AllFreeNovel
Share Us
No. He didn’t marry people. He didn’t even consider marriage. He was twenty-three, for God’s sake. Added to that, he wasn’t going to be like his parents. When he did the deed, it would be forever. So if that meant he never actually said vows, well, then fine. He was in no rush.
Except he had a ring on his hand, one that hadn’t been there yesterday. Evidently, Chloe did too, or she wouldn’t have asked him to check for one.
“Matching couples’ jewelry, right?” he asked himself out loud, wincing at the throb in his head. He’d given up on her answering him.
For all he knew, she was loading up on Valium. God knows he wouldn’t have minded something to take the edge off himself, except no, he would not be doing that again. His drinking had caused this clusterfuck in the first place.
Not just his. Hers too. He’d gotten drunk before with no ill effects, minus the Tabitha situation. Compared to this, though, that seemed like a minor inconvenience. So it stood to reason that since Chloe was the new element in the equation, clearly it was her fault they’d gotten mar—sprung for couples’ jewelry.
“I’m not happy about this,” he said through the door. “If you were looking for a commitment, you shouldn’t have looked at me.”
He’d barely gotten the last word out when the door swung open. Chloe stood there in his Foo Fighters T-shirt and one white sock he was pretty sure was his too. She’d painted the nails on her other foot wine-red to match her fingernails—and her mouth last night, before he’d kissed off her lipstick.
Goddamn, his shirt barely covered her thighs. She was naked under there. She had to be, since he was nude himself. And she’d definitely checked him out before she’d flung her arm over her eyes.
“Can you put on some clothes? And while you’re at it, check your attitude. I’m not interested in a commitment with a rockstar.”
Annoyed at her tone, he gripped the top of the doorframe and glared. Not that she could see him, of course, on account of her getting the vapors at the sight of his penis. “Sure, honey. Hate to tell you, but I’m not that naïve. I know full well exactly how many women want to land my kind of fish.”
She shocked him by shoving past him to go back into the bedroom. “FYI, your fish is limp,” she shot over her shoulder.
“That’s not what you said last night,” he tossed back, well aware of how juvenile he sounded. But hello, his fish was a prime specimen. He’d been told that numerous times. “And of course it’s limp, because you sterilized me with your bony knee.”
“You’re not sterilized. Your type lives to spread their seed far and wide.” She dropped to the floor on the other side of the mattress.
He came around the bed and saw her on her knees, bare ass up, digging under the bed. For what, he had no clue. But he liked her ass a lot. Shit, was that a hickey?
He’d leaned forward without thinking to trace the mark when she jerked up. Unfortunately, she was still partially under the bed at the time, and screeched as she bumped her head. He grimaced in sympathy. She had to be in as rough shape as he was.
“Did you just touch my butt, creeper?” she asked, cupping the back of her neck as she eased out from under the mattress.
“Creeper? We’re wearing rings. If I’m a creeper, I’m your creeper.” He nudged his toe against the arch of her foot just to piss her off. “And you’re mine.”
“You wish.” She blew her curls out of her face and lurched to her feet, trying to hold down her—his—shirt while she gripped her head.
“I don’t have to wish anything. See this?” He held up his hand and tapped the finger with the ring. “This here gives me rights.”
Which ones, exactly, he didn’t know, and he didn’t really want to believe they were married in the first place. But for the sake of argument, he’d use whatever he could.
Including his own idiocy.
“We’re not married. Why would we get married? I don’t even know you.”
“Now, see, you’re just hurting my feelings. Of course we know each other. Didn’t I ask you to pass the stuffing last Thanksgiving?”
“You aren’t funny.” She huffed and puffed as she yanked the sheet off the bed, then wrapped it around herself. Guess she thought he was becoming unduly aroused by her bare legs.
And what if he was? The visuals were the only good part of this mess.
So far, being married royally sucked.
“We’re not married,” he muttered, grinding the heels of his hands into his burning eyes. “It’s just the hangover talking.”
“What about the rings?” she asked him in a near shout. “What about those?”
“Couples’ jewelry,” he shouted back, dropping his hands. “It’s a thing. Read Vogue.”
