Waking Up Married: A Rock Star Rom Com

by Lisa Suzanne

  He gives me one last long look like he’s assessing whether I’m telling the truth, and then he nods, smiles at Emily, and takes off.

  “Where were we?” I ask.

  She giggles. “Nice line. I believe you were about to order me another shot before making out with me some more.”

  I bark out a laugh. “I like you, Emily. A lot.”

  We take another shot, and then Rascal and Amber join us at the bar. We all toss back more tequila, and then I notice Emily starting to slur.

  The room feels slightly tilted, and the people moving around me seem to be doing so in slow motion, but Emily is by my side with a bright smile on her lips, and suddenly I have this weird feeling of clarity mixed with euphoria...and I don’t think it’s just the alcohol.

  I want her. I want to be with my little sister’s best friend. I want to find a way to make this work between us for more than just this weekend.

  I just have to find out if she wants that, too.

  CHAPTER 9: EMILY

  The room is spinning. Why is the room spinning?

  Oh, right.

  Because I’m about to throw up.

  I hop out of bed and run to the restroom, where the contents of my stomach promptly expel into the toilet.

  At least I made it in time.

  My head throbs as I rest it for just a second on the cool porcelain, and then I realize what I’m doing.

  My head is resting on a toilet seat. So freaking disgusting.

  I feel a little better now that I’ve thrown up, but I look down and see that I’m completely naked. I glance at the closed door and wonder for just a second if I woke up in bed with Amber like I was supposed to, if I woke up alone, or if I woke up with Adam.

  What the hell happened last night?

  It seemed like all was going well between us, and then the tequila caught up with me.

  The last thing I remember is doing shots. The rest of the night is just small bits and pieces after that, but I can’t be sure if it’s a dream or if it’s what really happened.

  I look around the bathroom for my toothbrush, but all that’s in here is a man’s small toiletry bag. There’s also a box of cherry Pedialyte packets on the counter. Is there a kid in here?

  This definitely isn’t the same bathroom Amber and I got ready to go out for the night in.

  Shit.

  Did I sleep with him?

  Why am I naked?

  I eye his toiletry bag and briefly debate using his toothbrush, but then I can’t be totally sure if it’s Rascal’s or Adam’s, and either way would be a gross violation. I rinse my mouth with water, and then I spot a t-shirt on the counter. I slip it over my head so at least I’m not naked, and it smells like Adam—some manly scent that reminds me of sex and the beach.

  I squeeze my arms around my middle, hugging myself in his shirt, and that’s when I feel a sharp pain coming from my wrist.

  I’m starting to become slightly more aware, and I unwrap my arm from around myself and look down at my bandaged wrist. “What the hell?” I murmur.

  I slowly peel the bandage back, the stinging getting worse as I do it, and I discover a fresh, brand new tattoo that oozes and obviously needs some cleaning, but I don’t have any tattoos and I have no idea how to take care of one.

  The simple black font is reminiscent of ancient Rome, and the ink reads, “A&E XII-X.”

  I got a tattoo last night? When the hell did that happen?

  I head out to the room, the chill of the air cool against my bare ass, and it’s definitely Adam in the bed I slept in last night.

  Did we sleep together?

  My God, what did we do?

  Well, this is definitely a situation I’ve never been in before, and I’m not really sure what to do. Do I wake him up? The room is dark, making it hard to search for my clothes. I open the curtains a little, and a stream of light lands right across Adam’s face. Even hungover and wincing from the bright light in his face, he’s still the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

  He moans and rolls. “Jesus,” he mutters. He shifts in bed a little, and I hear him as he starts to wake up.

  I spot my underwear on top of a lampshade, and I hurry over and grab them, sliding them up my legs.

  And it’s then I spot a simple silver band on the third finger of my left hand.

  Why am I wearing a ring on my left hand that I wasn’t wearing before?

  “What did we do last night?” I ask, my voice scratchy.

