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A rustle of air is followed by the sound of her voice. “Okay, you can open your eyes again.”
The blankets are tucked around her, drawn tight across her collarbone, except where her left arm extends to my grasp.
“Garrett?”
I ignore her question, my gaze held captive by the sparkling diamond on her finger. It captures the light where it rests against a thin band that I have no doubt matches the one I’m sporting.
Fuck me. What the fuck did we do last night?
“Garrett?” She repeats and shakes her arm free of my loose grasp to tuck the covers more securely around herself.
That’s like closing the barn door after the horse gets out. Now that the image of her breasts is seared into my brain, it’s not like I’ll ever forget it again.
“Why are you— Why are we…” She motions to the bed and the two of us. “Well, I don’t know if you are. Are you?”
If I hadn’t known her for most of my life, I might have a harder time understanding her.
But her rambling is the second language I’m fluent in. She’s asking if I’m naked.
“I am,” I respond.
“Oh.” She chews on her lower lip, and I have the distinct urge to replace her teeth with mine.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I’ve worked hard to bury my feelings for Mia down so deep for so long that I’d finally stopped consciously thinking about kissing her—something I’d done since I was fifteen years old. But here I am, back at square one.
“Did we?” she asks after several moments of silence.
“Did we?” I repeat, focusing on her.
A blush crawls up her cheeks before she covers her face with her hands. “Garrett! Did we have sex?”
Shit. Did we? Given our state of dress—or undress—I pretty much assumed we had and concentrated on the bigger problem at hand.
“Ames, have you happened to glance at your hand?”
Her face comes back into view, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “My hand? What about my hand?”
I wait because it won’t take her long.
“What the fuck?” She sits up, tugging the blankets with her until she can lean against the headboard. “I’m married?”
“Correction,” I respond. “We’re married.”
I hold up my fingers and waggle them at her.
“We?” The widening of her eyes shouldn’t be an insult, so why does it feel like one?
“We,” I repeat and hold up my left hand. “At least, I’m making that assumption since this one matches yours.”
She pulls my hand closer to her. “You’re right.”
“Do you remember what happened?” I doubt it, but I still hold out hope that one of us has some memory of last night.
She shakes her head and my stomach drops. “Um…no. Wait, maybe?”
“We went to the club,” I prompt.
“There were drinks.”
