by Magan Vernon
I tried to text and call Layla, once I found my phone buried under Wes’s underwear, but she didn’t answer. She was probably working and not heading to the courthouse for a quickie divorce.
My new husband didn’t happen to bring a shirt with him up to my room, so before leaving for the courthouse I had to buy him a tacky T-shirt in the tourist shop. I walked in wearing a skirt suit and he was wearing ripped jeans and a T-shirt with a bedazzled Vegas sign on it. I prayed someone would take us seriously.
I’d never actually been to a courthouse, except for when I apparently stumbled in there before they closed at midnight to apply for a marriage license with Wes. I wouldn’t have believed it if my cell phone didn’t have an enormous amount of selfies that I took of us signing the documents and then hailing a cab to one of the twenty four-hour chapels.
Ugh. I had my fair share of hookups, but in Illinois none of the courthouses stayed open past five and I’d never had a willing suitor. The nightmare just kept getting worse with how calm Wes was. He just kept staring out the window, taking in the scene and not saying a word. Like this wasn’t a big deal. Like we weren’t a walking cliché. While my knees were shaking and I kept fidgeting with the hem of my skirt every five seconds, he just kept smiling. What the hell was with the guy? Maybe he was on drugs or something. It’s not like I really knew him or anything. God, I really screwed up.
When we got to the courthouse I practically jumped out of the cab after paying the driver, eager to get it over with and on with my life.
“I’ve never seen someone so happy to go to court,” Wes said.
I rolled my eyes as we ascended the cement stairs. “How can you be so calm about this? You just married a girl you barely know.”
He shrugged. “I could’ve done worse.”
I sighed. “You know, the more you sweet talk me, the more you make me seem like a bitch.”
“You aren’t a bitch. At least, I don’t think you are. You just seem to know what you want and there’s nothing I can say that’s going to stop you.”
I stopped in front of the door. “Are you saying that you don’t want a divorce?” I raised my eyebrows and faced him.
He shoved his hands into his pocket, aimlessly kicking his foot against the cement. “I don’t know. I know it’s not an ideal situation, but I don’t think we should rush into anything.”
“We kind of did rush into a marriage,” I replied.
He put his hands up. “I know, but hear me out. You know that this divorce thing isn’t going to be quick. There’s going to be a whole lot of legal shit going on and I don’t have the money to pay for a lawyer or any of that. So why deal with it?”
I blinked, hard. “Look, Wes, you seem like a nice guy and all, but I think we are both in different points in our lives and it would be silly to try and think that we could ever work.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” A lazy grin spread across his face.
I shook my head. “You’re too much.”
Another Hour Later
We had been sitting in the Family Law area forever, waiting for one of the clerks to call us up. I had no idea what the hell I was doing, but I just needed to get out of there. I needed to try and forget that I married a stripper and move on.
“Number one-four-two,” a woman called in a nasally voice.
I sprang up from my seat and ran over to the counter, not even noticing if Wes was following.
“One-four-two, that’s us!” I placed the number on the counter and the older woman behind the glass barely looked up from her computer.
“How can I help you today?”
“I’m here to file for a divorce,” I replied matter-of-factly. Like it was something I said every day. The women didn’t even bat an eye at my response. I guess it really was something she did deal with on the daily.
She sighed, typing in some information in the computer. “Name and state of residence?”
“Valerie Wilder, Illinois.”
She stopped typing. “Is your husband a Nevada resident?”
“No I’m not, ma’am.”
I didn’t even realize Wes was standing right beside me, but at least his voice got the lady to look up from her damn computer. I swore she even blushed when she caught sight of him. Yeah, he was hot. Great. Fine. She could marry him once the divorce was over.
“You aren’t?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
“Nope. I’m from the great state of Alabama. I haven’t had a chance to change my address over or anything. This is kind of just my temporary residence,” he said, shifting from one foot to the other.
I turned back to the lady. “Is that a problem?”
She let out a deep breath. “If neither of you has been a resident of the state of Nevada for at least six weeks, then you can’t file for a divorce here.”
I whipped my head back in Wes’s direction. “Please tell me you at least have some sort of residence here?”
“No ma’am. Just been crashing at a friend’s place for awhile.” He said it as if it was no big deal. Like it was just something that couldn’t be helped. As if he planned it that way. How he could be so casual about the whole thing was beyond me.
“What does this mean?” I pleaded with the lady behind the counter.
She shook her head, barely any sympathy in her eyes. “I’m sorry, but you will have to file the divorce in either Illinois or Alabama. We can’t help you here.”
I let out a deep breath and turned away, walking as fast as my heels could carry me to the front door, not even caring if Wes was following. Once I got out into the desert air I tilted my head back and let out a loud scream.
