P.I.T.A. (L.A. Liaisons Book 3)

by Brooke Blaine

  I wasn’t sure how I was still standing there while my heart was bursting, but that just proves miracles do happen. There was one on his knee right now, asking me to be his wife. And suddenly, my life had never been more in focus. Since he’d walked into the room, there’d been no doubt in my mind that my life was as tied to the man looking up at me as my lungs were to my chest. And so I dropped to my knee as well, so we were eye to eye when I told him the words I never thought I’d say.

  “Yes, Dawson. I would love to marry you.”

  Then he put the ring on my finger and tilted my lips up to his, and never before had I felt the peace that came over me then. He was my family now. He always had been, but now it was official, and somehow that knowledge had a weight lifting off my shoulders. I knew with Dawson by my side, there was nothing I couldn’t face, and I had a feeling he felt the same way about me.

  “You know I’m gonna expect to live in happily orgasmed bliss forever after now, right?” I said, as he lifted me easily in his arms and carried me off to my bedroom.

  Dawson grinned against my lips. “If I didn’t before, I do now. And I think I’d like to die trying.”

  EPILOGUE

  TWO MONTHS LATER

  Weddings Are Still For Suckers

  “PAIGE?” THERE WAS a rap on the door that accompanied Shayne’s voice. “Paige, are you in there? You’re gonna be late for your own wedding.”

  I let out a groan, and Dawson smacked my ass.

  “If you don’t keep quiet, you don’t come,” he said in a hushed voice, and I pushed back against him, where he was several inches deep inside me. So, like a good girl—that was the role I was playing for the next five minutes—I kept quiet.

  Nothing like a little pre-wedding nookie to get the party started, am I right?

  “I heard that,” Shayne said. “You’ve got thirty seconds and I’m sending for reinforcements.” She waited for a moment before we heard her walking back down the hall.

  Dawson’s lips were hot on my neck as he moved inside me, but our interlude was interrupted seconds later by Ryleigh.

  “Paige Dawson, you get your butt out here before the groomsmen hook up with all the guests.”

  A chuckle left my lips at Ryleigh’s put-out tone, which only made my man thrust harder, causing us both to moan.

  “Is that Dawson in there with you?” she asked, and even through the door I could hear her heels tapping against the floor. “Fine. Have it your way. But remember, you asked for it.” The sound of her walking away had us ramping up the pace, chasing our orgasms before the next intrusion.

  “Dick and Pita, if you aren’t in front of that altar in five seconds flat, I will personally come in there and pull you two out by your genitals. While it may prove entertaining to the rest of the guests, I can guarantee that it won’t be the vow renewal you want to remember.” Quinn’s voice brooked no argument, and I knew better than to think she wouldn’t do it. Her threat had me and Dawson groaning (and not in the Yes! Yes! Yes! kind of way) and pulling apart to put our shit back together. And before she had a chance to break down the door, I had it open and was heading out into the corridor. “You worry me sometimes, you know that?” I said as I walked past her and adjusted the strap of my short white dress. And before you say anything about me converting who I am to fit some traditional marriage mold, yes, I was wearing white. Not because I was some virginal bride, but because it looked best with the tan I’d been working on for the past few weeks. Priorities, people.

  Dawson came out of the room adjusting his pants, and then he pulled at his cuffs of his jacket sleeves. “Never thought I’d have to walk down the aisle with blue balls, so thanks for that, Quinn.”

  “Quite welcome,” she said, following us down the hall to just outside the doors of the spot we’d rented for the occasion. “Though I’m sure, considering our girl here, that you won’t ever have to deal with that particular affliction again.”

  “Thank fuck,” I thought I heard him say, and his annoyance at our interruption made me smile.

