8. Maya
8
Maya
“You’ll need to make an appointment to meet the County Recorder, and she’s not available today, but I can put in an order to have your marriage certificate sent by mail if you’d like.”
I rub my temples in frustration. “I need the marriage certificate now so I can get it annulled before I go back to California tomorrow.”
The Bar Association conference officially ended this afternoon, and I was supposed to catch a red-eye to San Diego, but since Easton wasn’t able to get this resolved earlier, we both rebooked our flights and extended our hotel reservations one more night. I’d rather this marriage in Vegas stay in Vegas.
“Well,” the front desk associate tsks, “the process to annul is a bit more complicated.”
“If we were so intoxicated that we didn’t realize we were married until we woke up this morning and found this,” I wave our souvenir copy in front of her, “I’d say that meets the criteria for an annulment.”
She looks entirely unsurprised. “She has an appointment available tomorrow at ten o’clock. If you feel you have grounds for an annulment, you can obtain the proper paperwork then.”
I turn to Easton, wondering if he can read the raging annoyance on my face. The sorry smile he offers me says he does, and he might be biting back an I told you so, because I’m having just as difficult of a time getting our godforsaken marriage certificate as he did.
“My flight doesn’t leave until two tomorrow, so I can come get the paperwork,” he says.
“I don’t leave until four.” I turn back to the worker. “Put us down for ten, then.”
Late afternoon sun blasts my face as I push through the doors leading out of the dark lobby of the Clerk’s office and into downtown Vegas.
“Well, what do you want to do tonight?” Easton asks as we scurry down the steps and toward the waiting cab by the curb.
“Sleep,” I mutter. He opens the door for me wordlessly, and I slide into the seat before he rounds the car to the other door.
“Have dinner with me,” he says as he shuffles in next to me.
“I don’t trust your judgment when it comes to operating in public anymore,” I murmur.
“We’re already married, Maya baby. It’s not like we could make things worse.”
“I could get pregnant.” The words leave my mouth before I’ve fully processed them, realizing the actual implication of my suggestion. My jaw clamps shut, and I feel warmth running up my neck and flushing my cheeks.
I glance at Easton, who has his bottom lip between his teeth, grinning with hooded eyes as he looks me up and down like he’d devour me whole in the back of this cab if I let him.
Sensation rushes south, settling in places that shouldn’t be on such high alert in this proximity to him. I shove against his shoulder with mine, hiding a smile of my own as I turn to stare out the window.
When we’re dropped off in front of our hotel, Easton opens my door, grasping my hand as he helps me out of my seat. He doesn’t let go as he leads us through the lobby and to the elevators.
“Have dinner with me tonight, please. No alcohol. No shenanigans. Just dinner.” He smiles, looping the curl at the base of one of my braids through his finger.
“Fine,” I relent as we ascend, coming to a stop at his floor.
He squeezes my hand one more time before leaning in, breath warm against my ear, whispering, “And I want to see my ring on your fucking finger.” His words send chills racing across my flesh, warmth gathering in my core. “Those pink heels too. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
He steps off the elevator, leaving me speechless as the doors shut and I begin to ascend once more.
“What the hell is this?” I ask as we walk through a set of double doors into a poorly lit restaurant with roaring noise. Children’s arcade games, I realize.
“I know you don’t like dark, loud, enclosed spaces,” Easton says, holding onto my hand. “But I think this could be fun. This place is known for having phenomenal appetizers, so we’re going to order one of each and choose our favorites, and then we’re going to have an air hockey competition.” He squeezes my palm. “But if it’s too much, we can go somewhere else.”
I squeeze back. “I can’t remember the last time I played arcade games.”
He glances down at me, offering a lopsided smile. “I figured.”
And Easton didn’t exaggerate. When we sat down at our table, he ordered us both a Shirley Temple and asked the waitress for one of everything on the appetizer menu. She had to move us from a bar top table to a booth to make enough space for the dozen plates that sit in front of us now. I’m stuffed to the brim, mostly with fried cheese.
