by London Casey
“Hear that, Jackson?” Callie called out. “A secret fling for a while. You better get ready to spoil me. I’m a pain in the ass.”
“Oh, I know that, sweetie,” I said.
Vince laughed. “This is going to be fantastic to watch.”
“What do you get out of it?” I asked.
Before Vince could answer, Callie spoke.
“He gets us,” Callie said. “It’s a power play, Jackson. You’re not smart enough to see it. He’s buying our cooperation for one million dollars. It’s worth it to him because he’ll make more off us working together rather than fighting to be apart. And his secret hope is that we find a way to actually get along so we can keep this up for a long time.”
“Fuck, she’s brilliant,” Vince said. He grabbed and squeezed my arm. “Are you sure you can handle her?”
I gritted my teeth. “Oh, I’m fucking sure I can handle her.”
Vince laughed and walked away.
Callie took a step and I blocked her path.
She put her hand to my chest and pushed.
“You have no idea what you’re doing,” I said to her.
“Neither do you,” she said back to me. “Want to carry me out of here, husband?”
She snorted and laughed at me.
I grabbed her hips.
I felt the curves… those fucking curves…
“We’re not married yet, Callie,” I said. “You can walk your ass out of here.”
“Why? So you can watch it?”
She pushed at me and walked around me.
I took a breath and looked down at the table.
There was one drink left on the table.
I grabbed it and threw it back, chugging the top shelf whiskey.
Okay, let’s go get fucking married.
I changed into something a little more formal.
Something that didn’t smell like drinks and strip club.
I splashed a little cologne on my neck and grabbed a beer out of the fridge before leaving my apartment.
When I did, Callie was walking out of hers.
She looked at me and gasped. “Go inside!”
“Why?” I asked.
“You can’t see the bride before the wedding,” she said.
“Really?”
“Jackson…”
“Fuck,” I whispered.
I stepped back into my apartment and left the door open.
I listened to Callie as she fumbled around to shut the door and them trampled down the hallway.
She was really drunk.
So was I.
Vince too.
This was the exact kind of thing Vince lived for. Putting two people like Callie and I on the spot like this. To get married? For money?
I wasn’t going to ever back down from a challenge, or from Callie.
She wasn’t going to get a win here.
I’d marry her fine ass and then drive her crazy until she begged for a divorce.
And then I’d happily sign those papers and laugh at her as she realized just how bad she had messed up her life.
I left my apartment and the hallway was clear.
It smelled like Callie.
My nose tingled.
The smell shot straight down to my dick.
I caught myself almost throbbing, ready to get hard because of her smell.
Outside the building, there were three cars waiting.
One for Callie.
One for me.
One for Vince.
Vince stood outside one of the cars.
“Ready, nephew?” he asked.
“You know, this isn’t going to work, right?” I asked.
“How so?”
“We need a marriage license,” I said. “We’re not in Vegas. We’re not in a movie either where those kinds of details are left out.”
Vince laughed. “Have a drink with me.”
He opened the back door to the car and brought out two shot glasses.
The last thing I needed was another drink.
“This is to you, nephew,” he said. “I hope you can survive this. You’ve met your match with Callie.”
“I can survive a fake marriage,” I said.
“It’s not going to be fake, Jackson,” he said.
“How so?”
“We’re going to that little chapel on the other side of the city.”
“Big deal,” I said. “You still need the license.”
Vince got closer to me. “You’d be surprised what money can get you in life.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you’re really getting married tonight,” he said. “I already made a few calls. It’s being taken care of.”
“What is?”
“Everything.” Vince patted my shoulder. “Get in your car, nephew. I don’t think your bride-to-be is going to wait around forever.”
Vince got into the backseat.
Callie’s car drove off.
So did Vince’s.
Sometimes I forgot just how far my uncle could take things.
I didn’t want to know how he was going to make all of this legit… but yet I was at the center of it.
Callie and I.
Soon to be married.
The chapel was the most cliché looking building I’d ever seen.
A little, white chapel with stained glass windows, and a super tall steeple.
There were flashing lights, sweet music, and it had the smell of cheap perfume and the vibe of a funeral home.
I sat in the front row on a pew and waited.
The doors behind me opened and I heard the heavy laugher of Vince.
I stood and turned to see him walking with a short man who had the eyes of a mobster and the smile of a used car salesman.
“Is this the groom?” the man asked.
“Chucky, this is my nephew, Jackson,” Vince said. “He’s ready to marry the woman of his dreams.”
You mean the one that haunts my nightmares.
I shook hands with Chucky.
