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With us, it was different, and tonight would be great.
CHAPTER 15
ERIC
Lacey teased me the whole time I was getting ready, texting me shots of her doing the same. She started with her dress laid out on the bed, starry-night layers twinkling with rhinestones. Then she sent me a snap of her brushing her hair, a gleaming blond curtain over the curve of one breast. She showed me her shoes and the lace of her stockings, and the sweep of an earring against the side of her neck. I had my hand on the doorknob when she sent me one last shot: a kiss on a tissue where she’d blotted her lipstick.
I texted back,Lady in red, then a whole line of throbbing pink hearts. My own pulse was racing at the thought of that kiss, pressed to my chest maybe, above my heart. Maybe we’d skip the date and head straight for bed. I’d run my hand up those stockings, pluck at the lace. She might protest at first —but, our reservation —but I’d turn those protests to soft moans and gasps. She’d melt in my arms and I’d dip her like a dancer. We’d collapse on the bed, and—
I shouted aloud as I plowed into Sam, one step out the door and our heads cracked together. He stumbled back, groaning. I rubbed my sore head.
“What the hell, man?”
“I thought you saw me.”
“Well, I didn’t. What were you doing?”
“Knocking. What else?” He straightened, stiff-backed. “We need to talk.”
“Now? Can’t it wait?”
“I’m afraid it can’t.” He nodded at my door. “Let’s head inside. This isn’t hallway talk.”
Something in his expression stilled my objections. I elbowed the door open and waved him inside. The second we were in, he whipped out his phone. He thrust the screen in my face and I swatted it away.
“Don’t do that. Just tell me—”
“Look at it.Look.”
I took the phone from him and peered at the screen. The picture was blurry, a bad video, but I could pick myself out, and Lacey’s slumped figure. She’d fallen against me, a limp, giggly mess.
“You’re so drunk,” she gasped. “You’re totally wasted.” She reeled back and poked me hard in the chest. “Do they even let you do it when you’re this drunk?”
“Have some water,” said someone, a slurred voice offscreen. I dropped to one knee and knelt there, wobbling.
“Lacey Hall.” Her name came out slurred. “Lacey Hall, will you marry me? Will you be my stunt wife?”
The clip looped back to the start. Sam snatched his phone back. “What’s a stunt wife?”
I groaned, deep and pained. I’d blocked out that part. “It’s like a stunt double. Like, they get banged up, but the movie gets better.”
“So she gets banged up, and your marriage… wait,what?That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know. We were drunk.”
Sam sat down abruptly, like he’d had his strings cut. “So this marriage, this farce, you were drunk when you did it? It isn’t real, is it? It’s a stunt for the press.”
Panic rose in my chest. “Who all has seen this?”
Sam didn’t seem to hear me. He was messing with his phone. “If you were drunk when you did it, you can get it annulled. Or if you’ve, uh… if it’s been consummated, you can get a divorce. But first, get a post-nup. Protect your assets.”
I barely heard him. “Sam. Who all’s seen this?”
“No one. I bought it, and six other clips like it, all shot in the VIP lounge at Mermaids. Some asshole waiter trying to turn a buck. You’re lucky the patrons have been more discreet.” Sam stood up and took me by the shoulders. “Your secret is safe, but whatisthe big secret? If I’m going to manage this, I need to know. What’s going on between you and Lacey?”
I plopped down on the bed, weak with relief. Sam stood scowling down at me.
“Eric. What’s happening?”
