None of them look like they’re about to have a night out in Vegas. Instead, they’re all dressed in clothes that had to have been bought at some hillbilly hoedown. Some of them are sporting cut-off jean shorts that are grossly too short. They’re sporting American flag and beer advertisement apparel out the ass – on their shirts, pants, and bandannas. A few of them even have mullets.
They’re in the mid-twenties but look like middle-aged men with beer bellies going through their mid-life crisis. I saw them before Knox’s concert today, and none of them had this look going on.
I blink a few times, noticing two of the men are Marvin and Lucas. I glance over at Knox, then to the good ol’ American boys, and back to Knox, waiting for someone to give me an answer as to what the hell is going on.
Knox laughs, obviously loving my confusion, and claps his hands. “You ready to have some fun, sunshine?”
Everyone’s attention goes straight to me.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
I don’t want to act like a bitch in front of his friends, but fun … or whatever the hell this is … was not in agenda for tonight. I had a grand plan of eating Cheetos and Facetiming Mia to talk shit about the latest Real Housewives fight.
“I told you I don’t want to be bombarded by paparazzi,” I answer, trying to keep my voice low so the others don’t hear my lame excuse.
“There won’t be any,” Spencer says, moving in towards us. He’s one of Knox’s friends and the apparent leader of the pack. I grimace, my face turning red. I guess I was louder than I thought. “Because they won’t know it’s you.”
“What do you mean?”
A door opens, interrupting us, and a woman walks out wearing short-shorts, a red tube-top, and cowgirl boots with her hair teased to the Gods. Even dressed in that outfit, I know who she is. Yasmine Ulta – one of the hottest supermodels in the world right now.
She looks directly at me, her red lips forming a smile. “It’s like playing dress up,” she starts to explain. “We put on these ridiculous disguises so no one recognizes us and go have fun. We do it all the time, and surprisingly, no one has caught on yet.” She skips over to us, grabs my hand, and drags me further into the living room. “Knox asked me to bring a few options for you.”
There’s a large suitcase opened up on the floor next to the couch that’s filled with clothes similar to what everyone else is wearing.
“So what look do you want to go for?” she asks. “We have everything from showgirl, hooker, redneck tourist …”
“Redneck tourist!” Spencer shouts. “It’s the fucking best. You can do an accent and everything.” He wraps his arm around Yasmine’s waist and smacks his lips against her cheek. “Me and this smokin’ babe are the redneck couple of the year.”
“I have a better idea,” Yasmine drawls out. “You and Knox should dress up like a couple that’s eloping. That would be awesome.”
“I love that,” Knox says, coming up behind me. “Do you think we should do the whole wedding dress and tux thing or act like it’s spur of the moment, unplanned?”
“Spur of the moment,” Yasmine answers. “Those are the best.” She bends down and starts to rifle through the suitcase. “I did throw a few wedding dress options in here, nothing too crazy. I mean, you can’t go to Vegas without packing an emergency wedding dress.”
“She carries them with her everywhere we go, you know, in case I ever propose,” Spencer says.
“You’ve proposed to me three times, Spencer, and I’ve told you we’re waiting every single time,” she argues.
I stand there, paralyzed in place, and stuttering to find the right words to tell them I don’t want to fake elope Knox.
I grunt when Yasmine shoves a handful of clothes in my arms and points down the hallway. “Bathroom. I left some of my makeup in there if you want to use it.”
I nod and head to the bathroom because I haven’t come up with a plan on how I’m going to get out of this yet.
Do they really think we can get away with this?
People know Knox is here tonight and are most likely going to be looking for him.
I shut the door and start going through my outfit options.
The first one is an eighties-inspired wedding dress with ridiculous shoulder pads.
Hell no.
The second is a pair of shorts that resemble Yasmine’s, complete with red stars sewn into the denim. I toss them to the side. I’m not usually insecure about my legs, but there’s a supermodel in the other room wearing the same thing. That’s not happening.
Next.
I try on a blue sequin dress. It’s short, only hitting a few inches below my ass, but it’s the best option I have. Sequins aren’t my thing, but the other choices are a no-go.
I poke my head out the door and call Knox over.
“If we’re supposed to act like we’re married, what’s my new husband wearing?” I ask when he reaches me. I can’t believe I’m actually asking him this question.
“I haven’t decided yet.” He peeks in through the opening. “Whoa … that’s the look of my future bride? Yes!” He yells for Yasmine, and I suddenly regret asking him. He pushes the door open when she joins us, now wearing a black wig. “What should the groom wear with this look?”
“Considering the theme is pretty much hillbilly, if you guys are dressed too different it might out us. I have the perfect cowgirl boots to go with that, Libby. Here’s your wig. You have to wear that.” She hands it to me and then looks over at Knox. “And I’ll find you something.”
She pulls Knox away, and I shut the door again. I finger the hideous blonde wig in my hand. The strands are crimped and frizzy. I sigh before putting my hair up and pulling the wig on over it. I open Yasmine’s makeup bag and add some mascara to my lashes. I take one last glance at how ridiculous I look and go back into the living room.