A few people walking into the courthouse made sure to walk around me. Like I was insane. And maybe I was.
I slumped on the steps, putting my head in my hands. What the hell had I done?
Wes took the seat next to me. “That’s an impressive set of lungs you got there.”
“Don’t start.”
“Darlin’, you’re kind of stuck with me now, so you might as well get used to me.”
I glared at him and then grabbed my phone out of my purse. One last call to Layla couldn’t hurt. I punched in her number and let out a deep breath when she finally answered.
“Don’t you have a fucking job?” she hissed.
Sounded just like Layla. Always blunt.
“I do. And somehow my job last night included judging the Hardest Abs of Vegas contest and then marrying the winner.”
“Shut the fuck up! You had to have made that shit up.”
I shook my head, even though I knew she couldn’t see me do it. “I wish. Now I need my sorority big sister to help me out with a quickie divorce since apparently my stripper husband isn’t a resident of this state so we can’t file for divorce here.”
Big sister was a loose term. Layla was older than me, but I was the token chubby chick of the Sigma house. My mom was a sister back in the day so they kind of had to take me when I rushed. At least they liked me once I got in. I fit in better with a lot of the girls in that house since they were able to get over the curves once they got to know my personality. Not like the bitches in high school who only saw me as the thick chick. My sorority sisters loved me through thick and thin. Pun intended.
“We prefer the term ‘exotic dancer’.” Wes wiggled his eyebrows, eavesdropping in on the conversation.
“Is that him? Does he have a freaking southern accent?” Layla asked.
“Yes, yes he does. My new husband, Wild Wes, is from the great state of Alabama. Isn’t that lovely?”
She laughed. Like anything about my situation was funny. Maybe if it was anyone else it would have been. “Sorry, this just seems like something straight out of a cheesy rom com.”
“Yeah, well, it isn’t, so can you help me out?”
“I wish I could, sis, but divorce isn’t really my specialty. I could try and dig up some numbers for a good divorce lawyer if you want, but you’ll probably have to come back and do everything here in Chicago.�
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“Does my new husband have to be present?”
“He doesn’t, but you’ll probably have to serve him all the paperwork and he’d have to agree to it.”
I let out a puff of air through my nose and looked at Wes, whose eyes were intensely focused on me. The guy had an intense pair of green eyes that I wanted to screw off of his face. I had to stop thinking about the fact that he was sex on a stick. This wasn’t about pleasure. This was about business. I couldn’t be married to a male stripper. “And what if he doesn’t agree to it?”
“Then you should consider yourself lucky that you married a stripper that wants to stay married to you,” Layla said with a laugh.
“Seriously.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” she said, but didn’t sound sorry, more like she was still holding back a laugh. “It would probably be a longer process if he didn’t agree to it, but either way, from what I know about Illinois divorces it takes at least six weeks for it to go through, but probably longer.”
“Six weeks?” I couldn’t keep the screech out of my voice and Wes winced. I mouthed ‘sorry’ before I went back to my conversation with Layla. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“Serious as shit, Val. But listen, I have to go. I’ll text you with some divorce lawyer info later, all right?”
I sighed. “Fine. I’ll talk to you later.”
“And say bye to Tex for me.”
“He’s from Alabama.”
She laughed. “Okay, say bye to the Alabama Slammer for me then.”
I hung up the phone and met Wes’s waiting gaze. “Take it that didn’t go as well as you wanted?”
“Looks like we may be married for at least another six weeks.” I stood up, dusting off my skirt. “I can just get your info and send the divorce papers to wherever you’re staying for you to sign.”
I started to walk down the stairs, but then his hand caught my wrist, pulling me back to him. “Or I could just go back home with you and you don’t have to worry about all the mailing and getting us two lawyers and all that shit.”
I stepped back, slowly meeting his gaze. His eyes were completely serious and his lips were pressed in a thin line. He wasn’t joking.
“You want to come back to Chicago with me? A girl you just met and married on a whim?”
He shrugged. “I’ve done worse things. Hell, this was just supposed to be a pit stop anyway, one more trip couldn’t hurt.”
“I don’t know. This seems like a really bad idea. I mean, I still have another day of work here, and my roommate is sort of a bitch, and you’d be stuck in my apartment all day by yourself and—”
Before I could finish my sentence his hands were at my cheeks and he pulled my face to his, crushing his lips against mine. I didn’t immediately reciprocate, but once I felt the flicker of his tongue ring against my mouth, I melted into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and feeling the hard contours of his chest through his thin T-shirt as he pressed his warm body against me.
He slowly broke the kiss, pushing a fallen strand of my hair behind my ears as his eyes stayed on mine, with a large grin spreading across his face. “I think I can manage spending a little more time with you,” he said, his words as soft as a southern lullaby.
