Rockstar’s Accidental Marriage (Wild Band Rockstars #2)

1. One

One

Emily

The bright sunlight sears through the blinds, piercing my skull. I groan, flinging an arm over my eyes, but it’s no use. The dull throbbing behind my forehead threatens to grow into a full-blown headache. Blinking my eyes open against the harsh glare, I take in the white ceiling above me—it’s completely unfamiliar.

Where the hell am I?

With a groan, I move to roll over, but something heavy is pinning me in place. My chest tightens as I glance down to find a muscular, tanned arm draped across my stomach. The arm is attached to a broad chest, rising and falling in deep, even breaths. I peer closer, my eyes rising from the hard, chiseled chest to an impossibly handsome face that belongs to… Sam Ryder!

He’s my brother’s bass guitarist and best friend. My heart pounds in my chest. The guy who thinks it’s funny to mock me at every turn. The guy who calls me “Cupcake” just to piss me off. The same guy who years ago kissed me when we were alone, exploring my body like he’d been dying to touch me, then just as suddenly pulled away, leaving me breathless and humiliated. Which I still haven’t forgiven him for!

And now, apparently, the guy I woke up naked with.

A cold wave of dread sweeps over me. This cannot be real. How did I let this happen? I can’t remember anything beyond the neon lights of Las Vegas, the band’s show, and—Oh God, the afterparty.

Flashes start to break through the fog of my hangover. The band’s show, slot machines, and tequila shots. Sam’s arrogant smile. How irresistibly handsome he looked with his shaggy hair falling over his brilliant green eyes. His hand was on my waist as we danced too close. The memory of his warm lips brushing mine—sends a shiver down my spine.

I clamp my hands over my face, willing the images to stop.

Carefully, I begin to inch my way out from under Sam’s arm without waking him, but he shifts, muttering something unintelligible, and pulls me even closer. His warm, naked skin presses against mine. Despite my panic, my body remembers exactly how those muscles felt under my exploring hands last night. But then my heart races from another emotion—fear.

Oh no. Please don’t let him wake up while I’m still here.

I glance toward the nightstand, desperate for a distraction, and my stomach plummets. There, a piece of paper sits innocently amid an empty champagne bottle and a discarded room card—a very official-looking piece of paper.

I squint to read it— Marriage Certificate.

My breath hitches, and I feel the room spin. Carefully, as if in slow motion, I reach out, picking up the paper.

There it is, written in black and white, our names, Emily Wild and Samuel Ryder.

My hands tremble as I set the certificate down. My gaze darting to the cheap plastic ring on my third finger, glaring at me like an accusation. Oh my God.

I need to leave. Right now.

I slide out from under Sam’s arm—this time, managing to free myself completely. I sit on the edge of the bed, my bare feet touching the plush carpet, and I look down at my naked body in shock. Next, my eyes dart around the room. I spot my white dress crumpled on the floor. My face burns at the sight.

My pulse races as I tiptoe around the bed, gathering my things. But as I reach for my phone on the table, my knee bumps against an open suitcase, sending it clattering to the floor.

The sound is deafening.

Sam groans behind me. “What the hell?” His voice is groggy, still rough with sleep.

I freeze, caught like a deer in the headlights. Slowly, I turn to face him, clutching my clothes in front of me like shield.

Sam sits up, his hair deliciously mussed, stubble darkening his unshaven jaw. The sheet pools at his waist, and I force myself to look away from the trail of dark hair leading lower. His sleepy eyes blink in confusion. Damn him for looking so irresistible first thing in the morning. The sight stirs memories of how those eyes darkened with desire last night, how his hands felt as they—No. I can’t think about that now.

His gaze rakes hotly over me. landing on the paper in my hand, then the plastic ring on his own finger. He notices how I’m trying to sneak away.

“Uh...” He blinks again. “What happened?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?” I snap, my voice high-pitched and panicked. “I was hoping you could tell me!”

Sam rubs a hand slowly over his face, and for a moment, he almost looks amused. “Well, judging by the evidence...” He holds up his left hand, showing me his matching ring. “I’d say we got married.”

The casual way he says it ignites something in me. “This isn’t funny, Sam!”

