by B. B. Hamel
Delia groans. “It’s not real,” she’s quick to point out.
“That’s what I said.”
She gives him a quizzical look but he ignores her, coming over to me.
“You sure about this?” he asks.
“Sure as I’ll ever be.”
“Good.” He laughs and slaps my back. “Marriage is gonna be great for you, you’ll see.”
I roll my eyes, but look over at Delia.
She’s fucking gorgeous. Almost perfect. The kind of woman I’ve always wanted.
And she understands this business. She’ll get this life better than most people would.
It does seem almost perfect.
“What now?” Delia asks suddenly.
“Now you two go to Vegas,” Joss says. “After the show,” he quickly adds.
“After the show,” I echo.
“And then we get married.”
I can’t tell if she’s horrified or excited.
I’m guessing a bit of both.
5
Delia
Vegas, the City of Lights. I’ve never been to Vegas before, let alone in a private jet.
I guess that’s what happens when you agree to marry a freaking rock star.
“What do you think?” Chase asks as we head toward the hotel in the back of a cab.
“I think it’s gaudy,” I say.
He laughs. “I totally agree.”
“I mean, why build a place like this in the middle of the freaking desert?”
“It’s a testament to man’s power.”
“More like proof we’re doomed as a species.” I sigh and shake my head. “Sorry, I’m just a little tired from the flight.”
“I get it.” He looks at me for a second and I have to look away. The only thing as bright as the lights outside my window are his eyes, and I definitely shouldn’t be thinking that.
I know this is a bad idea. It’s desperate and stupid and crazy, but I guess at this point. I’m ready to try anything to get my career off the ground.
So far, this has been pretty wild and fun, I have to admit. I got to play the ’52 Telecaster, basically my dream guitar, and I met freaking Karl Bell. Now I’m in Las Vegas on my way to a fancy hotel with my old high school friend and crush.
And tomorrow morning, we’re getting married.
It’s totally insane. It’s irresponsible.
I have to admit, it’s a lot of fun.
The cab pulls into a huge hotel, this curving thing with a pool in the middle called The Encore. It’s a resort hotel and as we step out of the cab, I realize it must be obscenely expensive.
A porter takes our bags and Chase leads me up to the front desk. “Hello. Mr. Lewis,” the woman says to him.
“How are you tonight?” He smiles at the pretty front desk girl like they’ve met before.
It takes her maybe ten seconds to give us our key cards and we’re off. I’m following in his wake as Chase moves through this place like he owns it. We ride the elevator almost to the top floor.
Our room is at the very end of the hall. It’s enormous with a central living room with a tiny little kitchen plus a big bedroom off to one side.
“Only one bed,” I point out.
“We’re going to be married,” he says. “We need to practice.”
I roll my eyes. “Couch,” I say, pointing.
He hesitates and shrugs. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”
I don’t want that, but I can’t admit it to him. I’d much rather have Chase in my bed, close against my body.
We almost kissed. That wasn’t supposed to happen, and the only reason it didn’t was that we got interrupted.
I’m not supposed to let myself get emotionally involved. But as soon as he touched my hips and got close to me, I knew I couldn’t stop myself.
I remember the old Chase, the young Chase, before he got famous. We were so close back then, and I can still feel that Chase deep down inside of him. It’s covered over by this famous rock star, but that old friend is still there.
I shouldn’t have his crush. I mean, he doesn’t even care about amazing vintage guitars, which is like the craziest thing imaginable.
But I can’t deny how I feel.
There’s a part of me that wants Chase, despite how dangerous it is.
“What’s the plan?” I ask him, walking over to a little bar tucked back in the corner. There’s a bottle of wine on the top, which I grab and open.
I fill my glass and he walks over, gesturing for me to fill one for him.
“I figured we’d get settled, maybe get some dinner, and turn in early,” he says. “In the morning, we’ll get married.”
“Right,” I say, biting my lip.
He takes his wine glass and holds it up for a toast. “To my wife,” he says. “Fake wife, but real friend.”
“Cheers.”
I sip my wine, watching him. He’s smiling but there’s something else in his gaze, something I can’t quite put my finger on.
He walks over to the couch and sits down, flipping the TV on. I join him, sitting at the other end. He hops between channels and finally settles on an old romcom.
“Holy crap,” he says. “Sleepless in Seattle.”
I grin a little. “You remember this?”
“Of course I do. You made me watch it a million freaking times.”
“I had such a crush on Tom Hanks,” I admit.
He laughs and moves a little closer. “I wanted to marry Meg Ryan.”
“We’re a match made in heaven.”
He laughs and sips his drink. “Remember that old couch my parents had?”
“Oh, god, the green one?”
“Yep, the green one. Big fucking thing.”
“Used to sink into it.”
“Swallowed you whole.”
“It was pretty amazing.”
“I miss that couch. I can’t ever find anything like it.”
“That’s because there’s nothing like it anymore.”
