by Hamel, B. B.
No, he wasn’t checking me out. I mean, if someone’s robe falls open in front of you. Of course you’re going to look. That’s all that was.
But the dancing, and that kiss… that maybe kiss.
I sigh and step out into the lobby. I feel like the world’s lurching around me with every step. I can’t believe I let myself drink that much, dance that much, get so close to that asshole rock star.
“There you are.”
He startles me but I don’t know why. I was expecting to see him. Joss steps away from a nearby pillar, smiling at me. He looks completely different now than he did a half hour earlier. Showered, dressed, put together, he has control again. I can see it in the tightness behind his eyes.
“Hi,” I say stupidly. “How, uh, are you feeling?”
“Fine,” he says, although he hesitates. “You?”
“Tired,” I admit. “And hungover. How much did we drink?”
“Too much,” he says, laughing a little. “I guess you got the treatment.”
“Really took advantage of the trip.”
“The guys don’t like to disappoint a fan.”
I arch an eyebrow. “How do you know I’m a fan?”
He grins at me. “You said it like a hundred times last night.”
I blush deeply. “No way.”
“Way. I think the exact words were, ‘I used to touch myself while looking at a poster of you’, if I’m not mistaken.”
I turn a deep shade of scarlet. I can feel the blood pulsing in my cheeks. “Oh, my god. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s a nice image. You in bed, hand between your legs—”
“Okay!” I say, cutting him off with a shrill little shriek. “I get it.”
He laughs again, clearly delighted. “Don’t worry. The guys didn’t hear.”
“When, uh… did I tell you that?”
“We were dancing.” He gets a faraway look for a second. “I remember that part, at least.”
“Do you… remember much else?”
“Some of it’s coming back to me.” He gives me this serious look, stepping closer. He’s so handsome, gorgeous actually. People are staring at him, and I’m suddenly so self-conscious, like I don’t belong standing in front of this man.
“We did something,” he says softly. “And now…”
“Yes?” I whisper, heart hammering.
“Now—”
“Hey, you two fuckheads!”
We both look up. My heart’s hammering so fast, I can barely breathe, and Joss is frowning slightly as Landon comes stumbling over toward us.
He looks terrible. Eyes are bleary, still wearing what I think is the same outfit as the night before, which, okay, I’m doing the same thing, but he reeks of whisky and beer.
“Are you just getting in?” Joss asks him.
“Fucking yes,” Landon says, grinning. “Met these strippers on the way home that were just getting off work, followed them to this afterhours club, and eventually ended up in bed with twins and a girl that said she was Russian but I’m pretty sure was Lithuanian, and anyway, she could suck—”
“Okay, dude, we get it.” Joss says quickly, interrupting him.
“—dick like a pro,” Landon says, finishing. He grins huge at us and throws an arm around Joss. “So, how’s the blushing bride today?”
It’s an offhand remark, almost a nothing comment, but he’s staring right at me, grinning huge, and it hits me like a flood.
The bouquet, the guys all lined up. The Elvis impersonator telling Joss to kiss the bride and his lips meeting mine, a rush of excitement flooding my whole body.
“Did we get married?” I blurt out, staring at Joss with alarm.
Landon coughs and grins again. “Ah, shit. So you were, ah, pretty drunk, huh?” He looks a little sheepish. “Sorry about that, mate.” He claps Joss on the shoulder. “Good luck, you crazy kids. I gotta take a wicked piss and sleep.”
Landon shambles off toward the elevators and I’m left standing in the lobby with Joss, my rock star dream crush, and apparently my husband.
He looks tortured for a second, like the idea of being my husband is breaking his heart. Quickly he gathers himself though, and takes me by the hand.
“Come on,” he says.
“Wait, hold on. We have to talk about this.”
“We will.” He gives me the most serious look I’ve ever seen. “But first I need pancakes and coffee. It’s a dire situation, Grace. I hope you can understand.”