I swallowed, slowly nodding. “Okay. Let’s see where this quickie marriage takes us.”
Thirty Minutes Later
“This is where you live?”
I stared at the dingy apartment building. It may have been daylight out, but I couldn’t help but wonder if some creeper with a bag of candy was waiting to jump out of the shadows and try to take advantage of me.
“We all can’t have fancy PR jobs,” Wes said with a grimace before he headed up the rusty stairs to the second floor of the stucco building. There was a small courtyard with what was once probably a swimming pool but now was full of weeds. Each of the floorboards squeaked under my heels as I followed Wes down the hallway. No wonder he was so eager to get out and go home with me.
“I’m not saying I live in a palace in Chicago, so don’t think it’s going to be like that. And it’s only temporary with me, so don’t get any ideas that you’ll like it better than your place.”
“Whatever you say, Valerie.” He stopped in front of a door marked 12B and pulled out a set of keys from his back pocket. He jiggled them in the handle a few times before he shoved his shoulder into the door and pushed it open.
I gasped when a loud moan came from the flannel couch in the middle of the room. A girl sat completely spread eagle in nothing but a pair of fishnet thigh highs and some guy with long, black hair was rubbing his face in-between her legs.
“Jesus, Brick, can’t you at least use the bedroom?” Wes asked, rubbing his shoulder.
The couple was barely fazed. The girl just casually put her legs down and licked her lips as she eyed Wes hungrily. “And who might you be?”
The guy finally pulled his face out of the girl’s crotch and sat on the couch next to her, wiping his chin. He was wearing nothing but a black leather vest and some tight jeans, but at least it was more than the girl was wearing. And she didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed that her giant tits were staring me in the face.
“That’s Wild Wes, baby, you remember him from Ladies Night at the club,” the guy said in a gruff voice, like the kind that smokes two packs a day.
“Oh yeah!” She smacked her lips together and tossed her fiery red hair behind her shoulders. “How ya doing, Wild? You and Blondie here looking to join?”
“Uh, that would be a hell no.” I grabbed Wes’s arm. I may have not wanted to be married to him, but I wasn’t about to get myself in the middle of some fucked up ménage with other strippers. And if it took gripping onto him for dear life then that’s what I’d have to do.
Wes didn’t miss a beat, sliding his arm around my waist and pulling me close to him. I instinctively put my head in the crook of his shoulder. I didn’t want to feel so comfortable with him, but there was something wonderful about being pressed against him and feeling his warmth against me. I couldn’t help but inhale deeply and take in his scent. He smelled manly. Not like the men in my office who always wore too much cologne, but woodsy, like a guy that worked outside or used his hands. A lot.
“Me and Valerie are just here to pack up my stuff before I head out,” Wes said.
“You finally found a sugar mama to shack up with and get to LA?” The guy raised his eyebrows. Man, he was classy.
“Naw, I wouldn’t call her that. She’s just ...well ...” He looked at me; his green eyes were so intense I didn’t know if I would be able to resist anything he was about to ask me. This divorce thing was going to be harder than I thought. “Baby, what would you call us?”
“I’m his wife,” I blurted.
“WIFE?” the girl and Brick shouted practically in unison.
“When the hell did this happen?” Brick asked. “Shit, son, you must be pretty desperate.”
I snapped my head in his direction. “Excuse me?”
“No offense, Blondie, but you ain’t no prized hen. You must either be one hell of a lay or have a damn good bank account to rope Wes in,” he said with a hoarse laugh.
I was used to guys not thinking much of me. It’s why I sort of developed a reputation in college. At first I thought that guys actually wanted me for me, then I realized that no one wanted to be seen with the thick girl and they just wanted an easy lay. I got used to it over the years and learned to roll with whatever chance I could take with a guy. That didn’t mean it stung any less when Brick said the words.
Wes squeezed my side, bringing me back into reality. I could feel tears wanting to break through my eyes, but I wouldn’t let them. I was a grown woman and I could take some shit talk from some douchebag in a shitty apartment.
“Maybe he just prefers girls that actually have a bank account. And class,” I said, raising my eyebrows in a challenge.
Brick glared at me. The silence between us was so thick, it couldn�
��t have been cut with the sharpest knife.
Finally, Brick broke the silence and let out a big, whooping laugh. “Now I see why you like this chick, Wes. Girl’s got some lady balls.”
“Yeah, too bad we’re—”
I squeezed Wes’s side, not letting him say another word. I didn’t want to him to add in that he was coming with me to get divorced. I had a tiny bit of an ego boost and I wanted to keep it going before another joke was made at my expense. “Babe, let’s get your things so we can get back to my hotel.”
Wes looked at me, his expression taken aback with his eyebrows raised. “Whatever you say, darlin.”