  “Too much tequila.” His voice is rough like mine.

  “Yeah, that’s for sure. What happened after we left the club?”

  He clears his throat and sits up, still squinting in the beam of light that’s now hitting his bare chest. He flips the sheet up and looks under it as if to assess whether he’s wearing clothes. “Jesus,” he says again.

  “What?”

  “I’m naked. Can you toss me my boxers?” He nods toward the dresser where they lie in a crumpled pile.

  I grab them and hand them over, my cheeks burning with embarrassment that I’m touching Adam Wilson’s underwear. Did we have sex? And if we did, how could I forget about it when it’s something I’ve dreamed about for years?

  I turn around for a second as he pulls them on, and then he mutters, “What the fuck?”

  I can’t help when I whip around to see what he’s talking about—especially considering I’ve had more than my own share of what the fuck moments this morning. “What?”

  “Did I get a tattoo last night?” he asks. He holds up his bandaged wrist.

  “Oh my God. I did, too.” I hold up my wrist. “What does yours look like?”

  He peels back the bandage and stares at it before looking at me with brows crinkled in confusion. “It says A&E XII-X. What did you get?”

  I hold up my wrist. “The same thing. What does it mean? And how do we take care of them? This is my first one and I don’t even remember getting it.” I feel the threat of tears coming. My stomach is empty, I still feel nauseous, my wrist hurts, my head hurts, and I can’t remember what we did last night. If this was anyone else, I’d be laughing...but it’s not anyone else. It’s me, and I’m starting to freak out a little.

  He shrugs and glances around. He spots something on the dresser. “Ah. Ointment. Come with me and I’ll show you how to take care of it.”

  He takes me into the bathroom, and then he turns around and comes back a few seconds later with two bottles of water. He empties one of the Pedialyte packets into one and shakes it before handing it to me. “Drink this.”

  I purse my lips at him and can’t help when my eyes flick to his abs. “I’m not a child, Adam.”

  He chuckles then winces. “It’s for the hangover.”

  I narrow my eyes at him.

  “Trust me. It works.” He pours a second packet into his own bottle and chugs it down while I sip mine in a ladylike fashion, and then he tosses the bottle on the counter and turns to me. He gently takes my tattooed arm in his hand and peels back the bandage.

  He’s only just begun when I notice a silver band on the third finger of his left hand.

  I clear my throat. “Do you, um, always wear that ring?”

  “What ring?” He glances down at his hand. “What the fuck?”

  “Oh my God, Adam! Why do we have matching tattoos? Why were we both naked when we woke up? Why are we both wearing rings? What did we do last night?” I may be shrieking just a little as the starting to freak out turns into actually freaking out.

  “I’m not sure, Em. I was pretty drunk. Let’s just calm down and try to think this through rationally.”

  I draw in a deep breath, and he finishes cleaning my tattoo before wrapping it again for me. He hands me some ibuprofen without even asking if I need it and nods to the liquid left in my bottle. Something about that simple gesture from Adam Wilson is so normal and unexpected, and little flutters take flight in my chest again.

  He takes a few pills himself, too, and then he asks, “So, uh
, you were naked, too?”

  I nod.

  “Shit. Did we have sex?”

  “I don’t know. We would’ve remembered that, wouldn’t we?”

  He nods. “Yeah, we would’ve remembered.” His eyes move to mine, and they’re dark brown and full of lust even in this crazy place where we find ourselves. “It would’ve been too good to forget.”

  I feel my shoulders relax a little at that. We don’t have any answers just yet, but I’m in this with someone I’ve known a long time. Whatever happened, we’ll deal with it, and it’ll all be okay.

  Right?

  “Let’s see if Amber or Rascal are up yet and if they remember what happened,” he suggests, and I nod like that’s a great idea.

  Except I’m not wearing pants.

  “Do you, ah, have some shorts or something I could borrow before we go out there?” I ask, my cheeks flushing again.

