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“It happens to the best of us.”
“So, you’ve drunkenly gotten married in Vegas?” I ask.
“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m only nineteen. I thought you were talking about forgetting that you ordered room service.”
That’s right. He’s still waiting in the hallway to deliver the food.
“Come in.” I hold the door open wide and wave him in. If I thought my head was pounding before, somewhere in my skull a jackhammer has started operating.
He pushes the white table-clothed cart into the room, parks it, then moves to exit. He hesitates by the door and I finally realize he’s waiting for a tip. I manage to find my clutch and a few dollars to offer him.
“Thank you and congratulations.” He nods, then exits, the door clicking shut behind him.
I walk over to the cart and pick up the photo. My wedding photo. I drunkenly married a stranger in Vegas. How did this happen? I drop the photo back on the cart. I need to call Jess. I need to find Griffin and figure out what we can do about this. Vodka and stomach acid rises in my throat. A hand quickly moves up to cover my mouth. But first, I need to throw up.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, my stomach is empty and my mouth is still dry, but minty fresh. I also took a shower, hoping it would make me feel better. It didn’t. Now, I’ve got a hangover from hell, but I’m clean. Wearing the hotel provided bathrobe, I exit the bathroom to look for some clothes.
“Hey,” a deep, gravelly voice says from across the room and I scream.
“Shit!” I clutch my chest as my heart starts to race, then wince and grab my head. With the acceleration of my heart rate, my pulse begins pounding between my temples again.
My eyes seek out the source. Seated on a chair in the sitting area on the far side of the room is Griffin.
“You scared me,” I say.
He must have a key. There’s no way he came in through the thirtieth-floor window.
“Sorry about that.” He rubs his hands against his black denim-clad thighs. “I heard the shower so I was waiting.”
He stands. He’s got the most adorable bedhead that makes his thick, wavy locks stick up on one side.Husband, my brain chimes from somewhere in the back.
I let my eyes roam over Griffin. Everything about him is familiar, yet I’d argue the dim lighting in the theater and club didn’t do him justice. Seeing him in the daylight, even with the shades still drawn is overwhelming.
He’s wearing the same clothes from last night.
His black t-shirt is stretched taut across his chest, planes of hard muscles encased by soft cotton. The definition of his forearms and the vein running along the side causes saliva to pool in my mouth, a difficult feat for my dehydrated state. I recall my fascination with Griffin’s forearms when we met on the roof.
My greedy eyes take in the rest of him. Narrow waist and tight butt, which I can’t see right now but I recall the way he moved his hips and ass during the show. The way we grinded our hips together on the dance floor.
Damn. He looks so good, it makes my chest ache and my skull feel too small for my brain.
Finally, my eyes find his again. He’s watching me. I should be embarrassed that I blatantly checked him out, but my brain can’t even muster up a flush. It’s got other priorities right now. Like figuring out what the hell happened last night.
Griffin runs a hand through his hair.
That’s when I see the gold band on his left hand.
Despite the mounting evidence provided by the teenage food service worker, it’s the final confirmation I needed to know that last night was real.
Seeing that ring on Griffin’s finger does a funny thing to my chest. It suddenly feels like someone is blowing up a balloon underneath my sternum. Because the only thing sexier than a wedding band on a man’s finger is knowing that man, even if by accident, belongs to you.
Wait.What am I thinking?It’s not sexy that I’m married to a stranger. That I hardly know anything about this man yet I vowed to be with him until death do us part. That’s foolish. Insane. Impractical. All the other synonyms for downright stupid.
“I got you a coffee,” he says.
I reach out to accept the paper cup. Our fingers briefly touch, yet the contact sends a buzz of electricity through my body.