“Look, this is simple,” he said. “We say a few words, have a little kissy kissy, then we take a few pictures. Boom. Wedding done. You’re good to go. I won’t keep you long. I’ve seen the bride. I’m sure you want to get her home and out of that dress.”
Chucky began to punch the air, laughing.
I looked at Vince.
He just smirked.
“One million dollars?” I asked.
“One million,” Vince said.
“Let’s get this over with,” I said.
Chucky was officiating the wedding.
He stood on a box that was covered in green felt that blended into the rest of the floor in the room.
Music started to play through speakers that looked to be hidden by flowers.
The soft and sweet music gave way to whatever song was played when a bride came down the aisle.
I looked down toward the doors and they opened.
Two women threw flowers in the air and here came Callie.
Carrying a bouquet of flowers near her chest.
Her hair was down, some on her back, some on her shoulders.
Wearing a light pink dress that had enough cleavage showing that she shouldn’t have been in a church… even if it was a fake one. Her tits made me want to be a sinner.
And I shouldn’t have been thinking those thoughts.
Fucking whiskey.
She smirked at me as she walked.
Halfway down the aisle, she tripped.
She jumped forward and let out a cry.
Her pink dress pulled a little and I thought for sure myself, Chucky, and Vince were going to get a show.
I swear if her tits pop out, I’m going to collapse…
I turned my head for a second.
I stared at a painting of two doves flying into a sunset together.
My sunset was money.
I could survive this.
No problem at all.
The music faded out and Call
ie stepped up across from me.
She crouched for a second to put her flowers down.
The dress knew where to hug her.
It was almost unfair.
I was drunk and horny and she was the angel from hell I wanted to dance with.
“Are we ready to do this?” Chucky asked.
“So fucking ready,” Callie said.
She had a hell of a way of holding herself tall and strong. What kind of woman just gets married like this? Didn’t it mean anything to her? Wasn’t it sacred or some bullshit?
“Jackson?” Chucky asked.
“I’m ready,” I said.
I put my hand out.
Callie looked at my hand and then looked me in the eyes with the most disgusted look I’d ever seen on her face.
She put her hand into mine.
She still looked disgusted.
Me too, sweetie, me fucking too.
“And now… my favorite part,” Chucky said. “Jackson, you may now kiss your bride.”
I leaned forward and Callie put a hand up. “Can we rephrase that?”
“Excuse me?” Chucky asked.
“Can you say… Callie, you may tell your new husband to kiss you…”
Yeah, she was that bold.
“Oh, well, I’m sure-”
Chucky started to say.
I wasn’t having any of that.
I pulled Callie toward me and planted my lips to hers.
I kissed her for a second. No tongue or funny business. I had no desire for that.
When I stopped kissing her, she slapped me.
“Oh, my,” Chucky said.
“It’s how we show our love,” Callie said. “Right, Jackson?”
“Yeah,” I said.
Callie slapped my face again. “Two times means I really love him. And three times means-”
Callie swung and I caught her wrist.
“Not here, sweetie,” I said to her. “We all know three times means you want me to fuck you.”
Callie swallowed hard.
I could play this game all night. For the rest of my life even.
“Well, congrats to you both!” Chucky yelled. “Another successful marriage!”
And just like that, Chucky was done with us.
He took out his cellphone and walked away.
Callie and I walked down the aisle together.
One of the women who threw flowers earlier had a camera and took pictures.
All the way down the fucking aisle.
We each kept a smile on our face until we got outside.
We faced each other.
Before either of us could speak, Vince cut in.
“I’m going back to the strip club,” he said. “I’m not done with Vixxy tonight. I assume you two will head home and enjoy your new marriage. Remember what’s at stake. One million dollars. I’m sure you two can figure this out.”
He laughed and walked to a car that drove him off.
There was only one car left.
Meaning Vince had sent the third one away.
On purpose.
“Shall we go home, wife?” I asked.
Callie slammed the bouquet of flowers to my chest.
Half of them broke. Pedals flew all around.
She then moved to her toes and got in my face.
“Don’t fuck this up for me, Jackson. Okay? Keep it in your pants and pretend you love me.”
Callie got into the backseat of the car.
I stepped forward and purposely stepped on the flowers and twisted my foot.
This was going to be one happy marriage, wasn’t it?
Chapter Sixteen
Callie
The sunlight slapped me across the face harder than Sarah Brensman did in the ninth grade when I called her a slut for kissing my boyfriend. (For the record, the slap I gave her back was twice as hard and made her cry so hard, she peed herself, which then gave her the nickname Sarah Peeman.)
My eyes were crusted shut and I peeled them open with my fingers.
I stared up at the ceiling and tried to lick my lips but they were desert dry.
I groaned and shut my eyes.
My mind was blank.