  Our venue tonight wasn’t the Tunnel of Love, but it was close: the fifth-floor terrace of a rock nightclub, overlooking the Strip and decked out just for us. And the highlight of our classy shindig was our wedding party: Quinn, Ryleigh, and Shayne wore dresses they’d chosen themselves—black, yellow, and purple, respectively, to match the decor, and the guys…ohhhh, the guys. Dawson’s best friends must’ve really loved the guy, because they all sported guyliner and rocker tuxes for the occasion.

  We looked like a hair metal wedding concert gone bad. But then again, some would argue, when had they ever gone good?

  When Dawson and I decided to renew our vows, the first thing we’d agreed on was the venue. We weren’t the chapel types. Definitely no more Tunnel of Love business. I couldn’t deal with any more of the sappy stuff, so a beach wedding was out of the question. When we sat down and thought about it, the decor of the club fit my man to a T, and it also captured the fun vibe we were going for, so it was the perfect place for us to get married. Again. Not to mention Las Vegas was where we’d said “I do” the first time around, and since that hadn’t ended badly, we figured we may as well keep up the tradition.

  “All right, now, Dawson, you need to get out there already,” Quinn said, pushing Dawson toward the doors. “And Paige, you stand over here with me until the music starts.”

  “I think it’s funny that you’re trying to tell a wedding planner how to run her own wedding,” I said.

  “Give me grief and my threat still stands,” she replied.

  “Then by all means, continue.”

  “Paige?” Gail stuck her head out of the door, and when she saw me, she slipped out. “I was just making sure you hadn’t changed your mind.”

  “Me? Back down? Never,” I said.

  Gail’s eyes trailed over me and she clasped her hands together. “You look so beautiful.”

  “Really?” I looked down at the short hem. “You don’t think it’s a little too ‘high-class hooker’?”

  Gail pursed her lips and gave me another once-over. “I think you could wear a garbage bag and look gorgeous for your wedding.” She gave me a hug, careful not to smudge my makeup, and when she pulled back, there were tears in her eyes. “I’m so happy for you, Paige. For you both. We love you.”

  Oh no, not the tears. Nope…nope, just a light sting behind the eyes. I’m good. “I love you too,” I said.

  She squeezed my hands and took one of the escort’s arms to head back onto the patio. Before she got inside, though, I let out a low whistle and she turned around.

  “I forgot to tell you, there are headphones in your seat. If you love me, you might want to use them.”

  “Oh? Is that how we’ll hear you talking up there?” she asked.

  “No. That’s how you won’t.” The corner of my lips quirked up as Shayne handed me my bouquet. “Trust me on that one.”

  As we got into formation, I made sure to say, “Don’t let this marriage thing rub off on you three. It’s still a really stupid decision. But I’ll take one for the team.”

  Ryleigh and Quinn threw a choice finger my way and Shayne glanced at me and said, “How generous of you.”

  “What can I say? I do for my girls.”

  And then the doors opened, and all together, my best friends in the whole world walked me down the aisle that we’d made wide enough to fit the four of us in a row. They were the natural choice when I’d thought about who would give me away, because if the man of my dreams didn’t have their approval, well…let’s just say I wouldn’t be getting married right now. Besides, it wasn’t every day that the bride got to walk down the aisle with three hot women to “Happy Together.”

  From where he stood at the front of an archway with the lights of the city as the background, Dawson’s expression as he watched me walk down to him was one I’d always hoped for the brides I worked with—utter freakin’ awe and adoration.

  As we came to a stop in front of the minist
er, he looked down the row of us and asked, “Who gives this woman away?”

  “We do,” the girls said in unison, and then Shayne took my bouquet and they each gave me a wink before heading to their places to the side.

  As the minister launched into his greeting, Dawson took my hands and gave them a squeeze. Over the last two months, it had felt like I was floating on air. That could’ve been post-orgasm highs talking, but once I’d let my guard down and realized that I could still be the same person with another person—and a pretty incredible person at that—my life had become fulfilling in ways I hadn’t known possible. The loneliness that had plagued me for most of my adult life vanished. I no longer had a relationship of any kind with my parents, but I’d come to accept and even embrace that. Family could be the ones you chose, and I was marrying—again—into a family I adored, and with Dawson and my friends by my side, there was nothing we couldn’t tackle together.

