s how the game is played.”
That’s just stupid.
He continues trying to explain things to me, but it doesn’t sink in. Throngs of people are buzzing around, the noise of the casino is deafening, and people are smoking. Focusing on numbers is not going to happen.
“Thank you for trying, Jonas. I’m gonna go play the dollar slots.”
He looks sad for a moment, that he failed to win over a new convert, but quickly turns back to the game and starts shouting. “Come on, baby!” he screams.
Rake follows me over to the slot machines.
“You don’t have to babysit me. I’ll be fine,” I say.
Crap. That sounded so bitchy.
He watches me as I put my card in and start pressing buttons. It makes an unholy racket with itsding-ding-dings, thank God, because that means we can’t talk.
Or so I think.
“I’m not babysitting you,” he says, his deep voice drowning out the noise.
I could pretend not to hear him. But that would be shitty.
So I dive in. I have questions, and now is as good a time as any to get answers. I told him all my shit. His turn to spill. “It is true, Rake, what’s your problem with getting in fights?” I ask, putting more money in the machine because I don’t know what else to do.
I don’t want to look at him, not if I can help it. It was hard enough, sitting next to him all dinner, fielding his politely curious questions with his damn attentive gaze and perfect, manly bone structure.
Truly. It’s not fair that someone so good-looking should also be nice. If there were any justice in this world, he’d be an asshole. Just like I thought he was in the beginning, when it would have killed him to crack a smile or even feign the slightest bit of manners. He’s proving me wrong, and I don’t like being proven wrong.
I wanted to believe he was just a dumb jock, so immersed in his little world of pro sports that he knows nothing else of the world around him, and is so self-centered, he’s not even aware other people exist.
But, damn him, he was able to discuss current events, and his curiosity about me blew that theory out of the water.
“I see you did your homework too, Petal. I don’t blame you. And to be honest, I’ve done a lot of boneheaded things. I’m working on cleaning that up.”
Tyler and Jonas show up with a tray full of tequila shots, and what the hell, I take one and down it. It’s nasty, but in my confused state about this guy who I was set on hating, who is turning out to be a decent human being, my thoughts are a jumbled mess.
