by Lacey Black
“My hand what?” I press, recalling exactly where my hand was. I was surprised he didn’t push it away. Instead, he let it sit on his upper thigh, dangerously close to his groin. I had done it to settle him down. He seemed to get a little worked up when the shots arrived, refusing to take one in celebration. So I set my hand there, which seemed to work. He calmed down and took the shot, and for some unknown reason, I left it there until our dinner arrived. Okay, fine. I know the reason.
I liked touching him.
He clears his throat. “Nothing. Never mind. The point is, I drank a lot, and I never let that happen. This is why.”
“Because you wind up married in Las Vegas?” I quip, a smile on my face. I mean, in the grand scheme of things, there are a lot worse things in life than being married to the man you’re secretly in love with, right?
Yes, you heard me right.
It’s a carefully guarded secret I’ve carried with me a while, surrounded by locks and chains, guard dogs, and an electric fence. How my bestie figured it out, I have no clue because I’m pretty sure my acting skills have been on point.
“No, because I wind up doing something stupid,” he states, the edge of his words striking my heart like a sword.
“Ouch.”
He turns around to face me, lifting his leg up on the tussled bed. Of course, when he does, things…dangle out from where the towel is gathered. My eyes are drawn to it like a moth to a flame, and I’m not even embarrassed.
If he feels the breeze, he doesn’t adjust, just keeps talking, trying to let me down easy. “Listen, Freedom, I don’t know what happened last night, but the bottom line is we can’t be married.”
“And why is that?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“I… I can’t be married, Freedom.”
“Why? Do you have another wife somewhere?”
He scoffs at my comment. “Of course not.”
“Well, I’m not getting divorced,” I tell him, turning until we’re face-to-face.
“What?” he huffs.
“I told myself I’d only get married once, Sammy, so like it or not, you’re stuck with me.” I shrug, feeling the cool air kiss my chest.
His eyes drop and dilate, as he drinks his fill of my bare girls. If he’s going to freeball it, I’m going to let it all hang out too. It’s not like we haven’t seen those parts that dangle anyway. It was mere hours ago he had his mouth all over my dangles.
I snap in front of his face. “Eyes up here, Sammy.”
“What? Oh. Sorry, you’re exposing yourself,” he defends weakly.
“So are you, and clearly little Sam is ready to play,” I state, thumping his erection with my pointer finger. I almost giggle when it jumps, springing back like a bobber. “Though, little might not be the right adjective.”
“Stop that.” He adjusts his towel so his goods are covered, but I don’t do the same. Instead, I let them all hang out. “Anyway, we have to get divorced. We can’t stay married.”
“We can and we will.”
He exhales deeply and closes his eyes, rubbing the headache I’m sure he has with his right hand. “Listen, Freedom, this isn’t going to happen. I don’t even remember the wedding, and that’s not the way to start a marriage. I think we need to get this taken care of right away.”
“Taken care of? I’m not a wart on the bottom of your foot. I’m you wife. Clearly you have a lot to learn about sweet talk, Sammy. Is that why your previous girlfriends only lasted a few months?”
He growls, the sound low and possessive. A memory flashes through my mind. Wet skin. Kissing. My hand wrapped around his…you know. His low growl. Shower sex. It was pretty much the best sex I’ve ever had, I’m certain, and I can only remember pieces.
“I’m not trying to sweet talk you, Freedom. I’m trying to be rational. We can’t stay married,” he exhales, his shoulders sagging a little.
“We can and we will. Come on, Sammy. Let’s get cleaned up and head downstairs for brunch. I’m starving,” I state, climbing off the bed and letting my full nakedness hang out. “I’m not sure if it’s from the booze or the bedroom Olympics.” I reach the doorway to the bathroom and glance over my shoulder. When I do, I find his eyes glued to my ass. “Of course, most of our Olympics didn’t happen in the bedroom.”