I stare at him for a second and finally smile. “Okay, let’s get you something to eat.”
I follow him toward the hotel’s dining room. We grab a table before heading to the buffet where he loads himself up on pancakes and a big cup of coffee, completely black. I grab eggs, bacon, and coffee smothered in sugar and cream. We meet back at the table and sit across from each other in silence as Joss digs in and I stare at my food.
It can’t be real. I can’t really have married Joss Myers, lead singer of Slide. It’s impossible, and yet there he is, sitting across from me. People are watching him carefully, and I catch at least one girl taking a picture of him with her phone. He doesn’t seem to notice though as he shovels the pancakes into his mouth.
When he’s done, he leans back and sips his coffee. “Ah, fuck,” he says softly, grinning. “That hit the spot.”
“People are taking pictures of us,” I say with a low voice.
He shrugs. “Let ‘em. They’ll get bored of it eventually.”
“Joss—”
He reaches out and takes my hand. The gesture startles me again, but I don’t pull away. His fingers are rough, calloused, probably from playing guitar.
“Last night was fun,” he says softly. “Really fun.”
“Yeah,” I say, blinking. Is he about to break up with me? Divorce me? I don’t really know the protocol here.
“And it turns out, that wedding was for real.”
I gape at him, not sure if I believe what he just said. “How?” I sputter
“It’s Vegas. You know how it is here.” He shrugs and pulls back. “The guys all signed as witnesses and apparently we signed as well. Chase showed me the documents, and, well… we’re married. For real.”
I stare at him for what feels like an eternity. Another teenage girl takes a picture. I want to slap the phone from her hand, scream at her… or kiss Joss. I don’t know what I’m doing.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “We really got married.”
“Chase filled me in,” he says, his face carefully composed. “Turns out, it was my idea. I thought it would be funny, and, well, you went along with it. I dunno, I’m not sure either of us took it seriously, but the guys knew at least.”
“That we’d be married for real.”
He nods once. “Yeah, exactly. So anyway, here we are. I’m sorry about this. I can’t say I’ve ever been married before, or ever really wanted to be.”
I blink at him. “You think I wanted to get married to you?” I blurt out. I don’t know why I say it, but something about the way he said that hurt me.
He narrows his eyes at me. “I never said that.”
“Good, you better not. I don’t want to be married to some… some… entitled rock star asshole.”
He stares at me and I lean back in my chair, arms crossed, anger rising steadily. I can tell I’m losing it, but I’m freaking out. I’m married to Joss Myers, people are taking pictures of us, and he’s watching me carefully, so handsome, so attractive. I kissed him, even though I barely remember it. I let him put a ring on my finger.
A ring on my finger…
I look down at my left hand with horror in my eyes. Sure enough, there’s a simple little ring there, thin and gold, so light I didn’t even notice it. I slowly raise my hand and show it to him.
He blinks and looks down. Slowly, he raises his hand. There’s a matching ring on his finger.
Our eyes meet. We both sit there, hands in the air, identical thin, cheap gold rings aloft.
For a second, neither of us moves a muscle.
And then I start laughing.
Softly at first. But quickly he joins in, and it turns into a belly laugh. I’m wracked with sobs practically as I laugh, and it feels good, so freaking good. The tension seems to melt away as we both crack up, and I can tell people think we’re insane.
“Come on,” he says, still laughing, but we’re both slowly calming down. He stands and I follow him. We hurry out of the dining room as more people take pictures. He grabs my hand almost absently and pulls me along, heading outside and onto the Strip.
It’s blinding and hot as we turn a corner. There’s a short alley with plenty of shade where he stops and leans up against a brick wall.
I lean next to him. He laughs a little bit more and I sigh.
“I guess it really is real,” I say after a short silence.
“It’s real, all right.” He arches an eyebrow at me. “Why wouldn’t you want to be married to me?”
“I, uh,” I stammer. “I mean, you’re great and all, talented, all that.”