“Don’t make ‘em the way they used to,” he says, nodding.
I smile at him, surprised at how easy it is to fall into the old rhythm.
We watch Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks have their long, slow road toward the observation deck of the Empire State Building. I find myself glancing at Chase the entire time, and midway through the movie, he gets up to grab the bottle of wine.
We end up watching the whole thing and splitting the wine. As the final scene finishes and the credits roll, he stretches his legs out. “We should eat,” he says, glancing at me.
“Yeah, probably.”
But before we can get up, the next film starts.
“Oh, my fucking shit,” he says, laughing. “You can’t be serious.”
“You’ve Got Mail!” I cackle and pour more wine. “We’re watching.”
“I’ll order room service.” He grins at me and gets up, walking over to the phone.
I watch him the whole time, wondering how I ended up here in this hotel room watching awful Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan romcoms. I guess it doesn’t matter, though, as the blissful haze of the wine overtakes me.
The food comes, we eat, and we watch the movie. Eventually, he’s sitting right next to me, our bodies close. I should feel excited, but instead I’m just tired and comfortable in the warm glow of Chase and the familiar movie.
I wake up with a start. The harsh light streams in through the window.
Last night’s leftovers go cold on the coffee table.
Chase is curled up at the other end of the couch. It takes me a second to realize that we both fell asleep together. The TV’s still on, maybe a movie I don’t recognize.
I slowly get up. I have a slight headache, but not bad. I stumble into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror.
“Okay, girl,” I whisper. “It’s your wedding day.”
As I brush my teeth, I realize that Chase and I are in freaking Las Vegas, and instead of going out and doing something, we both decided to just sit
on a couch together, drink wine, and watch crappy Tom Hanks romcoms.
And fall asleep together. Can’t forget that part.
It’s the strangest thing. We’re in one of the most exciting cities in the whole country and we both decided not to have any fun. Well, not in the traditional sense.
We could’ve gone to a club, to a show, at least to dinner. Instead, we ate room service.
I can’t believe he wanted to do that. I mean, I don’t remember him liking romcoms all that much, anyway.
As I finish brushing and head into the bedroom to get dressed, I slowly realize something.
Chase wasn’t watching the screen all that much. I mean, he was, but mostly we were talking. We talked about the old days and joked about the movie. Conversation just flowed naturally, easily, and when there was a silence, it wasn’t because things were awkward or we ran out of things to say.
There was silence because we both just felt like not talking for a second. It was comfortable silence, the sort of silence you always look for.
The sort of silence I’ve always pictured I’d have with my husband.
Suddenly, I feel dizzy. I have to steady myself on the bureau.
My husband.
The words rings through my mind. My husband. I’m marrying Chase today for all the wrong reasons.
And I’m freaking out.
“Are you okay?”
His voice startles me. I hadn’t heard him get up as I whirl around, covering my chest. I’m wearing just a bra and a panties.
At least they’re matching.
He arches an eyebrow.
“Uh, excuse me,” I say. “Can you get the hell out of here?”
“Sorry. You left the door open.”
“You still should knock.”
“I didn’t even know you were in here.”
“Still.” I glare at him. “Get out.”
His smile makes me want to die and slap him and wrap my legs around his hips.
“You’re about to be my wife, you know,” he says. “I think it’s okay if I see you in your underwear.”
“Chase, if you don’t get out of here right now, there won’t be any wedding today.”
He grins and shrugs a little. “Whatever you say, wifey. Better get used to this. Happy wife, happy life, right?”
I groan. “And if you quote another stupid bullshit cliché, I’m walking.”
He turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him. “Better get used to it!” he calls out as he walks away.
I have to sit down a second to catch my breath. He startled me and excited me and now I’m even more confused than before.
Chase’s smile, the way he laughs, the way he looks at me. Desire and admiration. Maybe some regret.
I’m definitely doing this for all the wrong reasons.
I find the white dress I packed last minute and pull it out. It’s not a wedding dress, but at least it’s the right color. The shoulders and skirt are lacey, and it hugs my body just right.
I don’t remember why I bought this thing. Maybe for some stupid party, I can’t remember. I doubt I wore it more than once.
But now it’s my wedding dress.
I slip it on and look at myself in the mirror. I’ll need to fix my hair, but I look…
Decent. Good enough to marry a rock star.
I find Chase out in the living room, sipping some orange juice. A tray sits in the corner with food waiting.
“Go ahead and eat,” he says. “We have to be at the chapel in forty minutes and then it’s right back on the plane.”
“Got it.” I walk over and start picking at the plate. It looks delicious but I suddenly don’t have an appetite. I grab some toast and some coffee before sitting on the couch.
“You look good,” he says.
“Thanks. Don’t you have to get dressed?”
He looks down at himself. He’s still wearing the t-shirt from last night and a pair of boxer briefs. I swear I can see the outline of his cock but I’m trying not to stare.