He leans back against the headboard with a sexy grin. “I didn’t say it was. But you gotta admit, it’s something—”

“Something?” My voice croaks as I cut him, clutching the marriage certificate tightly. “This isn’t something ! It’s a disaster! You’re my brother’s best friend. You’re in the band—a rockstar. We can’t be married!”

Sam shrugs arrogantly, far too relaxed for my liking. “Why not? You don’t remember it being romantic?” His eyes linger on my face curiously. His nonchalant attitude just adds insult to injury.

“Romantic?” My voice rises. “I don’t remember it at all!”

He tilts his head, his smile widening. “Well, I remember some things, like you pulling me onto the dance floor. And that kiss by the fountain. The chapel and last night, you were like a wild woman—”

“Okay! Enough!” My cheeks burn, but I don’t let him see how his words affect me. “That doesn’t mean we should’ve gotten married!”

Sam’s grin fades, and he runs a hand through his hair. “Look, Emily, it’s done. No need to freak out on me.”

“Of course, I’m freaking out, you imbecile,” I shoot back. “This is my life we’re talking about!”

“And mine,” he counters, his voice calm but tight. “You’re not the only one this affects, you know.”

I stop pacing, glaring at him as if it’s all his fault. “Fine. How are we going to fix this?”

Sam leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and as the sheet dips dangerously lower, I hastily avert my eyes. “First, we get dressed. Second, maybe you just need time to remember the details of last night. And third...” He pauses, his lips twitching. “We get some coffee. Because I don’t know about you, but I could use a shot of caffeine.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. “You are unbelievable.”

“Thanks,” he says with a smug wink.

I groan, grabbing my dress tighter and heading for the bathroom. “This is going to ruin everything.”

“Relax, Cupcake,” he calls after me. “We’ve survived worse.”

I slam the door behind me, my mind racing. Worse? I’m not sure what could possibly be worse than this.

As I slip into my dress and splash cold water on my face, I catch my reflection in the mirror. My hair’s a mess, my makeup is smudged, and the plastic ring on my finger feels like it’s burning a hole through my skin.

Dear God, what have I done? What did I get myself into? And why would I ever agree to marry Sam, of all people? Especially knowing our past history.

My brother’s band is doing well. But according to his manager, one hint of scandal could derail everything my brother and the band have worked for. Guilt surges through me, but I force it away.

When I step back into the room, looking better. Sam’s sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone. He looks up as I approach, his face unreadable.

“Well?” I say, folding my arms.

He shrugs. “Apparently, we went to the Little White Chapel. There’s even a selfie of us with Elvis.”

“Elvis?” I choke out.

He turns the phone toward me, and sure enough, there we are—grinning like idiots, arms wrapped around each other, with a smiling Elvis impersonator in the background.

“This cannot be real,” I mutter, shaking my head.

“Oh, it’s real,” Sam says, standing and grabbing his pants from the floor and pulling them on. “But don’t worry, we’ll fix it, Cupcak–”

“Don’t you dare call me that again,” I say, cutting him off as I try not to notice he goes commando.

“Why not? It’s cute.”

“It’s not cute,” I bite out. “And neither is this situation.”

He raises an eyebrow, his grin infuriatingly calm. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

“Sam!”

He chuckles, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay. Let’s get out of here and figure this out.”

As Sam stands to put on his shirt, I see red scratch marks on his back. My eyes widen in dismay. As he turns back around toward me, the silence between us stretches thin.

Wanting to distract him. “You’re awfully calm for someone who just accidentally got married,” I mutter, shooting him a resentful glare.

He glances up, his expression mild. “Would you rather I scream and panic? Someone has to keep a level head here.” Then, under his breath. “And it’s obviously not you.”

“Level head?” I scoff, my face hardening. “Sam, we’re married. This isn’t just a bad hangover. This is—“

“Fixable,” he interrupts, his tone firm. “It’s not like we robbed a bank. We can probably get an annulment if that’s what you want,” his eyes search mine, “and it’ll be like it never happened.”

I freeze mid-step, the words affecting me more than they should. Like it never happened.

“Emily, if that’s what you want, then I’ll agree.” Sam shrugs. “Look, last night was fantastic. But we’re both adults. Whatever you decide, we can handle this without letting it blow up our lives.”

