Page 24 of Big D!ck Energy

We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. I watched the confusion in his expression morph into recognition, then shock, then amusement.

“Davidson?” His voice was rough with sleep, but there was a hint of a smirk forming at the corners of his mouth. “Well, good morning, sunshine. Fancy meeting you here.”

“Don't look at me!” I shrieked, even though the sheet covered everything important. “And definitely don't talk to me! Just...close your eyes!”

“You're in my room!” He sat up, apparently forgetting that he wasn't wearing clothes, and had the audacity to chuckle. I squeezed my eyes shut and pointed aggressively away from him.

“Put some clothes on!”

“It's my room!” He was definitely laughing now.

“It’s my room too,” I growled through clenched teeth. “And I don't care if it's Buckingham Palace, put on some freaking pants!”

I heard rustling, a thud, creative cursing, and then: “Okay, fine. I'm wearing a comforter. Happy? Though I must say, this isn't the first time a woman has ordered me to get dressed the morning after.”

I cracked one eye open cautiously. He'd wrapped the comforter around his waist, his hair sticking up in every direction. He was grinning like this was the most entertaining morning of his life.

“How did we get here?” I demanded, looking around wildly for my clothes. My dress was on the floor across the room. “What did you do?”

“What did I do?” His eyebrows shot up. “I believe this was a team effort, Davidson.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Though I don't remember anything after the rooftop bar. Must have been a hell of a night.”

“Me either.” I stopped. Had I? There was a fuzzy memory of someone saying Dallas Dodger couldn't possibly handle his liquor, and me, three cocktails in and running on spite, declaring I could drink him under the table. “Why are we both naked!”

“Well, when two people are very attracted to each other…” he started his words laced with sarcasm.

“Don't you dare finish that sentence!” I cut him off. “This is not funny!”

“It's a little funny,” he said, running a hand through his hair and looking around the room. “I mean, the last thing I remember is you trying to teach me the choreography from Dirty Dancing.”

“Uh,” I huffed out as I buried my face in my hands. This could not be happening. Not with him.

“Wait.” Dallas's voice changed, taking on an edge that made my stomach drop. “Davidson. Look at your hand.”

“What?”

“Your left hand.”

I held it up, and my heart stopped.

There, glinting in the Vegas morning sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, was a wedding band. Delicate, gold, with tiny diamonds embedded around it.

Absolutely beautiful and also absolutely terrifying.

“No,” I whispered.

Dallas held up his own left hand. An identical gold band sat on his ring finger. His eyes widened briefly before his face split into a grin.

“Well, well, well,” he said, wiggling his fingers to make the ring catch the light. “Looks like you've made an honest man out of me, Davidson.”

We looked at each other, me in horror, him with growing amusement.

“We didn't,” I said.

“The evidence suggests otherwise,” he replied, examining the ring with fascination. “I don't usually do marriage, but apparently, drunk me makes exceptions for rivals who can keep up with my tequila intake.”

I spotted my purse on the dresser and lunged for it, still clutching the sheet. My phone had a few missed calls, a text message from Brooke, and one video file that made my blood run cold.

I clicked play.