“Go on,” he says, grinning.
“But you’re not exactly known for your… monogamy. And we’re strangers. And you’re, I don’t know, you’re not… husband material.”
He raises his eyebrows. “I’m not husband material?”
“No, I mean, you’re just… you’re a musician. You’re a rock star. Why would you want to be married?” I feel like I’m messing something up, ruining it horribly, when I’m just trying to tell him that it makes no sense for him to want to be married to someone like me.
I’m a nobody, a nothing. I’m just a regular girl. He could have a million girls like me, and probably has. I have no clue why he’d want to settle down, or if that’s even something we’re discussing.
Honestly, I’m in over my head, and I’m totally drowning.
“I’m definitely husband material,” he says, turning toward me. He’s suddenly in front of me, holding onto my hips. My breath comes ragged and quick. “I can cook, I can clean. I’ll be your househusband, if that’s what you want,” he says softly, his lips coming closer.
I think he’s going to kiss me. I remember that kiss suddenly. It comes to me like lightning. His lips were soft and firm all at once and he tasted like strawberries and wheat fields and freshly cut grass.
His lips come close to mine. But instead of kissing me, he moves toward my ear.
“You’d be lucky to have a husband like me,” he whispers, and steps away, smirking at me.
I glare at him. “And you’re an arrogant asshole,” I say, turning and storming off.
“You can run away,” he says after me. “But if you want an annulment, you’d better stick around.”
That gets my attention. I halt in my tracks and slowly turn around.
“What?” I say.
“An annulment. You didn’t think this was permanent, did you?”
Of course, a freaking annulment. We could fix this situation right here and now, no problem. Relief floods through me.
“I mean, no,” I say, feeling stupid. Of course we can annul this marriage. It’s not like we consummated it or anything, and it’s not even a day old. “We can definitely get an annulment. I mean, we can do it right now if you want.”
“We could,” he agrees. “But we’re not going to.” He has this wicked look on his face as he crosses his arms.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m going on tour soon. The studio’s releasing our second album and we’ll be going around the country supporting it. I want my wife on the road with me.”
I stare at him for a second. “You’re joking, right?” I didn’t know about the record dropping. Nobody had even mentioned that. I assumed that’s what they were working on last night, but apparently that was for the third album.
Holy crap, this is huge.
“I’m not kidding,” he says. “You want an annulment? I think you have to earn it.”
“Earn it how?” I ask him skeptically.
“Come on tour with me. Make it through until the end, and you’ll have your annulment. I’ll make it nice and easy on you.” He steps toward me, his wicked look turning into a crushing grin. “But if you leave early, or chicken out, or quit, or whatever, I’ll make it as hard as possible. I’ll drag it out, make it public, hell, I’ll fight to keep you.”
I stare at him, wide-eyed. “Why?” I ask softly. “I mean, why would you want me on tour with you?”
“You’re my wife,” he says simply. “And I plan on keeping you.” He turns away, walking back down the alley. “You have today to decide. Make the right choice.” He puts up his hand and waves as he leaves the alley and turns the corner, back toward the hotel.
I stand there alone, staring after him.
What the hell just happened?
I’m married to my rock star crush, and instead of giving me an annulment and ending this farce, he’s forcing me to come on tour with him.
Yesterday, if this happened to me, I would’ve been ecstatic. I would’ve thought it was a miracle, that I was getting some kind of gift from heaven or whatever.
Now though, now I’m just scared. Joss is an arrogant asshole, and these guys don’t mess around. They party hard, and I don’t know if I can survive a whole tour of that. I don’t want to be at Joss’s beck and call. I don’t want to be his little tour wife, just there to be used and abused before he tosses me aside.
Then again… that doesn’t sound so bad. I might like getting used and abused by Joss Myers.
“Shit,” I say softly out loud. I’m dizzy, I’m angry, I’m excited.
I have no clue what the hell I’m going to do.
4
Joss
“Is she coming?”