The reminder of last night sends another wave of fragmented memories flashing through my mind—Sam’s laugh, his hands as he undressed me, the way his lips tasted like whiskey, and how it felt when he knelt between my thighs—

I shove the thoughts aside. “Fine,” I say, crossing my arms. “But let’s get one thing straight. This doesn’t leave Vegas. No one can know about this—especially my brother.”

Sam chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, because telling my best friend that I married his baby sister sounds like a great way to spend the weekend.”

“I’m serious, Sam!”

“Alright.” He says with a shrug. “Your secret’s safe with me, Cupcake.”

“I told you—stop calling me that!” I groan helplessly, the nickname grating on my already-frayed nerves.

He grins, clearly enjoying himself. “You loved it last night.”

My face burns, and I point an accusing finger at him. “Don’t you dare—“

“Relax.” He cuts me off, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. “I don’t remember everything, but I know enough to keep my mouth shut.”

“Good,” I mutter, grabbing my bag.

As we head toward the door, I suddenly pause, my hand hovering over the handle. “Do you think anyone saw us?” I ask uncertainly.

Sam arrogantly shrugs. “Who cares? We’re in Vegas. No one bats an eye at drunken weddings.”

I groan again, yanking the door open. “Let’s just go.”

The elevator ride is painfully quiet, save for the tinny music playing over the speakers. I keep my eyes trained on the glowing numbers, willing the car to descend faster.

“You’re tense,” Sam says, leaning casually against the wall.

I glance up at him, my jaw tight. “Gee, I wonder why.”

He chuckles, and I resist the urge to throttle him. How dare he look so relaxed and handsome when our entire lives are unraveling?

When the elevator dings, I practically bolt for the lobby. Sam follows at a leisurely pace, his hands stuffed in his pockets, a hat pulled low on his forehead.

“We should probably get coffee before we figure out the next step,” he suggests, his tone annoyingly cheerful.

“Coffee won’t fix this,” I snap, spinning around to face him.

“No,” he agrees, his smile sobering. “But it might help you stop looking like you’re about to implode.”

Frowning, I grudgingly follow him into the café.

The long line gives me plenty of time to stew in my thoughts. Sam, of course, strikes up a conversation with the pretty barista, charming her with his easy grin. She’s obviously a fan.

“Two coffees, black,” I curtly say when it’s our turn to order.

“And two blueberry muffins,” Sam adds, ignoring me.

“Really?” I hiss as we step aside to wait for our order.

“What?” He shrugs. “I’m starving.”

I roll my eyes but try to act patient while waiting for our order.

When our drinks are ready, we grab a corner table while I ignore the barista’s continued attempt to flirt with Sam. Taking a sip of the steaming liquid, I savor how it cuts through the fog in my brain.

Sam unwraps his muffin, taking a huge bite. “So,” he retorts around a mouthful of pastry, “what’s the plan?”

Setting my cup down, I level a haughty glare his way, ignoring his offered muffin. “We march straight to the courthouse, get an annulment, and forget this ever happened.”

“Simple enough,” he says, leaning back in his chair and helping himself to the second muffin.

I watch him take another bite of his pastry, unable to stop my gaze from lingering on his lips. His tongue darts out to catch a crumb, and my stomach flips as fading memories of what that tongue did last night flash through my mind. When I look up, his eyes are dark with knowing, and I quickly look away, hating how he can read me so easily.

“Emily, what if—“

“There is no what if,” I cut him off. “This was a mistake, Sam. A huge, colossal mistake.”

For the first time, his grin falters. He looks down at his coffee, his fingers drumming against the cup.

“I understand,” he states quietly. “But it wasn’t all bad, was it?”

His soft words catch me off guard. I open my mouth to respond but hesitate. Because the truth is, the parts I do remember—the attraction, the dancing, the sex—weren’t bad at all. He used the word fantastic, and I have to agree as more memories come flooding back. Certain parts of last night were incredible.

But admitting that feels like confessing to feelings I’m not ready for.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say finally, my voice resolute. “We need to get an annulment. Plain and simple.”

Sam nods, his expression unreadable. “Alright, Cupcake. Whatever you want.”

I whirl around and march out of the room, determined to get this handled as quickly as possible—because one thing is certain: I don’t know how much longer I can handle being Mrs. Sam Ryder.