  “So, you’ve both written your own vows, is that correct?” the minister said, glancing between the two of us.

  Dawson nodded. “It is.”

  “But you’d like to swap and let the other read them as their vows, is that also correct?” When we said yes, he motioned for us to go ahead, and I took the folded paper from Shayne before exchanging it with the one Dawson handed me.

  The minister nodded at Dawson. “You can go first when you’re ready.”

  My husband gave me a smile that was sexy and heart-melting all at once, and then he unfolded the paper and began to read. “I, Richard James Dawson, do hereby vow to love and to cherish my wife’s body several times a day, every day, for the rest of our lives.”

  Chuckles broke out across the guests, as Dawson continued. “I vow to never stop watching silly romantic comedies, and I will never, ever ask you to cook for me again. As a matter of fact, fish is off the dinner menu for the foreseeable future. I also promise—”

  He stopped and looked up at me. “Really, Paige?”

  I nodded proudly. “Keep going.”

  Dawson shook his head and said, “I promise never to pressure you on the subject of having kids. Doing so would only result in a stretched-out, saggy vagina, and my—” He stopped and rubbed his face as he smothered a chuckle. “Christ, love. And my nine-and-a-half inches would get lost in there like a black hole. Meaning I would either need to get a dick-enlarger pump or you’d have to find someone with a monster cock.”

  Bursts of shocked laughter rang out from both sides of the aisle, as Dawson’s poor parents looked on, appropriately mortified. I motioned for them to put the headphones back on, and then turned back to face Dawson.

  “Is that all?” the minister asked, looking more than horrified he’d let us say our own vows.

  “Looks like my bride is pretty easy to please,” he said, folding the note back up and tucking it in his suit pocket.

  “All right, now, Paige, your turn.”

  “I, Paige Iris Traynor-Ashcroft Dawson—” I stopped to laugh. “Jesus, that’s a mouthful.”

  “That’s what she said,” said Quinn at the same time as one of the groomsmen.

  “We’re keepin’ it classy,” I remarked with a grin. “I vow to always fight with you, but only because I want to make up with you more. I vow to let you always have the last of our favorite ice cream when there’s only one scoop left, because it’s either let you have it or face the silent treatment for a week.” I looked at him over the paper. “Hey, wait a minute.”

  “Now that’s love right there,” Ryleigh called out.

  “Not sure I want to agree to that,” I muttered. “I vow to give private dances at least once a week to my husband, though I know he would never complain should I choose to make those more frequent. I promise to always kiss you good night, even when I’m mad at you. And finally, I vow to be there for you for always, in sickness and in health, because you, Dawson, are the only person who can make my previously cold, dead heart manage to skip a beat.”

  I folded the paper and put it inside my cleavage. “Aw, babe. You had to go and end it on a sappy note, didn’t you?” Then I gave him a light kiss on the lips. “I love you.”

  “I love you more,” he said.

  “Delusional,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “Uh…You forgot the p.s. on the back.”

  “Oh.” I took the paper back out and read, “I also promise not to kill my husband when I find out he’s the reason my house was held hostage so I would have to stay married to him.” I looked up, shocked. “Are you serious? You—”

  Then he reached for me, kissing me long and deep, and completely ignoring the minister’s objections that it wasn’t time for that part of the ceremony.

  “By the powers vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Again. You may continue kissing your bride.”

  As the cheers rang out, we pulled away from each other, matching ridiculous expressions on our faces, and then turned to the ones who’d joined us to help celebrate. There would be dinner, dancing, and more laughs than I could count on all the stars. And this time, it was a night I’d never forget. When you’ve got your people and a view like ours, you didn’t need much else.