His eyes flare with something that looks a lot like desire right before they drop to take in my clothesless state. I hum a little tune, something deep and pulsing from the night before, as I shut the door, leaving it cracked just an inch or two for ventilation. I turn the water on as hot as I can stand it, ready to wash away the aches and pains associated with this hangover. Of course, as soon as I step under the stray, I moan in both pleasure and pain. The water practically scalds, but the jet spray on my neck is heavenly.
“Are you okay?” Samuel asks hesitantly from the doorway. He’s standing in the cracked door, staring at me through the glass shower enclosure. I can tell he’s trying to keep his eyes glued to my face, but he’s failing. I, being the super human I am, decide to toy with him just a little bit. Stepping forward, I press my girlies against the slowly steaming glass.
“What?” I ask, pretending I can’t hear him.
“Jesus, Freedom,” he groans, averting his eyes.
“You’re the one who’s lurking by the door like a voyeur,” I reply, running my hands over my wet hips.
“I heard you moan. I thought you were hurt,” he insists.
“I do have this ache…” I start, leaving my innuendo wide open like a door.
Samuel doesn’t kick it open though, ready to alleviate the sudden ache in my girly bits. Instead, he steps back and reaches for the knob. “I’ll let you shower,” he says, closing the door securely behind him.
He wants me. It’s written in his eyes and all over his face. Samuel is just having a hard time coming to terms with everything he’s feeling and what has transpired over the last twenty-four hours. I mean, traveling out of state by plane is kind of a big dealio for him. Throw in alcohol and waking up married, yeah, he’s sure to feel a little out of sorts in his uptight little world of his.
That’s why I’m going to help him.
I’m going to make him see our marriage isn’t one of inconvenience or a mistake.
Oh, no.
Our marriage is for life.
Chapter Seven
Samuel
I have to get out of this hotel room before it swallows me whole or I do something I’ll regret, like take a very naked Freedom against the tile wall in the shower.
Again, apparently.
I throw on my discarded pants, shove my arms into the wrinkled button-down, and head toward the door. Before I make my exit, I stop, considering all that’s transpired in the last half hour. I don’t know if we’re legally married or not, or what the hell happened or didn’t, but something has my feet halting at the door. Instead of making my retreat, I turn and face the bathroom door. I run a shaky hand through my hair, wishing I had time to get it cut before making this trip to Hell, population one.
No, check that.
Apparently, there’s two at this party.
Images flood my mind. Freedom’s bare chest as the sheet fell to her waist. Freedom’s pert breasts pressed against the shower glass. Freedom’s rose-colored nipples wet and hard. Freedom’s grin that was like a siren’s song calling me home.
Freedom, Freedom, Freedom.
I exhale to keep the walls from closing in on me. “I’m going to head to my room and change,” I holler as I finish my quick retreat. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
Then the door closes, bathing me in silence.
I’m alone in the hallway without any shoes or socks and looking like I was possibly mugged. I haven’t even found my tie. I walk the handful of feet to my own room and search my pockets for my keycard. My hand comes in contact with a lot of things, but no keycard. Sighing, I dig for my wallet in my back pocket. Fortunately, it’s there, along with all of the co
ntents, including a few more pieces of paper I’ll need to look over. Right now, all I really want is about a dozen Tylenol and a hot shower.
The room is cool when I step inside, lacking the life and joy that seemed to be vibrating off the walls in Freedom’s room. That’s why I need to stay away. Not because of the life and joy, per se, but because it’s very out of the box. She’s all sparkle and sunshine, while I’m more cut and dried with primary colors.
Taking a seat on the bed, I run my hands through my hair once more. Damn it, I should have taken the time to get that haircut. Something shiny catches my eye and I find myself staring down at the simple platinum band on my left hand. It’s as foreign to my finger as an ex-spouse at a funeral. Although, that’s not really that uncommon anymore. It seems more and more exes show up at memorials with their big wooden spoon to stir the proverbial pot.
“What the hell did I do?” I ask aloud.
No answer is given.
