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I stand up, stretching the kinks in my back. Yeah, I’m definitely getting too damn old for this shit. I look at the garter, and then throw it in the trash. It seems to stare back at me—mocking me. For some weird reason, I pick it up and toss it back on the bed.
In the shower, I relax into the hot spray, my eyes closed. I smell like lemons. Never really liked that fucking smell before, but yet it reminds me of Faith… Faith Lucas. That’s her name. The longer I’m awake the more the memory of her begins to come back. Gorgeous bod, definitely a ten, and that ass is an ass to make men beg. I can’t really remember what we did last night… but my balls are sore, so I’m hoping that means it was fucking good.
I reach over to the bottle of body wash and grow completely still. The bottle is black, my hand the same brown it’s always been, but the gold band on my finger…
Now that’s definitely new.
I drop the bottle like it’s hot, ignoring the way it crashes against the tile. I stomp out, not caring water is going everywhere, not caring I don’t have a towel. I trace my steps, and then look in the main bedroom. There’s nothing really out of place there. Condom wrappers and an empty bottle of Patron… I’d pat myself on the back if I wasn’t sporting a damn ring on my finger.
I walk through the rest of the giant room. The small sofa in front of the television grabs my attention. More importantly, the manila envelope on the sofa grabs my attention.
I all but rip it open and what I find has me falling back on my ass. The couch scoots a good foot with my weight, but I don’t care. All I can think about are the two large words at the top of the paper I’m holding.
Marriage… Certificate…
Fuck.
three
faith
“What do you mean you’ve left Vegas?” Hope asks, and I hear that voice.
I know that voice.
That’s the voice that she gets whenever she’s about to go into big sister mode. The voice she always gets when she wants to begin her Faith-you-can’t-go-through-life-and-never-grow-up speech. I hate that speech. In fact, today is too pretty to hear it.
“Just what I said. I got tired of Vegas. I’ve decided to move on.”
“Tired… decided to move on…”
“That’s what I said,” I repeat. “Listen, Sis, I got to go.” I’m preparing to shut her down. I look out at the totally empty road—except for me and my Jeep—and shrug. “Traffic is really starting to pick up. I need to concentrate on the road.”
“Faith… Sis, Titan was just here and… He’s looking for you.”
I capture the corner of my lip between my teeth and worry it back and forth while I think about that. I kind of knew Titan would be looking for me… I did. It didn’t occur to me he’d go to my sister and Aden—mostly because it is their honeymoon. I thought maybe he’d ask White. I frown because I’m not happy with him. It feels like he’s telling on me to my sister—which kind of pisses me off.
“Titan? That’s interesting,” I answer, trying to come off like I don’t have a care in the world—which is really what my sisters expect. I’m the blond airhead of the family, bouncing from place to place with no direction or ambition. I play my part well… too well. “Did he say what he wanted?”
“No… but Faith, he seemed angry.”
“That’s strange and I have no idea why. You have my number. You can give it to him. Listen, Sis, I really have to go. Traffic is crazy. Enjoy your honeymoon! Talk to you soon.”
I hang up before she can answer me. Then, to be safe, I switch the phone on silent and toss it in the back seat.
Titan is a complication that I can’t wrap my head around right now. I’m running. My sisters think I’ve spent my whole life running, floating around like a butterfly. I let them think that. The truth is much more depressing.
I keep moving because I just don’t belong anywhere.
Titan is a complication I don’t need. A wild, careless night of sex should be kept in the bucket list. I checked it off and it’s done. I look down at the ring on my finger and get more than a little nauseous.
Okay, a night of sex probably shouldn’t be preceded with a marriage ceremony. That was a mistake. I should never drink tequila when I’m upset. I never wanted marriage. My parents were a shining example of why the words “I do” should never be uttered.
And why I planned never to utter them…
Especially after my last relationship.
I pull up to a stop sign. I’m on a back road in the middle of nowhere. I have my suitcase in the back—with my phone—and I do not have a plan. I just know I need a fresh start.