  Oh, and for those of you curious—Ryleigh caught the bouquet. ~Wink~

  SO, THERE YOU have it, diary. Sometimes it’s the ones you think are least likely to do something that actually go through with it. A few months ago, no one in that room would’ve bet money that I’d be Mrs. Paige Dawson. Holy shit, that makes me sound old. Maybe I’ll only use that in written correspondence. But I digress.

  I guess if there’s anything to be learned from these entries, it’s this: sometimes it’s those who protest the loudest who might be hiding a thing or two. Sometimes it’s vulnerability, sometimes it’s baggage, and sometimes it’s fear. So, if anyone reading this should come across one such person—love them hard. They’re probably the ones that need it the most.

  And as for the rest of you, be a stubborn ass until someone worthy climbs over all the walls, jumps over the trapdoors, and cuts through all barbed-wire fences surrounding your heart. A fabulous female can’t just take on any heartsick fellow’s name, now can she?

  “The plane leaves with or without us in two hours, love,” Dawson called out from where he was no doubt waiting by the front door of our home—yes, it was ours now. Shayne’s too, since I’d convinced her to stay on the grounds that we’d give a heads-up if we decided to commandeer somewhere outside of the bedroom. So far we’d stuck to that agreement about eighty percent of the time.

  “I’ll be there in just a sec,” I said, and then turned back to write:

  Oh, and another piece of advice before I jet off to my glorious honeymoon in St. Lucia—invest in an ice cream vibrator. Actually, invest in a trunk load of dildos and vibrators, of sex toys of all kinds. They’ll keep you company (and keep you from turning into one big, droopy vagina) until your very own happily ever after comes along.

  Until next time…

  Pita

  Special Thanks

  Ella Frank - It always starts with you because you’re the one who holds my hand every step of the way. To say I couldn’t do this without you is an understatement. Thank you for loving my crazy brain and “getting” me.

  I’m so thankful to the awesome team I’ve had the pleasure to work with for P.I.T.A.’s creation. Hang Le - Thank you so much for another beautiful cover. I love the way you’ve branded this series so well—they’re all I envisioned and more. Arran McNicol - editor extraordinaire who refused to let me use the term “wank” the wrong way. Wanker bastard doesn’t have the same feel, BUT FINE. HAVE IT YOUR WAY. Judy Zweifel of Judy’s Proofreading - thank you for polishing up Ms. PITA for me, and for all of your support. Kari March - I appreciate you getting teasers ready for me even when you were sick as a dog. Bless your heart, and thank you! A huge thanks to Mary with Between the Sheets PR for organizing another fabulous cover reveal and release tour. Beth Cranford - one of our many talks included Nutella and ice cream vibrators,
and because Nutella should be a daily food, even in sexual situations, I had to make it happen. Thanks for the inspiration, betch. <3 Special thanks to my Faaabulous Hooker Team & The Naughty Umbrella—you guys are the backbone of support that every author should be lucky enough to have. To all of the readers who pick up my books—lots of boozy shakes and bear hugs to you!

  And, finally, to my friends and family, who give me endless inspiration. I mean, uh, support. Yeah, support. I’d never actually use you guys in a story…

  About the Author

  If you’d like to get to know Brooke better, you can find her getting up to all kinds of shenanigans at:

  The Naughty Umbrella

  About Brooke

  You could say Brooke Blaine was a book-a-holic from the time she knew how to read; she used to tell her mother that curling up with one at 4 a.m. before elementary school was her ‘quiet time.’ Not much has changed except for the espresso I.V. pump she now carries around and the size of her onesie pajamas.

  Brooke is a USA Today Bestselling Author and enjoys writing sassy contemporary romance, whether in the form of comedy, suspense, or erotica. The latter has scarred her conservative Southern family for life, bless their hearts.

  If you’d like to get in touch with her, she’s easy to find - just keep an ear out for the Rick Astley ringtone that’s dominated her cell phone for years.

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