“What? I can’t get married in this?”
“You better not.”
He sighs dramatically. “I guess I can get changed.”
“Don’t be difficult, Chase.”
He grins. “You love difficult.”
He has me there. I watch as he disappears back into the room as I nibble on toast and drink coffee.
He comes out not long later looking absolutely perfect.
I don’t know how he does it, like there’s some kind of freaking Hollywood make-up team back there. I feel shabby in comparison. His black suit is neat and fits him perfectly while his hair is pushed back, long on the top, short on the sides. He smiles at me and holds out his hands.
“Good enough?” he asks.
“Good enough,” I say.
He glances at his watch. “We’d better get going. Are you ready?”
I nod and stand. I feel dizzy, but it passes. “Let’s go.”
We get a cab out front. Chase tells the front desk girl to have our bags sent to the plane, which seems totally normal. I guess stars get treated differently.
The chapel we stop at is one of several down along the strip. They all look alike, little white things with a steep roof. We could go to any one of them and probably have the same experience, but Chase takes us to a particularly small little building at the very edge of the strip.
“Right this way,” he says as we walk up to the front door.
“There’s not going to be an Elvis impersonator, right?”
He hesitates. “You don’t want that?”
“Chase, seriously. I can’t get married by a fake freaking Elvis.”
“Uh oh.” He looks crestfallen for a second before laughing. “I’m kidding. I’d never let one of those creeps near you.”
“Good,” I say relieved, but I still pause at the front door.
This is it.
This is how I get married.
Obviously, this isn’t how I pictured it. I always imagined something different, maybe with family involved, a big party, at the very least a man that I loved.
Not like this.
“Delia?” Chase looks at me, slight frown on his lips. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” I say, taking a breath. I put my hand on the door, ready to pull it open, but he stops me.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says softly, suddenly close. “You can back out. I wouldn’t blame you.”
I look up into his gorgeous eyes. “Are you nervous?” I ask him.
He nods. “I’m nervous.”
“Me too.”
“You can walk away.”
I hesitate, watching him closely. I believe him. I think he totally means it. He wouldn’t even be angry with me.
I’d walk away, we’d go our separate ways. We might joke once or twice about how we almost got married that one crazy time, but mostly we’ll forget about it. We’ll move on.
I smile, get on my tiptoes, and kiss his cheek. “Let’s get married.”
He nods, looking slightly relieved. We go into the chapel together, my hand slipping into his.
6
Chase
You may kiss the bride.
I keep hearing those words in my head, over and over again. The rest of the ceremony was a blur, basically meaningless.
The only thing I could think about was the kiss.
She looked up at me with these big, wide eyes. I could see the nerves, the fear on her face. I was just as nervous, although I don’t know why.
I’ve kissed plenty of women before, but I guess I’ve never kissed my wife before.
I leaned in and felt it, that insane and indescribable spark. I pressed my lips against hers, mouth slightly parted, and we clicked.
We fell into shape, like a puzzle taking form. I pulled her close and we kissed for long enough that the minister had to clear his throat.
I don’t think I would’ve stopped if he hadn’t made a sound.
That’s all I can t
hink of when I look at her now, that kiss. She smiles at me as we disembark from the plane in Austin and get in the car that Karl sent to pick us up.
“How was the flight, little wife?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “It wasn’t so bad, husband.”
“Good.”
She laughs lightly and looks down at her finger. I got us both simple gold rings, although I plan on giving her something much nicer before the end of this. She can sell it when we get our divorce as a little extra bonus.
“This is so bizarre,” she says. “I didn’t think I’d get married young.”
“We’re twenty-five,” I point out. “Not that young.”
“Still pretty young.” She laughs and looks up at me through those pretty long lashes. “What do we do now?”
I know what I want to do.
I want to kiss her. Push her up against the door. Pull her skirt up. Feel her wet pussy. Tease her with my fingers. Make her say my name. Make her beg. Make her come.
That’s what I want. I want to taste that tight little body of hers so fucking badly it hurts, but I know I probably can’t.
Not really, not yet at least.
She’s my wife, and I can’t even have her.
It’s so fucking frustrating I can barely control myself.
“That was the easy part,” I say. “The hard part’s still coming.”
She bites her lip. “Announcing it?”
“Right,” I say, nodding.
“How are we going to do that?”
“The only way a rock star announces anything.” I give her a huge grin, feeling a jolt of excitement. “Live, on stage, in front of a shitload of people.”
We get to the venue not long later. The guys are in the green room after having already gone through soundcheck.
Joss is the first one up when we walk over toward the group.
“You did it?” he asks.
I hold up our hands, rings on our fingers. “Did it,” I say.
“Holy shit.” He laughs and hugs us both. “Congrats, you two.”
“Thanks, man.”
Nathan, Landon, and Karl all come over and congratulate us. Landon opens some champagne and we have a drink, the atmosphere in the green room getting more and more festive as the concert draws closer.