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I run bare-ass naked to the balcony. It’s early, the sun is shining, but the Vegas heat hasn’t raised its evil head yet. I’m definitely going to have to soak my poor abused body soon, however. I can feel where Titan has drilled—so to speak—with each step. I grab the wedding dress and step into it, trying to remain bent over so I cover my body. I might not have been shy last night in my tequila haze, but I don’t have that luxury today. I shove my hands through the dress, rising up so I can zip it—when I hear a throat clearing. I look behind me and see a man standing on a balcony behind me, grinning.
He’s older, as in probably Uncle Jansen’s age, and he’s wearing a cowboy hat. He’s sexy, but not my style.
“Morning,” he smirks, his Texan accent strong.
I give him a tight smile over my shoulder and then reach behind me to zip up the dress and hide my ass from the guy—even if it is a little too late. Walking back into the room, I look around for my shoes. I see some empty condom wrappers—thank you Jesus! I also see an empty bottle of tequila and Titan’s clothes.
Titan Marsh… pro football player, a hell of a good time in bed, and … my husband.
That last part makes me cringe. I don’t want a husband. He didn’t want a wife. We discussed that numerous times while drinking tequila and gambling the night away. How we ended up in that all-night Elvis wedding chapel, I don’t remember exactly. But I clearly remember saying “I do” and twirling my hips like Elvis when he proclaimed us husband and wife. I also remember turning to Titan and demanding—in my best Meg Ryan voice—to take me to bed or lose me forever.
He did take me to bed, but he didn’t get the whole Top Gun reference. I get the feeling Titan isn’t a big movie buff.
I look around for a few more minutes and pick up my veil, looking at the white converse tennis shoes and frowning. I wore tennis shoes to my wedding?
Whatever.
I put them on and lace them up quickly. Just as I’m heading out the door, I find a blue flowered garter. It’s on the entry table. I pick it up and start to stuff it into my pocket, but the dress doesn’t have pockets.
I look back at Titan and then down to the gold band on my hand. I walk back toward him, still feeling him between my legs with each step I make. I clutch the garter tightly in my hand. As I look down at the sleeping man, with the dick that apparently never sleeps, I only know one thing. I don’t want to be married.
He’s damn good in bed, though.
Decision made, I toss my garter toward his dick. It snags on the wide head, and lands at an angle. Titan’s hand comes down and he cups his balls before scratching them. I watch, my mouth falling open and my eyes widening in shock.
When the garter decides to fall down the long shaft of his dick I have to fight back a giggle. Then I hightail it out of the room. I don’t stop to think, I don’t stop to take in the strange stares I’m getting from the people in the elevator or in the lobby. I head straight for the door.
two
titan
I stretch and groan as I feel my back make a popping noise. Years of football are slowly catching up with me. I know I don’t have many good years left in me. That’s one reason I’m making the life choices I’m making—and I hate every fucking one of them. The life of a pro-baller is short for the most part and I was a stupid fuck and didn’t plan for the future.
I move my neck back and forth and as it snaps and pops I begin to feel a little more human. I’ve got a fuck of a hangover. I don’t remember much of last night. Just that I left Aden’s wedding with a hot little blonde… She’s obviously not here this morning, though. Too bad. I could have used a good workout before I load up and head back to Cali. I reach down to rub my balls, a silent apology, because they’re hurting this morning. I frown when I feel lace material against my hand. I sit up and notice there’s…. a garter? It’s laying against my balls, my dick sticking up from the center of it.
I don’t remember the chick from last night wearing garters… but she had on this sweet little dress that clung to her luscious ass, so it’s possible, I guess. I pull the garter off, wadding it up in my hand.
Whatever.
She’s gone and I need to get rolling too.