Dark and blank.
My head was already throbbing as a reminder of all the drinks from the night before.
That was one hell of a…
My eyes popped open again.
I sat up.
My hands grabbed the bedsheets as the migraine-style pain whirred through my head like a mixer to cookie dough.
I sucked in a breath and held it for a few seconds.
I released it nice and slow, which was enough to dull the pain so I could think.
More than think, I needed my eyes.
Because I wasn’t in my bed.
I wasn’t in my room.
I wasn’t in my apartment.
“Oh, fuck,” I whispered.
I looked around for a picture of someone.
There were none.
The room did have a smell though.
Expensive cologne with a hint of asshole.
“No,” I said.
I looked down at myself and saw I was in an oversized t-shirt.
“No,” I said again.
Carefully, I leaned to my left to look off the bed.
My hands gripped the sheets extra tight.
The hangover had the room shaking and I had the sensation that I was going to fall out of the bed.
There on the floor… my clothes.
My jeans.
My favorite jeans.
The ones that hugged my ass and hips perfectly.
My shirt. Just balled up and left there.
My flannel over shirt.
My damn bra.
Instantly, my right hand moved from the sheets to my chest.
I squeezed my breasts… yeah, no bra here.
There was only one piece of clothing in question then.
I lifted the heavy comforter off my body and looked down at my bare legs.
I wasn’t even sure if I had shaved yesterday or not.
I did though. Right? No way I would have went out without shaving my legs, right? But I did wear jeans. And I wasn’t going out looking for sex. I had gone to the strip club with…
I shook my head and groaned.
Waking up in a stranger’s bed was one thing. But knowing I probably had sex feeling like a wooly mammoth was a whole other bag to carry during my walk of shame.
I grabbed the end of the t-shirt that clothed my body and I lifted it up.
When I saw I was wearing panties, I nodded.
I even smiled.
That was a victory.
Now I just needed to…
“Wait,” I whispered.
The night started to creep through my memory.
I looked at my left hand.
There was a ring on my finger.
A thin, cheap looking silver ring.
I crashed back down to the pillow.
“Fuck,” I whispered again.
I turned my head and groaned as I did something super cliché.
I reached for the pillow next to me and pulled it over my face.
I took a deep breath and smelled… him.
That’s when I knew I wasn’t in a stranger’s bed.
I was in Jackson’s bed.
I grabbed my clothes off the floor and threw them onto the bed.
Now the entire night was fresh in my memory.
I got married last night.
How?
I wasn’t fully sure how it all went down.
But I was wearing a wedding band and I remembered facing Jackson at some wedding chapel. I remembered him kissing me. I remembered me slapping him.
Then we had more to drink and…
I shook my head.
I hurried to take off the oversized t-shirt.
I stood topless, my eyes on the bedroom door, praying that Jackson didn’t come in to check on me.
Not that it mattere
d.
We obviously slept together last night.
My clothes were on the floor in a mess.
I woke up wearing his t-shirt.
Dammit, Callie.
I got dressed and ran to the bedroom door.
I paused and took a breath to collect myself.
The hangover raged from inside my skull down through my body.
My muscles felt gooey and weak.
I needed water. Coffee.
More to drink?
My stomach did a backflip at that last thought.
I slowly opened the bedroom door and started to walk through the apartment.
The best-case scenario was that Jackson had left.
To go get breakfast or something.
Or maybe he went to the gym to keep that perfect physique that everyone seemed to love.
If that were the case, then I could just shuffle my hungover ass next door to my apartment. I could shower, eat, have coffee, and go back to sleep for the day.
Then I’d deal with the whole I got married for money thing.
What a situation…
I made it halfway across the apartment before I realized the worst-case scenario was going to play itself out.
“Morning, wife,” Jackson said from the kitchen.
He stood at the island with a griddle in front of him, cooking eggs, bacon, and pancakes.
Shirtless.
I know where your shirt is!
He smiled at me and then flipped the pancakes.
When he did, muscles flexed that I didn’t know flexed during the process of flipping a pancake.
I licked my lips again, and it wasn’t because I needed a drink of water.
“What happened?” I asked. “And… are you naked?”
“What?” Jackson asked.
He looked down at himself.
Without hesitation, he stepped from around the kitchen counter.
I put my hands out like his dick was going to be exposed and it was going to shoot water balloons at me.
He does have a cannon though, Callie…
Jackson showed himself to me.
He wore boxers.
But, come on, the way they hugged his thick and strong legs… the pocket and stitching right in the middle, filled to capacity…
I looked away.
“How bad is it?” Jackson asked.
“I feel like I got shitfaced, married, had sex, and now regret my entire life,” I said.