Nathan crosses his arms and gives me a bored, nearly angry look. I shrug at him. “Who knows?”
“You should know. You married her, after all.”
I glare at my former best friend. “I don’t know why you care.”
“She’s a nice girl. And you’re an asshole.”
“Pot, kettle,” I grunt at him.
“Whatever. Point is, we can’t wait too much longer.”
“She’ll come,” I say, even though I’m not so sure.
Nathan just shakes his head and turns back to his laptop. I want to smash that thing over his head, but I keep it together.
Landon gives me a look but he’s only half alive. He’s lounging in his seat, looking like death itself. The poor guy went too hard, though he’s been doing that more and more lately. I frown a little bit, but I look away. I don’t have time to babysit him right now, or to worry about his partying. The guy’s a fucking rock star now, he can do whatever he wants.
Landon was the last one to join the band. I met Nathan in high school, and we used to mess around on guitar and keyboards all the time. We made some crappy emo music back in the day but it never went anywhere until we went to college. Chase was the third member of Slide, and he was the one to come up with the name. Once we started playing with him, we realized we actually needed a drummer to form a real band.
Nathan found Landon on Facebook. He was a friend of a friend, but a few years older and already graduated. We were skeptical, at least until we saw him play.
The guy’s a demon on the kit. He can keep time like nobody’s business, and his creativity is off the charts. His fills are on point and he never gets tired. It’s always high energy, always intensity. He’s the perfect drummer, the core of our band.
He gives me a weak little smile and I sigh. I look out the window again, waiting for Grace, hoping she’ll show up.
I don’t know why. I should just do this annulment right here and now, get it over with. There are already some social media posts online of Grace and I holding our rings up in the diner, grinning at each other like morons. People are already speculating about that.
Fuck it, let ‘em. This is why I have a media team and a manager and all that bullshit. Let them deal with the fal
lout and the implication and the hounding tabloid press begging for a fucking scoop like a bunch of pathetic, rabid dogs.
I’m getting antsy. Chase is drumming a rhythm on the back of the seat in front of him and I want to tell him to shut the fuck up. I know I’m losing it, and I just don’t know why.
She’s a girl, nothing more. She’s pretty and smart and funny but I’ve met a million pretty and smart and funny girls. I’ve fucked most of them, too. For some reason though, Grace is keeping my attention.
No, more than that, she’s sucking my attention up like a black hole.
I’m terrified of what that means. I’m drawn to her, I’m repelled by her. She’s my fucking wife.
“Excuse me?” The flight attendant comes over to me, bending down to smile. She’s pretty, mid-twenties, tight brown bun. I could probably fuck her in the bathroom if I wanted… and when I get a closer look, I realize I already have.
“Sorry, Joss,” she says, smiling. “But the captain says we need to leave soon or there are going to be delays.”
I sigh and nod. “Got it. Just a few more minutes.”
She nods and stands, walking off. I don’t even glance at her ass.
Instead, I look out the window.
Where are you, Grace?
If she skips this flight, I know it’s done. I’ll give her an annulment. I won’t be a dick and hold her hostage. I won’t force her.
But if she comes… I’ll know it’s what she wants, even if she thinks I’m forcing her.
I take a breath, let it out, and catch Chase looking at me.
“Joss, man—”
“Don’t start,” I say to him.
Nathan rolls his eyes and I shoot him a look.
“Can everyone just fucking relax?” Landon says. “I feel like holy hell and you three bastards are making it worse.”
“Nobody asked you to go fuck some strippers,” Nathan says to him.
“Twins,” Landon corrects. “Who might also be strippers. That part’s a bit hazy.”
“Okay, whatever.” Nathan sighs. “It doesn’t matter. Fact is, we got a tour, and we gotta get going.”
“I know that,” I say.
“We can’t be late to the first show, Joss.” Nathan looks at his watch. “The album is dropping in an hour, and our first gig is tonight. If we’re late, the label will kill us.”