“Hey, Liam,” Barbi tickles my chin, and Silvia kisses me on the cheek. “We’re wondering if, since you’re here…you might be working?”
James catches my eye, as does Bruce.
“Not today,” I shift in my chair to put a little distance between us.
It was a stupid fucking idea to begin with, dancing at my own club. Part of the enjoyment was the shock and awe of it all. Having all eyes on me and letting my gaze wander to whoever I fucking fancied for the evening.
I’ve had Silvia and Barbi both, truth be told. Separately—and at once—and in ways that they wouldn’t exactly want their Sunday school teachers to know about.
But last night changed me. Becky fucking Brooks changed me, and now I can’t even stand the thought of these other woman laying eyes on me.
Silvia is a little more persistent. “Come on, Liam, I could give you the best fucking blowjob anyone has ever given you.”
I cringe at her words. She’s already been outclassed for eternity, and she doesn’t even realize it yet.
Becky’s hot body comes to mind yet again, and I recall how her gorgeous lips were wrapped around my fucking cock. No one will be able to top her performance.
That’s why I married her, after all.
“Here come the lads.” I take Silvia’s hands off my shoulders. “You can look after them.”
James chuckles. “Popular today.”
“Piss off.” I’m not in the mood for jokes.
“Anyway, like I said. Your lady called, the one you came in here with last night.”
That reminder makes a strange little darkness inside me purr. Becky called the Post Office. My fucking strip club. Yet another part of my empire.
She’s retracing her steps. Recovering what she lost last night.
And every fucking memory she reclaims leads her right back to me.
“What did she say?”
I try to sound cool, calm, and collected. I don’t want James to think I’m hanging on every fucking word he’s about to say…even though I bloody fucking am.
James shrugs. “Asked lots of questions. I told her she should stop by if she wants answers. Seemed like the easiest thing to do.”
I take a few seconds to think about this before shooing him away. James takes the hint.
Becky Brooks, walking into my club all over again.
This could be dangerous for me.
Or it could be the best thing for her.
Either way…I have no doubt it will be fun.
I know Dan doesn’t deserve a girl like Becky. I’m not sure that I do either, truth be told. In a way, I was only doing what Dan the Man told me to do: make sure she’s taken care of.
It’s just that when he told me to smooth things over with Becky, I didn’t imagine he thought I would do it to his disadvantage.
Fucking prick.
But if Becky doesn’t remember me, she must not remember Dan’s little transgressions either.
I’ll need to tread carefully with her. She’s headstrong, I can tell. She won’t just take my fucking word for it.
She needs to retrace her steps. Reclaim her memories.
And when she does, I’ll be waiting for her with a shot of tequila and open arms.
What’s going to be critical is that Becky will have to think she reached the decision by herself, with no help from anyone. If I go up and tell her not to marry the prick Dan, she’ll run a fucking mile and then some.
Last night was insane, even by my standards. My concern for this woman is more than just my dislike of Dan. There’s something about Becky. She touched me like no other woman has before. She’s got under my skin in a good way.
Like no other woman ever has.
I finish my coffee and decide to stick around.
Becky and those friends of hers are trouble in the best way…and I intend to see them through this little journey safe.
After all, a man ought to take care of his wife.
Chapter 12
Becky
12:16 PM THURSDAY
I poke at the delicacies on my plate with my fork without putting anything into my mouth.
Sammi, on the other hand, hasn’t lost her appetite. And Percy is picking up a chocolate dipped strawberry. I watch the chocolate drip down onto her plate. She laughs before shoving the massive thing into her mouth.
None of the girls seem to have suffered any long lasting effects from the night—unlike me.
The thought of food makes me want to puke.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fucking eat anything in my life ever again.
I feel as if I’ve been forced into ice skates and pushed out onto a frozen fucking lake. I’m spinning out of control. Probably because I can’t fucking ice skate. The world is spinning, and I’m heading toward a great big iceberg at phenomenal speed.
“You mought mto mtry mmm mthese msmtramwmberries,” mumbles Percy, and if I didn’t know what the fuck she was eating, I wouldn’t understand a word.
I shake my head. I shiver and wrap my arms around my body. The words What the fuck am I going to do? are swirling around my head faster than a tornado.
Sammi pats me on the shoulder. “Come on, Becky. Starving yourself is going to help anyone.”
Mysti May nods, and Percy keeps stuffing those chocolate covered strawberries into her mouth.
Words are stuck in my throat, and I bite back the tears. I’m surprised I’ve still got any fucking tears left. The last few hours, I’ve cried so much, I should be as dry as the dessert.
“I just can’t,” I manage to say, and Sammi shakes her head.
“Why don’t we make a list of all the thing we know?” Sammi signals a waiter and grabs a napkin.
Armed with pen and paper of sorts, Sammi scribbles: Facts we know.
“What’s the fucking point,” I groan and place my head in my hands, elbows resting on the table. The thumping in my head refuses to go away. “We’re fucked.”
“We’re…fucked,” Sammi writes on the napkin. “Good start.”
