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)
“Keep it down,” I hissed, turning back. “You know that if Mrs. Newcombe senses a disturbance in her gossip web, she’ll attack. Besides I… I didn’t hook up with anyone.” I hesitated, then honesty compelled me to add, “Not really. At least… I don’t think so?”
Foster’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t think so?”
“Memories are a bit hazy after I left the bar,” I admitted. Even though the memories before I left the bar were clear enough to leave me half-breathless.
His surprise was expected. “You got drunk? You?”
Guilt flooded my gut. My father had been a drinker, and Foster knew I’d be damned if I’d let down my family the way he did.
And here I was. Doing it anyway.
“Don’t worry. The experience was plenty enough to teach me never to do it again.”
Understatement.
“Okay.” His brow furrowed in concern. Foster had the ability to ooze law enforcement whether he wanted to or not. “What do you recall?”
I glanced down at the threadbare industrial carpet and considered.
Yesterday morning, when I’d woken up in Silas’s bed, I’d promised myself that I’d keep the whole affair to myself. No one in Majestic needed to know about the drunken foolishness that had led me to marry a perfect stranger—a handsome, witty, kind, perfect stranger—Saturday night.
But Foster wasn’t just anyone. He was my best friend. My cousin. My ride or die. And I really needed to tell someone, especially after the clusterfuck I’d found while doing some preliminary divorce research last night. So instead, I considered the question seriously. What did I recall…?
A pair of really pretty eyes with crinkles in the corners. A warm voice saying, “I do.” The feel of a smooth gold ring on my finger and a stubbled kiss against my lips…
I ran my thumb over the spot on my hand where I’d pried off the metal band on the way to the airport yesterday and took a deep breath. “I, ah… remember his name was Silas.”
Foster went entirely still, his whole body locked as though the world had stopped turning. I wasn’t even sure he was breathing. “Silas? You may or may not have hooked up with a guy? Since when do you—”
“Since never,” I assured him, knowing his feelings would be hurt if I’d never told my gay best friend that I’d wanted a man. “You know I would have told you. But I’m not gay.” I rubbed at the back of my neck. “Probably not entirely straight, either, I guess, all things considered. It just… happened.”
“What ‘just happened’? You can tell me, Waylon,” he added quickly. “I won’t judge, and I promise I cannot be shocked. I’ve tried just about everything there is to try at least once.”
I shut my eyes. “You haven’t tried this,” I muttered, flashes of memory supplying snippets of wedding vows.
“Bet I have. Are we talking kissing and groping…?”
I pursed my lips.
“…or a handie…?”
I wrinkled my nose.
His eyes widened. “…blowjobs?”
I squinted. His eyebrows shot up, displacing his hat. “Not anal.”
I glanced up at the ceiling and shook my head.
Foster sighed. “Okay, I’m done playing this game. What did you do that you think I haven’t done, Waylon?”
“I, uh… got married?” I whispered.
“You…” He shook his head and laughed. “Jesus, for a second, it sounded like you said…”
I met his eyes. “It was an accident. I mean, it had to be. All I know is I woke up beside him yesterday with a ring on my finger and a copy of a marriage certificate sitting on the nightstand.”
Foster’s face darkened. “Tell me everything you know about this guy, and give me this supposed marriage certificate.”
I closed my eyes and pictured Silas’s smile. His teasing, triumphant expression when a woman tried buying him a drink for once. The flash of jealousy and possession on his face when another man tried to take me out of his arms on the dance floor. The softness that came over his expression when I confessed about proposing to Eden.
I cleared my throat. “I don’t have the certificate. I kind of… freaked out and bolted. When I calmed down a little, I googled him, obviously. He’s a business consultant. Went to Yale, for god’s sake. His address is in Delaware, but he mostly works in Manhattan, according to the companies on his LinkedIn. And he mentioned going to a restaurant in SoHo. That’s in New York, right?”
Foster was all business. “Holy shit, Way.” He pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “You need to fix this. What happens when people in Majestic hear—”
“I know! But even if I had his contact info, I can’t file for divorce. Not now. Not here—”
“Why not?”
“Because Mrs. Newcombe is Judge Whiteplume’s clerk! It would be all over town. Everyone would want to know what the hell I was thinking. And then when they learned I hadn’t been thinking, they’d worry. Some of these people are barely on board with the AdventureSmash idea. They think I’m too young and haven’t thought this through properly. I can’t go and prove them right by admitting that I got married to a random stranger. No.” I shook my head. “We have to get divorced in Delaware. Quietly.”