Page 4 of Weddings, Revenge & Fake Dating

My annoyed gaze swings back to Mr. Butthead, as I used to call him behind his back. I would sport a horrified expression, too, if I found my wife in another man’s arms. His black eyebrows, large like caterpillars, rise and fall, taking in our scandalous situation.

Still, I’m unwilling to untangle myself from Jeanie yet. I mean, one lifelong wish just came true. If she weren’t married, I’d pursue all the other ones I made more than a decade ago.

“What are you doing here?” Butthead asks.

Because of his condescending tone, I think he’s talking to me like when I worked the counter at his shop, but there’s no way he’d recognize me. I’m not the same person anymore, and that was twelve years ago.

He’s yelling at her, though it’s clear he’s not horrified for the reason he should be. He doesn’t care she’s half-naked in my arms. No, he’s pissed to see her.

Jeanie glances between us, appearing unsure what to do first—cry or cry. Her doe eyes gloss over and her bottom lip quivers.

Dammit, I’ve done it now.

When I untangle myself, letting go, she clamps her hand over the towel to hold it in place.

Roman is already headed in the opposite direction like he can’t stand the sight of her. He’s talking to himself, his arms swinging as he stomps around travelers and their suitcases.

“Um. Thank you.” Jeanie quiets, becoming a husk of the woman who called my lips moist like cake moments ago. She gestures to her towel and carefully sidesteps to the exit.

I stop the closing elevator door with my palm before it rams her body and we have another runaway-bowling-ball accident.

“And sorry,” Jeanie adds for some unexplained reason.

“Sorry for what?” My gaze falls to her chest. It’s hard not to when I’ve seen what’s underneath the towel. I’m no saint, but I’m fully aware if anyone looked at my lady this way, I’d kill them.

For a split second, because I deal with fans like this daily, I think she did this on purpose, that she knows who I am. That’s until the redness in her cheeks rises like fruit punch.

It’s then I decide she’s not some chick scheming to get into my pants. Jeanie Benton would never. She wouldn’t have to. Even in her disheveled state, a smart man would crawl to her on their knees and beg. I would if the opportunity presented itself.

“Just, sorry,” she says pitifully before spinning on her heel.

My mouth hangs open in shock as she runs away. Not because of what just happened. Okay, maybe a little because my younger, pimple-faced dreams just came true, but partly because of what I see right now.

I tip back my head and laugh, a real laugh that opens my chest and rumbles through my body.

Jeanie’s beach towel may completely cover her front, but it hangs open down her back from her hair to her toes. It seems she doesn’t have one secret, she has two.

She isn’t only topless beneath her towel. The panties she is trying to pass off as bikini bottoms are thongs. So now, both her creamy butt cheeks are flashing me.

And the best part? There’s a cute little butterfly tattoo on one side. As she marches on, her cheeks swish back and forth, making the butterfly appear to flutter, just like the ones swarming inside my dick.

Fucking dick butterflies.

3/

jeanie

Drunk Elevator Hookup

I should be freaking out about accidentally flashing a random man, but I don’t have time. My brain can’t focus on anything but finding Roman.

Chasing him, I run through the hotel, across the pool deck, and then dodge several rollerbladers on the bike path. Even though I scream his name, Roman stomps on like he doesn’t hear me.

He’s angry. I get it, but I’m angry too.

When we reach the beach, I finally catch up and clamp a hand on his shoulder. “Will you stop and let me explain?”

“Explain? Explain!” Roman pivots, flinging out his hands with exasperation.