Page 31 of Big D!ck Energy

“Dallas!” Matt's voice cut through Pitbull's eighth appearance of the night, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough to slosh my whiskey. “Man, you look like you're waiting in line at the DMV.”

“I'm taking it all in,” I lied. “Absorbing the ambiance.”

“The ambiance smells like Axe body spray,” James muttered, appearing at Matt's elbow.

Truth was, I couldn't focus on anything but the memory of Davina wearing nothing but that white towel and the water droplets trailing down her collarbone. My wife of not even a full twenty-four hours.

The word wife kept ricocheting around my skull. I should be freaking out. Full-blown, hyperventilating-into-a-paper-bag freaking out. But I wasn't. The fact that the marriage was fake took the pressure off, like playing poker with Monopoly money. Knowing the endgame was divorce made it sit easier.

Then there was the bride herself. The fact that she was so worked up about our accidental marriage made it more enjoyable for me.

“Yo, is that a new ring?” Matt squinted at my right hand. “That looks just like my wedd…”

My heart stopped. Full cardiac arrest.

“It was my dad's,” I cut him off, maybe a bit too quickly. I hated lying to Matt, but I didn't want to hijack his weekend and make it about Davina and me. That felt worse than this little white lie. “My mom gave it to me after he passed.”

Which wasn't exactly a lie. My mom had given me my dad's wedding ring when he died. It just wasn't this one. This one I'd pulled from... honestly, I had no idea.

Matt's mouth opened, probably to ask more questions I absolutely could not answer, but I steamrolled ahead. “Any idea what the girls are up to tonight?” I kept my tone neutral, like I was asking about the weather and definitely not fishing for information about what my accidental wife was doing right this second.

“When did we become such lightweights?” Matt slurred. “We used to close these places down. Now look at us. It's not even midnight, and I can't feel my face.”

“That might be the tequila shots from an hour ago,” I offered helpfully.

“Welcome to married life, brother,” James added, slapping Matt on the back. “This is your future. Home by eleven, in bed by eleven-thirty, asleep by eleven-thirty-one.”

“We…” I gestured emphatically at myself, nearly knocking over a woman's cosmopolitan in the process, “...are not included in that domestic equation. Any of that. I closed the bars down last night.” I decided to leave out that I was so black out drunk that I married a woman who didn’t even like me.

Matt moved to lean against a nearby stool and completely missed, stumbling forward like someone had yanked the carpet out from under him. “Shit…” he mumbled, catching himself on James's shoulder and taking them both down about three inches before they stabilized. James grunted under the sudden weight.

“Okay,” I said, setting down my glass. “We're calling it a night before someone ends up in the hospital. Or jail. Or on someone's Instagram story.”

“But the night is young!” Matt protested.

“The night is drunk,” I corrected. “It’s not the same.”

It was after midnight when I shoved open the door to my hotel room, hoping to find Davina, and I was disappointed when I found the hotel room empty.

My jacket hit the chair, and I pulled out my phone, stared at the blank screen for ten seconds, before scrolling through my contacts looking for Davina…

Strange… There was no Davina. I started to think that maybe she didn’t add her info when it hit me…

Davidson… I scrolled up and bingo. There it was.

Smiling… I opened a new text.

Dallas: Where are you?

Three dots appeared immediately. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Davidson: Out.

Dallas: Out where?

Davidson: Did you hit your head at the club? We're not actually married. You don't get to track my location like I'm a FedEx package.

I shouldn't have smiled at that. I definitely shouldn't have felt the knot in my chest loosen.