  He chuckles, walks over to his duffel bag, and tosses me a pair of shorts.

  “Thanks.” My single word is filled with gratitude, and I pull them up my legs. He watches, seemingly a little fascinated, and then he shakes his head a little.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  I nod resolutely. “Ready.”

  CHAPTER 10: EMILY

  When we walk out of the bedroom and into the main living area of the suite, I’m pretty sure I’m met with the living definition of partying like a rock star...or, at least, what I’d imagine the morning after to look like.

  Bottles of different kinds—including beer, vodka, tequila, and water—are strewn across various surfaces and the remnants of late-night snacks sit on plates half-eaten in random places including the middle of the floor. Lampshades and artwork on the walls hang at odd angles. One couch is turned completely upside down with the cushions thrown haphazardly around the room.

  On the other couch lie Amber and Rascal, both asleep and both in equal states of semi-undress, her in just a bra and panties and him in just a pair of boxer shorts.

  “Holy shit,” I murmur, and it’s not because it looks like Amber and Rascal had sex on the couch where they’re sleeping. “Did Rascal cut his hair?”

  Adam stands beside me studying his buddy. Sure enough, the fiery and out of control red curls are gone, and in their place is a crew cut, clean-shaven on the sides with maybe an inch of hair on the top.

  I can’t tell if Amber passed out on him or if they fell asleep the way they are, but they both look content.

  I wonder if they’ll feel content once they wake up and are faced with this morning’s confusion. Or maybe they hold the answers Adam and I are seeking.

  Adam clears his throat in an attempt to wake them up, but neither stirs.

  He looks at me as if to ask what should I do, and my eyes bug out as I gesture toward both of them as if to say wake them the hell up so we can get some answers.

  He clears his throat again, and it has the same effect as the first time he tried it. I roll my eyes. Apparently it’s time for me to step in.

  “Amber!” I yell, and we finally get some movement.

  “What?” she mumbles without opening her eyes.

  “Wake up!” My voice is at yelling level again, and Adam laughs beside me.

  “Oh!” she gasps when she opens her eyes and spots not just me, but her brother staring at her and the guy she slept on top of. Literally. She moves to cover herself, grabbing a throw pillow and holding it over her midsection, and wildly shakes Rascal. “Will! Wake up!”

  He doesn’t have the swift movements of a gazelle the morning after a night like last night, that’s for sure. He shifts a little and reaches for Amber, oblivious to the fact that they aren’t alone in the privacy of a bedroom but rather sprawled on the couch in the main living area of the suite we’re all sharing.

  He finally opens his eyes when he realizes Amber is just out of his reach, and he sees Adam first. “Sup, bro?” he asks.

  Adam looks ready to kill his friend and bandmate, Amber looks embarrassed, and I feel like I’m going to throw up again if I don’t get some answers about what happened last night.

  “Now that everybody’s awake, can someone please fill Emily and me in on what the fuck we did last night?” Adam asks. He tosses his sister Rascal’s shirt that lies on the floor by his feet. “What happened to your hair? And why do we have matching tattoos that neither of us remember getting? Why are we both wearing rings we’ve never seen before?”

  Rascal sits up. “You really don’t remember?”

  We both shake our heads.

  “I was wasted and I still remember.” He may look different, but he’s the same old Rascal.

  “You must’ve both blacked out,” Amber says, and I glance at Adam, who looks as confused as I feel.

  “But we got tattoos,” I say. “We had to have been awake. Oh my God, did someone drug us?”

  “No, babe. Blacking out is different than passing out. I see it all the time.” She stands and pads over to the bar, where she grabs herself a bottle of water. She works as an emergency room nurse, so if anyone has experience in explaining what it means to be blackout drunk, it’s probably her.

  She chugs half the bottle of water before she explains. “Blacking out is where you’re fully conscious but you can’t remember what you did afterward.”

