Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 97836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
My stomach swooped when I realized vaguely that marrying Eden tonight would have meant I’d never have gotten a chance to dance with… to… to club music.
“My house is gray,” I said stupidly, leaning in closer to his ear so he could hear me better. “And I don’t… uh… I mean, Eden’s never been there. Nobody has, really.”
His breath was warm on my neck, but it still managed to make me shiver. “Why hasn’t Eden been there? I thought the two of you were… good friends.”
My alcohol-soaked brain was struggling to string words together. “Everyone wants a piece of me. The house is my sanctuary. The only place… I don’t have to…”
Silas’s fingers moved up into my hair. I’d tucked my hat into the back of my jeans earlier, and his other hand held it pressed securely to my lower back so it didn’t fall out while we danced. “Don’t have to what, cowboy?” he murmured against my ear.
I closed my eyes and relaxed against him. “Don’t have to be anything for anyone else.”
“It’s hard being the strong one all the time, isn’t it?” This time, it didn’t even sound like he was talking about me, but maybe about himself.
I moved closer and nodded as I tucked my nose into his neck. This dance was going to have to end soon. But before it did, I kind of wanted to know what he tasted like. The flashing neon lights made my brain feel like it was flashing, too. Everything muted and faded together in a synchronous beat that seemed like a mix of heartbeats, loud music, and crowd noise. Alcohol warmed and numbed me, and for a few moments, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.
It didn’t make sense, but Silas’s body against mine remained the one thing I knew. The one place I understood. The only clear thing in a night quickly dissolving into a drunken haze.
I poked out my tongue and ran it across the tendon on the side of his neck. Prickly stubble felt strange against my lips and tongue. His breath hitched. His hands tightened around my back and one moved down to cup my ass. I arched into him, seeking more. More information, more experience, more of his sweet understanding and gentle teasing. For some reason, I just wanted more.
“We should get another drink,” he suggested low in my ear.
“Mmhm. More.”
It was the last thing I remembered until I woke up next to him the next morning, clad only in my underwear.
My underwear and the sparkling brightness of a brand-new wedding band on my finger.
TWO
SILAS
I’d heard about people getting drunk married in Vegas, but I’d honestly thought it was a joke or a plot in a cheesy rom-com. Not something that could happen to people like me—serious adults with an Ivy League education, international acclaim for having a sharp strategic mind, and a billion dollars in the bank.
So when I woke up hungover as shit and saw the marriage certificate with its shiny gold seal on the bedside table, I assumed it was a prank.
I fumbled for my phone and texted Landry first since he was the most likely culprit.
Me
WTF asshole?
Landry
As much as I love these pet names you have for me, Silas, I have no idea what you’re referring to. You ready for breakfast? I could eat a horse.
Me
I’m referring to the marriage certif—
I was halfway through typing my response when I noticed the cowboy hat perched atop the lamp across the room.
“What the hell?” I mumbled, nearly knocking myself out with bad breath. Jesus fuck.
I stood up and stumbled to the bathroom, grabbing for my toothbrush. Flashes of memory from the night before tumbled through my pounding head.
Making a scene at Justin’s wedding. My friends rushing in to pull me away before I forced them to leave me to drown my sorrows at the hotel bar. The handsome cowboy on the barstool next to mine who’d had women sending him drinks like he was some kind of rock god. And dancing… hours of dancing with my hands moving up and down lean muscle and warm cotton.
My heart jolted as the image of him blinked more clearly into my mind. Tall, blond, and enough muscles to rope a steer… literally. Blue eyes like the endless sky over the Rocky Mountains on a clear summer day.
He’d been wearing a snap-front shirt and dark jeans. Worn cowboy boots. A charming smile with a goddamned dimple that made him look like the poster child for clean Midwestern living.
And the hat. That well-worn Stetson he’d fiddled nervously with and that I’d held while we danced.
The hat currently decorating my hotel room.
I groaned around the foamy toothbrush and squeezed my eyes closed. I’d taken the man’s hat like some kind of prepubescent teen.
Had we…? I squinted at my horrid reflection in the mirror as I tried to remember. Stubble-scratched kisses. Rumbled laughter. Shared confessions. Hands fucking everywhere.