Standing up, I start digging in my pockets to empty them. The first thing I notice is the small velvet box. It’s light in comparison to the heaviness I feel when I open the lid. It’s empty, of course, considering the items once inside are now wrapped around our fingers. Tossing it on the bed, I grab a sheet of paper folded into a small square. When I unfold it, I gasp at the bottom number printed in black ink. Three thousand dollars. I bought a damn engagement and wedding ring set, as well as my own ring, and spent just under three thousand dollars.
I start to get a little sweaty in the pits.
My signature stares up at me from the bottom of the receipt, my credit card used for the purchase. Glancing back down at the ring on my finger, I don’t exactly see seven hundred dollars in material there, but it’s not like pricing wedding bands is something I do in my spare time. Not that I have any of that either.
I toss the receipt on the bed beside the ring box and thumb through the rest of the items. A ticket stub from the magic show and a handful of drink receipts from, apparently, several stops we made after we left the club. The time stamp on them drifts into the wee hours of the morning, until I finally get to the last one.
Happiness Wedding Chapel.
A receipt for the Ultimate Vegas Package.
Five hundred ninety-five dollars included our ceremony, staff photographer, and Elvis and Marilyn witnesses.
Signed. Dated. Stamped.
We’re married.
Fuck.
***
Feeling a little more human after a shower and a few aspirin found in my bag, I make my way down to the restaurant for brunch. My stomach growls as the elevator starts to drop, and all I can do is pray the food will stay down. I’m starving.
When I step into the lobby, I run into Rhenn. He’s coming from the hallway and heading for the restaurant. “Hey, Samuel,” he says.
“Rhenn,” I reply, nodding in greeting. I keep my head down and shove my hands into my suit pockets. I’m not sure why I’m still wearing this ring, to be honest. I should have taken it off and left it in the safe in the room. Now, here I am, getting ready to have lunch with a big neon flag on my finger, so I slip it off and slide it into my pocket when he’s not looking.
“You ready for today?” he asks, as we enter the restaurant and find our table. Freedom isn’t there yet, but everyone else is. They’re all sitting around and laughing, telling stories about last night.
Boy, do I have a story…
“Yes,” I reply politely, even though I’m not really sure what I’m ready for. The pre-wedding festivities? The wedding? The reception? Seeing Freedom, who has apparently joined me in wedded bliss? Hell, I have no idea what I’m ready for, but I can’t exactly say that now. It’s not about me. It’s about Harper and Latham.
“Where’d you disappear to last night?” Marissa asks as we join the table. Rhenn sits down beside her, while I take the empty chair across from her. Far away from my nosy sister Harper and her knowing smirks.
“I…” I clear my throat and take a sip of water. “I wasn’t feeling well.”
I also ignore the snort from the far end of the table. Marissa glances down at Harper but doesn’t ask why she responded that way.
Before anyone can ask me further questions, Freedom blows into the restaurant like a whimsical goddess. She’s wearing a long purple flowy skirt and black tank top. Her feet are adorned with strappy black sandals and her neck with layers of necklaces that dangle between her pert breasts. My mind instantly flashes back to waking up this morning, to the sheet that fell to her waist and giving me a nice little peepshow of said breasts. The small, hard nipples that were begging to be licked…
I clear my throat.
Not the image I need in my head as I sit with my family for brunch.
“Good morning,” she singsongs as she approaches, all smiles and chipper disposition, like Snow White and her little woodland creatures.
I choose to ignore her, letting everyone else offer morning greetings. She takes a seat directly beside me, because, well, why wouldn’t she? It is the only seat left available, but also because she’s gunning to draw out this torture as much as possible. If there’s one thing I truly know about Freedom Rayne, it’s she’ll do anything to get under my skin. Including refuse a divorce.
“Hello, lover,” she whispers as she sits down and drops her napkin on her lap.
I inwardly groan, but my dick actually starts to harden with her greeting.
“Christ, Freedom, stop it,” I mumble, taking another long sip of my water.
“You know, Sammy, I totally get not telling everyone right now. It’s Harper and Latham’s day, right?”
“My name is Samuel, and we’re getting it fixed as soon as we get home,” I argue, hating I’m so riled up in front of my family.
