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Chapter 28
Mysti May
2:00 PM SATURDAY
I almost can’t believe it.
I was the one who asked Brendon to marry me.
This whole time, I’d been assuming that he askedmeto marryhim—because of how clearly he didn’t want to marry his fiancée and how I was too drunk to think rationally and say “No.”
But no. This whole time…I was the one who asked him.
God, what am I going to tell Norbert?
Well, I’m not. I most definitely am not mentioning this ever…because me getting drunk and having one of these nights is what Norbert explicitly told me not to do.
He gets annoyed if I just talk to another guy—let alone accidentally marry one!
We walk out of the casino, while I’m still reeling from the flashback. Brendon, however, seems totally fine.
But, of course, he is.
Brendon never really wanted to marry his fiancée—Becky has made that pretty clear. I’m sure, in his eyes, marrying me is the best decision he’s ever made.
I don’t blame him—I’d be pretty fucking great to be married to, and I’m sure being married to Brendon would include so much more hot sex and wild nights—but we can’t be married, and I can’t keep having wild nights forever.
“There’s still some things I don’t understand,” Brendon says as we walk out into the lobby of the Royale.
There goes my hope that he could fill in all of last night’s holes.
“Yeah, you and me both,” I mutter.
There’s still the mysteries of the purse full of wet phones, a burning rental car, and a shit-load of cocaine to solve. Oh, and who the fuck was in the Cadillac shooting at me?
How could I forget?
I’m so tired, that’s how. I wasn’t lying before when I said I just wanted to have a shower and wash away this whole crazy night and put it all behind me. But, apparently, no one else will let me do that.
“No, not about the assortment of mysteries,” he says.
Brendon turns to me and looks me up and down for a minute, his brows furrowed.
“What, then?”
“You remember a lot more about last night, right?”
“I remember more than I did when I first woke up, sure.”
“And?”
I turn to look at Brendon and raise an eyebrow. He’s watching me expectantly, as though I was supposed to have some kind of epiphany in between realizing that I sucked his dick under a slot machine and this very second.
“And what?” I ask.
“You still feel the same way?”
“You mean, do I still want to marry Norbert?”
