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My feet.
Everything hurts.
I roll over from my stomach onto my back and wince as a break in the curtains causes sunlight to beam right into my eyeball.
“Fuck!” I hiss as I roll back to my side, bringing my hands up to dig my heels into my eye sockets.
I scrub my hands across my face and hiss as something sharp clips my nose.
What the fuck?
I blink over and over as I try to clear my vision. What the fuck is on my hand?
The sunlight is causing me to see shit.
Yeah, that’s it.
I slam my eyes closed and dig my thumbs into them in an attempt to rub the sleep and light exposure away before prying them back open.
I jackknife up in the bed as my eyes regain focus on the no less than three-karat, princess cut diamond ring glistening on my fucking left ring finger.
What in the absolute fuck.
I look around the room just to verify that I am in the correct hotel room. I skim my eyes across the floor. My lace top is hanging across the floor lamp in the corner, my shorts are right next to the hotel door, and Ringer’s clothes that he had on last night are lying haphazardly across the armchair next to the lamp.
The only thing seeming to be missing from the room is Ringer.
Throwing the sheet off of me, I look down at myself, and my eyes widen at the love marks littering my entire body.
I can make out the exact pattern of teeth on my left tit. They are so defined that they could probably be used to I.D. the person who made them if necessary.
What in the fuck happened last night.
And why the fuck do I have a massive-ass fucking ring on my finger?
I drag my ass into the bathroom and turn the shower to scorching hot. I pry the white gold ring off my finger and place it on the sink before stepping under the molten stream of water.
After scrubbing my entire body clean, I dry off and furiously brush my teeth to remove the stale taste of last night’s drinks.
How much did I drink last night?
I side-eye the ring again before deciding last minute, right before leaving the bathroom, to put it back on.
I really fucking hope I didn’t marry a stranger last night.
I inspect the ring closer, convincing myself that whatever happened was just a joke and this is just a fake toy machine ring.
Yeah. That’s it.
My head pounds as I try to remember anything from last night after I headed upstairs to the casino.
I search the hotel room for my phone.
No luck.
The lock on the door clicks before Ringer pushes through the doorway holding a brown paper bag in one hand and two coffees in the other.
I eye him suspiciously as he smiles shamelessly at me. “Good morning, Princess.”