If the ground opened up right now and swallowed me up, I wouldn’t complain. The image of Gandalf in Lord of the Rings plummeting after the fire monster comes to mind.
But even Gandalf came out after sometime. He rolls up later, new and improved and dressed in white.
For a second, I get a little flash of hope. I’ve got my own white get-up to wear on Saturday, after all. Maybe I could make it through this, too.
But then I remember—Gandalf is a fucking wizard. And me? I’m just a fucking fuck-up.
“Come on, Becky,” Sammi urges. “Let’s use logic here, yeah? If we document what we know, we might get to the bottom of things.”
“I’ve already hit the bottom of things.” I roll my eyes and look at my BFFs again. “Rock fucking bottom.”
We obviously did a lot of messed-up shit last night. But none of my bridesmaids have committed as big a sin as I have.
…except maybe for Mysti May, but the more that I think about it, the more that I think she might be in denial of a larger issue anyway. She always did like watching the cheerleaders more than the football players, come to think.
“We know that we checked in here at the Royale and looked at our room. So far, so good,” Sammi begins.
I still can’t see the fucking point of this exercise, but I go along with it.
“Then we went downstairs. To the spa,” I add. “Where, apparently, we were roofied.”
“I think we had some champagne upstairs,” interrupts Percy who’s nearly polished off all the chocolate-coated strawberries.
There’s a little bit of chocolate running down her chin. Mysti May thumbs it off and sucks her thumb into her own mouth.
“Just one glass, though,” Mysti May adds. “Rule-number-whatever. No drinking!”
“Okay. One glass of champagne, then the spa.” Sammi adds it to the list.
“Then…more champagne at the
spa,” Percy adds sheepishly. “I had at least two bottles myself, pretty sure.”
“I…I turned it down, though,” I say, scrunching my eyebrows together.
“Yeah,” Sammi agrees, “Percy got trashed then, though. I remember now—they tossed us out.”
“Then we picked up the showgirls in the lobby! For body shots. We were bummed because Percy got us kicked out,” Mysti May adds excitedly. “Y’all. It’s all coming together!”
Now the serviette reads:
Facts we know:
Shit’s fucked.
Check in at Royale.
One glass of champagne.
Went to spa.
Percy gets drunk.
Get kicked out of spa.
Showgirls.
Body shots.
“See, we’re getting somewhere!” announces Sammi.
I shake my head. I can’t see how this is helping anything.
“I didn’t do body shots, though,” I insist.
“Yeah…but I did,” Sammi admits.
“And I’m pretty sure it was my idea,” Mysti May adds, cringing a little.
“So. Becky was the last one sober. That’s good, right? Stay with us, Becky.” Sammie makes the next entry.
Everyone gets drunk but Becky.
And then:
Celine Dion concert.
“So far, so good,” muses Mysti May. “I mean, we’re in deep shit, obviously, but that’s nothing Dan the Man can be angry at Becky about.”
At his name, I nearly burst into tears again.
Fuck.
I’ve been such a fucking disappointment to Dan. He trusted me and loved me and this is how I repaid him.
My missing engagement ring comes back to hit me like a speeding train.
I didn’t just break his trust. I lost a million dollars’ worth of his love last night. Figuratively, literally—in every fucking way. I won’t ever be able to look him in the eye and confess
It just makes me wish all the more that he’d answer his fucking phone.
“So, after the Celine Dion Concert, we met Celine Dion backstage,” Sammi continues.
Percy sighs. “Wish I could remember that.”
“After Celine, we went to the Post Office,” continues Mysti May. “All those naked men…wish I could remember that.”
I narrow my eyes at her. Considering her antics with the showgirls…somehow I doubt that.
Percy interrupts. “And then we came back here with Elvis. Mystery solved!”
“Ugh,” I groan. “Mystery not solved, Perce. Why would I just bang some random Elvis? It doesn’t add up.”
Percy holds up the costume, raising an eyebrow. Irritated, I snatch it from her.
“You know what I can’t understand?” All eyes are now on Sammi. “Where did the fucking shark come from?”
My friends roll their eyes.
“That’s hardly worth thinking about.” Percy now stabs some cake and eats a mouthful.
“But really,” Sammi does not give up. “Where did it come from? It’s not like sharks are, like, everywhere. They need water and stuff. I should know, right? Who the fuck would put a shark in our pool?”
“I really think the shark is totally irrelevant.” I say and play with a tag in the Elvis suit. “Huh. This seems to be a rental,” I say, more to myself than anyone else.
“Does it?” Mysti May leans over. “Can you work out anything else?”
I turn the tag over and, bingo, there’s an address.
I read it out to Sammi, who puts it into her iPad. Mesmerized, I stare at the screen as the map forms and the little red dot pinpoints the location.
“Let’s get a taxi and go there.”
Percy picks up the cake and we head to the door. Somehow, a car materializes and we all pile in.
My heart beats a little faster. Where else did we go last night? Would my engagement ring be there?
Suddenly, an idea forms in the back of my mind. It’s a tiny little seed, and the more I water it, the more believable it becomes to me.