“Aw, aren’t you two just the fucking cutest thing?” the girl said with added sarcasm.
I didn’t even have a response for her; instead I squeezed Wes’s side again and he replied, “Yeah, looks like we’d better get my stuff packed up.”
“All right, man, should I expect you back or you out for good?” Brick fist bumped him as we walked past the nasty couch.
Wes gave me a questioning look with a slight smile on his face before he looked back to Brick with a shrug. “I don’t know, man, we’ll see where life takes us.”
With that he opened the door directly in front of us and quickly closed it as soon as I entered the room. If one could call it a room. It had one film-covered window and a small closet. The only furniture was an air mattress on the floor.
“This is where you sleep?” I stared at the un made little mattress on the floor. I may have complained about my cramped apartment, but it was nothing compared to his place.
“Yeah, for now. I didn’t really have anywhere else to stay when my parents said they weren’t going to pay for me to dick around with music and kicked me out. I was lucky Brick said I could crash here for a while and helped me get a job. Even if it is stripping,” Wes said as he grabbed a duffle bag from his closet and took his shirts off the hangers, neatly folding them and placing them in the bag.
“Your parents kicked you out? How old are you?” God I hoped he was at least eighteen or I’d feel even slimier than I already did.
He stopped folding and looked up from the bag. “I’m twenty-two. I got injured playing football at college and lost my scholarship so I had to move back home.” He turned back to his closet, pulling out the last of his clothes. “It wasn’t too bad at first, then I got tired of working construction and wanted to go back to doing what I loved, music.”
“I guess that explains the tattoo,” I said softly.
His eyes barely met mine, a hint of sadness behind them. “No, that was for my Meemaw. She used to sing me this old southern lullaby called Sleep My Baby. When she passed away I got the last few notes tattooed above my heart for her.”
“Oh ...” It was all I could muster. I actually had tears in my eyes. Truth be told, I really thought it was just some lame tattoo he got at eighteen like one he picked off the wall (which was exactly what the tribal symbol was that I had on the small of my back).
“And that’s where the idea came to move?” I asked, trying to change to a lighter subject.
He let out a short laugh. “No, that idea came when I quit working for my dad and he said that my ass had to have a job and not spend all my time fucking around with the guitar or else I wouldn’t have a place to live.”
“Oh ...I’m sorry ...” I didn’t know what else to say. I just kept bringing up all the shitty things. It wasn’t like I was privileged or anything. My dad walked out on my mom the year I started college and left her an emotional and financial wreck. I was lucky that I had a scholarship for school and a kickass internship that got me the job at my PR firm. All that I had, I worked for and was pure luck. But to Wes, I must have just looked like some spoiled bitch.
He put his bag down, taking slow methodical steps over to me. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, darlin’. At least you know where I’m coming from. I’ve got to make the best out of any situation and if it means that I have to move around for a while until I find the best one, then so be it.” Wes grabbed an acoustic guitar that was propped against the wall.
He was an internal optimist and I couldn’t hate him for that. I didn’t know what scared me more, that I had an accidental husband or that I was starting to really like the guy.
A Few Hours Later
"Ah! I can’t believe that's real!" Abbi screamed.
I pulled up my skirt, turning back toward her. We were cramped in one of the bathroom stalls in the hotel lobby, but she said she absolutely had to see my tattoo and wouldn’t stop bugging me about in our boring meeting.
"Yeah, and he has a matching one that says Mr. Wild."
"Awww, true love."
I rolled my eyes and pushed her out of the stall with me. "Yes, matching tattoos with my husband of less than twenty-four hours who I’ve known just as long as we've been married."
"Hey, it can’t be all bad if you saw his tattoo."
I pushed a strand of hair that fell out of my bun behind my ear. "That’s because dude doesn't like to put on clothes and I happened to notice it when he got out of bed this morning."
"I’m sure he got up in more ways than one." She winked.
"This isn’t funny! This is seriously real life." I leaned against the sink, putting my hands on the cool granite and letting out a deep breath.
"I know, I know, I’m sorry." She put her hand on my back. "So what are you going to do about it?"
"We fly back to Chicago in two days and my friend said she can hopefully get us a meeting with a divorce attorney on Monday, but until then, I’m the sugar mama for my now ex-stripper husband."
"Oh he's leaving the stripper world behind for you?"
I rolled my eyes. "He was only a stripper for like a few months to make money here. Who knows maybe he'll find a place to keep up his practice back in Chi-town."
An older lady in a bedazzled sweater came into the bathroom, giving us a polite smile. I wondered if she heard any of our conversation.
"Should we get back to the meeting?" I pushed off the counter.
Abbi sighed. "I guess, though I’d rather hear more about Mr. Wild's tattoos."