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When the shower clicked on in the bathroom, Brock threw back the sheets. She was probably going to be a while. Maybe she’d left the door unlocked. He could only be so lucky. He had to piss. His bladder was on the verge of rupturing.
Maybe he’d get lucky and the shower wouldn’t be all glass. Maybe it would be one of those things with a pull across cheesy five-dollar curtain. In this suite? Not likely. He tried to push his foggy mind to remember, but just like the details of the night before, memories of the shower eluded him. He’d only been in the bathroom for five minutes before he left. Yesterday was the first day of his week-long holiday.
Of course, he had to ruin it right off the get go. What better way to get himself accidentally married?
Brock rummaged through the discarded clothing on the floor and picked up his black boxers from the night before. He shrugged and slipped them on. The black sparkly dress that he’d apparently torn off his wife the night before in a frantic burst of honeymoon zeal, sat puddled at the foot of the bed. He barely resisted the urge to pick it up. He imagined bringing it to his nose and inhaling.
What. The. Hell?
Maybe his mother would be happy. She was always asking him if he was seeing someone, if it was serious, and when he was going to give her a grandkid. For the last couple of years, the answer to her questions had been ‘no, no, and I sure as hell don’t know’. Jaded? That wasn’t exactly the right word. Exhausted? That was probably closer to the truth.
If he phoned his parents and told them he was married, his dad would probably be pissed. Owen would have a heart attack trying to do PR damage control. His mom though… she’d probably shit bars of straight gold, she’d be so happy.
Brock sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. He scrubbed a hand over his face. His fingers rasped over a fresh growth of stubble. God, he needed a shave. And a shower. And a piss.
He winced at the pain going on in his lower abdomen. Definitely a piss.
The shower hissed off and he let out a long exhale. Thank god. The dull thud of the glass door echoed through the bathroom, which solved that question. A wispy sound of a towel being drawn over his wife’s body, a stranger’s body, took his mind off of thoughts of how badly he needed to use the bathroom. It made him want to be in there for a whole different reason.
Maybe I am a pervert.
A strange zing of a zipper echoed through the bathroom and then there was a tearing of cardboard and plastic. He frowned. When the tap turned on and the unmistakable sound of teeth brushing started up, he couldn’t sit idly by.
Oh hell no. She’s brushing her teeth with my toothbrush. The new one he’d bought after landing and checking in when he realized he’d forgotten to pack his.
Wife or not, that shit just wasn’t going to fly.
CHAPTER 3
June
Who packed a brand-new toothbrush?
There was a time in her life when she had some shame. Or a sense of decency. Whatever it should be called. The whole giving a shit thing had flown out of the window right along with her status of single. She didn’t mind at all that she’d just taken a shower in a bathroom that wasn’t her own and followed it up by rummaging around in an expensive, buttery soft leather, shaving kit that certainly didn’t belong to her.
She found all the usual. Tweezers, razor, a small tube of toothpaste, a tiny bottle of cologne, which smelled heavenly, a tiny travel sized bottle of aftershave, also divinely scented, deodorant, all the usual.
What she didn’t find was condoms.
Please, please, please let him have used one last night. A walk of shame in Vegas was bad enough. Unfortunately, what happened in Vegas didn’t always stay in Vegas. A walk of shame at a gynecologist’s office was on a level of evil June didn’t even want to contemplate. She was still on the pill, but god… that only prevented pregnancy.
She did find, in her rude perusal of items that weren’t hers, a toothbrush new in the package. Normally she wouldn’t have opened it and helped herself, but the sour taste in her mouth hadn’t been banished by the water dribbling down her face in the shower. Her mouth felt like there was a layer of fungus growing on her teeth.
Not a pretty picture at all.
Especially with an already rocky stomach.
June ripped open the toothbrush. After all, it did belong to her husband and what was a marriage about if not sharing? Her thoughts couldn’t be more sarcastic. She loaded the toothbrush with far too much toothpaste and stuffed it into her mouth.