Freedom just smiles at me over her water glass. It’s a smile I know too well, one that says she doesn’t believe me. One that screams We’ll see about that.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, my stomach rolling and my head pounding. I’m pretty sure I should just head back upstairs and take a long nap. Maybe if I sleep long enough, I’ll awaken from this nightmare to find I didn’t actually get married in Las Vegas, that I didn’t actually marry my sister’s best friend.
Before I can get up and make excuses to leave breakfast, a commotion is heard at the door. We all turn at once, only to find my kooky aunt and uncle standing there, big grins on their faces.
“Orval? Emma?” Mom asks as she stands up.
“You didn’t think we were going to let our niece get married without us, did you?” Emma says, as she makes a beeline toward our table, moving faster than most people half her age. Orval is my mom’s half-brother from grandpa’s first marriage. We didn’t even know they existed until earlier this year, nor did I know Grandpa was married before Grandma Phoebe. “Look at this beautiful bride! Harper, you’re glowing! You’re not already knocked up, are you? You know, you can quickly become addicted to the sex. It’s too hard to resist, especially when you have man candy like that one,” she adds, nodding toward Latham as if he weren’t sitting right there.
Harper just giggles and gives Emma a hug. “This day is complete now that you’re here,” she says before turning to Uncle Orval and giving him a hug too.
Jensen jumps up and grabs two empty chairs from neighboring tables and brings them to our table. Of course, the most convenient place to add seating is at the end of the table. Right by me. I go ahead and give my younger brother a stern look, just for good measure, and his returning grin lets me know this new table arrangement was all part of his master plan.
Emma walks around and greets everyone, offering hugs and warm smiles. She makes her way over to where Freedom and I sit, her aged eyes dancing with mischief. I can already tell I won’t like this.
“Samuel, so good to see you again. And with the lovely Freedom, who looks like she enjoyed a few rides on the baloney pony last night too.” Emma smacks her lips together and pulls Freedom into a hug. For a tiny, frail-looking woman, she’s
crazy fast and strong.
Freedom just snorts. “A lady never kisses and tells.”
Emma returns with her own smirk. “That’s why you come sit next to Aunt Emma. I’m no lady,” she teases, and suddenly, the thought of Freedom sitting next to my crazy aunt has me all sorts of twisted up. Freedom doesn’t need any of Emma’s influence, that’s for sure. She’s perfectly capable of torturing me on her own.
“And how about you, Samuel? Keeping that joystick active? Even if you have to use your hand, regularly firing your love gun will do wonders for your complexion, let alone your stress level.” She turns those big, innocent eyes my way, as if she wasn’t just asking me about my… gun.
“No comment,” I tell her, taking my menu and studying the brunch selection.
“Just ignore her, Samuel,” Uncle Orval says as he takes a seat beside his wife. “That’s not something you discuss at the table.”
Emma snorts her indignation. “What are you talking about? We talk about it every night.”
“No, we fire the gun every night. We don’t always talk about it before it goes off.”
My stomach is lurching. I’m stuck in a Twilight Zone hell with my crazy aunt and uncle and a woman who I married, yet don’t recall any of it. “Please stop talking about your gun. It’s a family establishment.”
Freedom leans toward me, her long hair dangling on my lap as she whispers, “You know, I always heard a guy could go blind if he messed with that too much.”
I groan.
“Oh, dearie, there’s no such thing as too much. It’s important to have a healthy sexual appetite. When you marry, you’ll understand what I mean. If you find yourself with a man who doesn’t make you want to drop your panties and grab your ankles on a regular basis, then you’re with the wrong fella,” Emma says, giving Freedom a decisive nod.
I concentrate on my menu and pretend I don’t feel Freedom’s gaze on me. I’m saved from any further discussion about ankles and grabbing them when our server arrives at our table and starts refilling coffee cups. A leg to my side slides against mine, whether by accident or on purpose, I’m not sure. I just ignore the way Freedom’s limb is pressed against mine and the way her fruity shampoo is permeating my senses and making it difficult to think of anything but her.