I could have been drugged. Someone might have spiked that glass of champagne really early on in the night, and thus, I was not responsible for my own actions.
As our taxi driver swerves to avoid other motorists and wayward pedestrians, I cling to that theory. Surely, Dan would have to accept that a spiked drink was not my fault.
And I super seriously need this to not be my fault.
Mysti May announces we are getting close.
I look outside. Nothing seems familiar to me. It seems surreal that I don’t have a memory of anything last night.
And now I know why. Someone spiked my drink, for sure. I’ve heard and read about people whose drinks had been spiked, and how terrible things were done to them.
I hardly notice that the taxi’s slowed to a stop.
What I do notice is the absolute fucking silence in the car.
I’m about to ask what the matter is when I look out the window.
Suddenly, time stands still. It is as if I’ve stepped into a vacuum. My eyes take in what’s there in front of me, but my brain refuses to believe what it says.
This must be a mistake.
My mouth is dry, and I feel the sudden need for a strong drink.
“We should go inside,” Sammi speaks first.
“It’s a fucking wedding chapel,” I mutter and follow the others out of the car, heart pounding.
Inside, we are greeted by the unfriendliest woman I’ve ever met in my life.
“What do you want?”
“I—” I start but am unable to say anymore.
“We’re here about last night,” explains Sammi.
“I’m surprised you dare to show your face here again. But then I suppose you’ve paid for the wedding. Here’s your certificate and your fucking photos.”
She hands a large envelope to me. It falls right through my hands. Percy picks it up.
“Now leave,” the woman tells us, and we’re pretty happy to oblige.
When I’m back in the car, I stare at the marriage certificate with my name on it.
Shit.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I close my fucking eyes, and another memory flashes through my mind.
I just really fucking wish it didn’t.
Chapter 13
Becky
12:16 AM THURSDAY
So here I am in a rhinestone tiara that says SLUT on it with a bridal veil attached. I’m watching myself in the mirrors of Elvis’ sunglasses while we confess our forever and undying love for each other.
“I love you more than that time I accidentally took cocaine and won the Boston marathon in my Christian Louboutins,” I’m telling Sexy Elvis before a gathering of my closest friends, a trio of stray showgirls and a rent-a-priest.
“I love you more than the time I intentionally took cocaine and was forcibly removed from the Boston marathon,” Sexy Elvis says back to me in his Sexy Elvis British accent.
We squeeze each other’s hands tight and smile at each other.
“Do you suppose it was the same Boston marathon?” Sexy Elvis asks me.
I shrug. “Might’ve been.”
The rent-a-priest clears his throat, and I decide to table this discussion for another time.
After all, I’m going to be spending the rest of my life with Sexy Elvis.
Pretty sure we can talk about our sordid drug-fueled pasts then.
“Then by the power vested in me by the state of Nevada,” the rent-a-priest says, raising his hands over us, “I now pronounce you man and—oh.”
The rent-a-priest doesn’t finish, since we’re already making out.
But hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?
“Fucking want you right now,” Sexy Elvis growls in my ear as we mash our lips together like we’re trying to leave bruises everywhere we kiss.
“Fucking take me, then,” I growl back.
But Sexy Elvis isn’t just any man.
Sexy Elvis is, well…he’s Sexy Elvis.
And when Sexy Elvis says he wants his woman right now, he bends her over the altar he just married her before. A little less talk, a little more action.
Shit like this is why I love Sexy Elvis, truth be told.
“You fucking like that, don’t you?” he says, grabbing my skirt and shoving it up around my hips.
“Maybe I do,” I coo back at him. “Maybe I like it too much.”
“Cheeky little thing.” He slaps my ass hard, and I can feel the smack jiggle the tight, round muscles of my bubble butt. “You don’t even know what too much is yet.”
“Excuse me, but this is just—” the rent-a-priest begins, but Sexy Elvis holds a single finger up as if to say, Wait one moment, please.
Then, he just keeps smacking my ass like we were never interrupted in the first place, and I keep cooing and moaning because I just don’t fucking care.
From behind us, I can hear the beginnings of another seduction in the works.
“Why don’t you relax a little, padre?” Sammi croons at the rent-a-priest.
“Celibacy sounds like an awful hard lifestyle to maintain,” Percy adds.
When I cast a glance behind me, they’re both on their knees working their way beneath the rent-a-priest’s holy vestments, and he’s either saying a rosary or praying to God that this is really happening.
Part of me is, like, 90% sure he’s not even actually a priest, but I don’t care. The marriage contract is signed, I’m wearing a veil that has the word SLUT printed on the tiara, and my new husband, Sexy Elvis, is licking my pussy like an alcoholic at a champagne fountain.
“You taste so fucking sweet, Becky,” Sexy Elvis purrs against my pussy.
The sound of his voice makes my pussy clench and twitch and get so hot that it feels like it’s purring right back.
“Tell me you want me to make love to you with my mouth.”
“I want you to do whatever you fucking want to me,” I gasp as he shoves two fingers deep into my tight, wet pussy. “But—mmmmm. Especially that.”
The Other Brother_A Billionaire Hangover Romance Page 8