Knox is changed, and I can’t help but burst out in laughter. He’s wearing a t-shirt that looks like a tuxedo and jeans with connecting suspenders, but that’s not the best part. The best part is his long, brown wig that’s pulled into a low ponytail complete with matching sideburns and a moustache. He looks ridiculous.
“Are you really going out like that?” I ask.
“Damn straight I am, and you’re not going to be able to keep your hands off me knowing we’re celebrating our honeymoon tonight.”
“There’s no honeymoon tonight, so don’t get your hopes up.”
“Now let’s not make any rash decisions yet, my dear. Once you hang out with me tonight and we go down to The Little White Chapel, you might change your mind about wanting to sleep with me.”
“Stick to Blackjack. Your chances of winning are much higher on that.”
I shiver when his mouth hits my ear. “My chances of winning are always high.”
“How about a pregame shot?” Spencer yells.
“I’m game,” Lucas replies. “Let’s get this party started. Not to mention, I love drinking expensive liquor for free. Once we get down there, it’s fuckin’ ridiculous.”
I look around. “How are we supposed to drink without showing our IDs?”
“Glad you mentioned that,” Yasmine says, grabbing something from her purse and handing it to me. “Here’s your fake.”
I look down at the ID.
It looks real – like has my actual photo from my real one, but the name and address is different.
“My name is Belinda Jackson?” I ask.
Knox laughs and holds up his ID. “And soon to be Belinda Kettle when the night ends.”
“You’re really going to play up this whole bride and groom thing, aren’t you?”
“Hell yes.”
“And I almost forgot this,” Yasmine says, handing me something. “This is for the bride.”
I look down and play with it in my hands. “A Ring Pop?”
“I provide the best bling for my wife,” Knox says.
“Dear God, this is going to be a long night.”
“But a fun o
ne. I can promise you that.”
I’m taking slow steps as we make our way through the casino. How is everyone else acting normal? Even Knox doesn’t seem phased that someone might recognize us.
“Go with it, wife,” he says, bringing me into his side. “You need to loosen up.”
“I’m trying,” I hiss.
“No, you’re not. You look like we’re plotting to rob the place.” He takes my hand and squeezes it in his. “Act like I’m a regular guy that no one cares about. Forget about Knox Rivers. We can pretend I’m your sweater-wearing club boy, Joe.”
“Josh is not my boy, and we could’ve picked clothes that don’t draw attention to us. We look like freaking weirdos.”
He runs his hand down his shirt. “Excuse me, speak for yourself. I’m lovin’ my look.”
“There’s an open table over there,” Yasmine says. “Let’s get to gambling.”
We follow her to a Blackjack table and take a seat. The dealer, Lou, who looks like he’s peeking at seventy, doesn’t look enthused at our arrival.
“Hello,” he grumbles. “This is Double Deck Blackjack. Does everyone know the rules?”
“Sure do,” Knox says. “We play it all the time on the farm, but we usually bet with beer caps and sunflower seeds.”
“I won the lottery last week,” Spencer says, his accent ridiculous. “Two million buckaroos, that’s a helluva lotta money. I bought my momma a new home and decided to take my friends to the infamous Vegas to try my luck some more!”
I put my head down and cover my mouth, trying my best to contain my laughter.
“That’s nice,” Lou says, clearly not impressed.
“I’m going to sit this one out,” I say.
“What? Why?” Knox asks.
“The minimum is fifty dollars. I suck at this game, and I’m not about to waste money I don’t have.”
“That reminds me.” He pulls out two stacks of bills and slides one over to me. “This is for you.”
I shove it back his way. “I’m not taking your money.”
“Yes, you are. Now take it before we make a scene.”
“Fine, but if I win anything, I’m giving it back.”
“Whatever you want. Just take it so we can start. You’re holding shit up.”
A waitress stops by to take our orders, interrupting Lou as he starts to deal the cards.
“Fireball for everyone!” Spencer yells to her.
“And a water for me, please,” I add.
Spencer points at me. “And a fireball for her as well.” He pauses. “Correction, make it double shots.”
Lou looks like he’s ready to kill us. “Let’s get started.”
We play the first hand. I’m not much of a Blackjack player, but I know the basics.
Lou wins.
We bet again, and the waitress brings us our shots. The sweet but rough taste of hot cinnamon flows down my throat as I take mine.
Lou deals the next hand, and I squeal in excitement when I hit Blackjack.
Winning always makes things better, and well, so does alcohol.
We play another round. Spencer orders more shots.
Knox wins the next round, and we order more drinks.
“We got married an hour ago,” Knox tells Lou. He grabs my hand with the Ring Pop and holds it up. “Have you ever seen a rock this big?”
Lou rolls his eyes and releases an exasperating breath. “Can’t say I have.”
“The one in his pants might be a little bigger.” My hand flies to my drunken mouth. Oh my God. Did I really just say that?
Knox looks at me in surprise but goes with it. “That’s my girl. She loves her big rocks.”
I can’t stop laughing. I’m happy I didn’t stay in my room. I’m actually having a fantastic time. I’ll forever remember this night.
We play a few more rounds and then decide to give Lou a break.
“Where are we off to now?” I ask.
“A club?” Spencer suggests.