  My brows draw down. I don’t want a science lesson. I want some answers. “I’ve never blacked out before, but I don’t remember anything that happened after we left the MGM.”

  “I feel like pieces of memories might be coming back to me,” Adam says. He sits down on one of the recliners. “I remember walking into a tattoo parlor and flipping through a book.” All the color seems to drain from his face, and when his eyes meet mine, his are wide and full of anxiety. “Oh shit.”

  “What?” I ask just as ER nurse Amber gives me further scientific information as to why he can remember some things and my memory is completely wiped out.

  “There are two types of blackouts. In one,” she gestures to me, “your brain completely shuts down the part that stores memories, so you’ll never get those back. In the other,” she points to Adam, “which is called a fragmentary blackout, your short-term memories don’t transfer to long-term, but you might remember things, especially if something triggers a reminder.”

  “Damn woman, you’re so fucking smart,” Rascal says to her, and I’m pretty sure I see literal hearts in his eyes.

  She blushes, and this is cute and everything but I need some fucking answers.

  “What?” I repeat to Adam. “What did you remember?”

  “A chapel,” he whispers. He glances at the simple silver band adorning his ring finger and then over at mine.

  I feel the blood drain from my face at his insinuation.

  “You asked me to be your videographer,” Rascal says, confirming that this isn’t just some crazy dream. “I have snippets of the whole night on my phone.”

  Did Adam and I get married last night?

  Amber grabs her phone and starts scrolling through the photo album. “And I took pictures, too. Lots of them.” She flashes her phone at me, and under a horribly ostentatious arch of flowers and balloons stand Adam and myself, smiling brightly for the camera as we each hold up our left hands showing off our shiny new hardware.

  “And you let us do this?” I scream at her.

  Marriage is sacred, and my life plan was to only do it once with a man I love in a church with my family and friends present as witnesses...not drunkenly in Las Vegas to a hot guy I hardly know.

  “It may have been my idea, actually,” Amber says, and I think I might just kill her.

  For one thing, I can’t believe how freaking calm she is about this whole thing. I drunkenly married her brother last night and I don’t even remember it.

  I’m married.

  Holy shit.

  And I don’t remember it.

  As the truth starts to slam into my already very hungover brain, emotions claw at me as well...confusion being at the top, with fear not to
o far behind.

  For another thing, it was her idea? Who the hell suggests that?

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Adam says, trying to think through the haze of his hangover. He leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees as he folds his hands in front of him. “You can’t just randomly get married in Vegas. You have to have a marriage license.” His voice is a little triumphant.

  Rascal stands and crosses the room, grabs a sheet of paper off the counter, and walks back, handing it to Adam, whose face goes from white to green. “You really don’t remember any of this?” Rascal asks.

  “How did we get a marriage license?” Adam asks. He’s clearly trying to remain calm, but he’s gritting his teeth and twisting his folded hands together, clear signs of anxiety he’s trying to hide.

  Rascal grabs the paper and hands it to me next, and sure enough, Adam Joseph Wilson and Emily Ann Clarke signed and dated it yesterday.

  “You two wouldn’t stop talking about how you’re both relationship people,” Rascal says, “so Amber said you should get married to each other so you’d shut up. We looked up where to get a license, and they were open until midnight. We slid in just in time, got your license, took an Uber to a twenty-four hour chapel, and got you two lovebirds married.”

  “What the fuck happened to your hair?” Adam asks again, clearly overcome with confusion as he tries to get answers to at least one of the millions of questions running through both our heads.

  Rascal glances at Amber, who giggles. “That’ll just be our little secret.”

  I slide down onto the chair behind me without really feeling the motion through my numbness.

  Drunk-dialing an ex, pranking a crush, or throwing up into some bushes in front of your neighbor’s house...those are stupid things you do and later regret when you’re drunk.

  We’ve all done stupid things we’ve regretted when we’re drunk, but this takes the cake.