“We’re going to a club as normal people?” Yasmine asks. “I’m not trying to sound pretentious, but screw that. I can’t stand lines and people rubbing up all over me.” She shudders. “New idea.”
“What about a strip club?” Spencer asks.
“What about I break up with you?” she fires back.
Spencer holds up his hands. “Guys, the strip club is a terrible idea. Who would even recommend that?”
“How about we walk the strip?” Knox suggests. “I’ve never really been able to do that, but I’ve heard shit gets crazy.”
“I like that idea. It’s something we normally wouldn’t do,” Yasmine replies.
“We can buy a bunch of stupid shit and have fun,” Knox goes on.
He looks over at me and raises a questioning brow.
I nod. “That’s fine with me.”
I love to people watch, so that’s right up my alley.
Knox grabs my hand and throws it up when we make it outside to the strip. “Ladies and gents,” he yells. “This chick and I got hitched. She agreed to be my wife, and I’m going to have sex for the first time!”
He grunts when I release my hand from his and shove my elbow into his side.
An older couple stops in front of us. “Oh young love,” the woman says. “Congratulations. Would you like us to take a picture of you?”
“Sure,” Knox says.
She takes his phone, snaps our photo, and they congratulate us again before walking away.
We have a blast on the strip. I’m enjoying it more than when we were gambling. We go into souvenir shops and buy stupid stuff, take pictures with the best impersonators, and enjoy our time together with the help of our buzzes. No one even recognizes us.
Their plan is actually working.
I yawn and finally look at the time on my phone. “Wow, it’s four in the morning.”
“Damn, really?” Yasmine asks. “We were having so much fun, I lost track of time.”
We head back to the hotel and crowd into an elevator. Everyone gets off on their floors. Knox and I are the only ones left.
“Admit it,” he says, when we reach our floor and the doors open. He drags me into his side and rests his arm on my shoulders.
“Admit what?” I ask.
“Admit you had fun tonight.”
“Fine,” I grumble. “I had fun.”
“I knew you’d enjoy being my wife.” He pauses when we reach my door and grins wildly. Why does it feel like we’re ending a date? “Are you sure you don’t want to consummate our marriage?”
I pull the Ring Pop off my finger and hand it to him. “We are officially out of our marriage roles.”
He moves in closer, the Ring Pop on the tip of his finger. “What if I don’t want it to be over?” I shiver as he runs his hands up my bare arms. “What if I want this night to keep going?”
I gulp nervously, leaning back against the door for support. “It can’t … we can’t … and you know that.”
“Why are you fighting this? I know I’m not the only one who wants it.”
I shut my eyes, taking a calming breath. He’s not the only one who wants it, but I have to be the one who thinks logically. “I’m fighting this because it’s not a good idea. I made a promise to myself not to get hurt again.”
I clasp my hand to my mouth. That’s not the argument I planned on saying in my head.
“What do you mean get hurt again?”
Shit. How do I get myself out of this conversation? “Nothing. I’m exhausted and not thinking clearly.”
“Too exhausted to invite me in?”
I rub my hands over my face and nod. I turn around and unlock my door without giving him another look. “Goodnight, Knox.”
“Goodnight,” he whispers behind me. He’s still standing there as I close the door.
I’m tired, yes, but that’s not my biggest problem.
I’m so ridiculously turned on I can’t think straight.
I open my luggage and head directly
to it, but it’s not there. I feel around, thinking I probably misplaced it, but find nothing. I start tossing everything out. My clothes hit the bed, the floor, even the lampshade as I desperately search for it.
It’s gone.
What the fuck?
I’m positive I packed it.
I snatch my phone from the bed and hit Mia’s name. Hopefully, she’s not asleep.
Me: Check my nightstand drawer and see if I left V.
I continue to look through my shit until my phone beeps with a response.
Mia: Drawer is clear of V. Should I look anywhere else?
Me: No.
Mia: Is V MIA?
Me: Apparently.
Mia: Go replace V with the real thing. I know exactly who you should ask.
Me: Goodnight.
She’s just as bad as he is.
I throw myself down on my bed and let out a long sigh. I knew this was going to happen, which is the exact reason I put it on my packing list. There’s no way I can survive months of Knox’s flirting and not relieve myself.
My phone beeps. I check it, knowing it’s most likely Mia telling me she found it.
I’m so wrong.
Knox: Are you missing something?
He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
Me: What are you talking about?
He sends me a picture of my vibrator.
And I fucking lose it.
Chapter 24
Knox
I can’t fight off the grin on my face as I stare at the picture I sent Libby. I debated with myself on whether or not to go through with my plan. I was going to wait until we were on the road longer to break it out, but I have a feeling that’s the first thing she went for when she got back into her room.
She was trying to hide it, but there was no doubt she was turned on in the hallway.
She hasn’t texted me back yet, but the three dots on the bottom of our message feed tells me she’s trying to come up with a response.
I wait another minute.
Nothing.
I decide to help her out.
Me: Why not come over for the real thing?
The bubbles stop … and then reappear … and I wait for it.
Libby: Why are you sending me a picture of a vibrator?
Wild Thoughts Page 24