Easton yawns, stretching his broad arms above his head, his tee riding up just enough to give me a glimpse of his stomach. I never got to see him shirtless all those years ago, and I feel it was a disservice to the experience. I’d like to see him fully, touch him—taste him—everywhere.
“You ready, Maya baby?” he asks, breaking me from my erotic, intrusive thoughts.
You have no place thinking about your husband that way.
But fuck, he is beautiful. He has a gruff exterior, tall, toned muscles that come from an active lifestyle but not necessarily a gym membership. I know Easton grew up surfing in the small Oregon town where he was raised. He snowboarded extensively through college and loved to hike on the weekends. He’d invited me numerous times, but I never took him up on the offer. His jaw is covered in a short beard—he always grew it out the same way, and sometimes, I swear, I can still remember the way it felt against my inner thighs. His thin lips are still pillow-like in softness against my skin, a contradiction to the roughness of his other features. Just like his eyes. They radiate kindness and care, even when he tries to hide it.
His hands are no different, and I watch them now as he lowers them to the table, reaching for the check. Thick veins run up the backs of them, his fingers long and wide. I’ve always had a thing for a man’s hands. I think you can tell a lot about someone by their hands. Their size, their roughness, their cleanliness—Easton Mason’s hands tell me they know exactly how to handle a woman.
“I’m going to fucking destroy you tonight, Maya baby.”
I’m still staring at his hands when those words echo right through my core, lighting sparks and setting fire inside me. I inhale swiftly, loud enough for him to pause, eyes bugging as he replays the words in his mind.
“I meant at air hockey.”
Unfortunately, I know.
I swallow, feeling my entire body flush with heat. Tension and time hang heavily between us, and I watch Easton’s eyes dilate as he studies the reaction in my body. I lick my lips while he bites his, nostrils flaring like he can sense the arousal pooling between my thighs.
“I think…maybe…”
“You want to go back now?”
I nod furiously.
“Yeah,” he agrees breathlessly. “Works for me.” He slips cash into the booklet before setting it on the edge of the table, standing and reaching a hand out. “Let’s get going, wifey.”
I slip my palm into his as he leads me out of the arcade and through the casino until we’re back on the Strip. It’s not quite dark yet, but the sun has set low enough that the lights of Vegas twinkle against the orange and pink shades of the sky above our heads, casting the world around us in a plethora of color.
Easton doesn’t let go of my hand as we stroll past the Bellagio fountains. Groups of people are beginning to congregate in front of them. I glance down at our joined fingers, liking the way they look together. The ring I know must’ve cost him a fortune blinks brightly back at me.
“We need to return these,” I say, nodding down at mine and then to where the one he wears rests on his left hand. I checked my bank statements earlier today, and I know damn well his didn’t cost as much as mine did, but I imagine wearing them out all day today didn’t do either of us any favors when it comes to returning them later. “Hopefully, they’ll still let us.”
“Is being married to me so bad?” he muses, slowing our pace to a leisurely walk.
“What do you mean?”
He pulls us into a small alcove off the sidewalk in front of the fountains, taking us away from the crowd and noise. Backing me against the wall separating us from the water, he cages me in, placing his hands on the concrete behind me. “You’ve been married to me for one full day. Is it the worst thing in the world?”
His eyes are soft, almost pleading. Blue pools of desperation beg for my approval. I don’t know why it means so much to him, why I mean so much to him, but I’m honest when I whisper, “No, not even a little.” He smiles in a way that has my heart leaping into my throat. “But this isn’t real life.”
Easton drops his head, nose nearly skimming mine. I watch his eyes fall shut as he murmurs against my mouth, “What if we pretended it was? Just for tonight?”
The question causes my own eyes to flutter closed, soaking in his warmth and voice and aura. I’m enveloped in all his senses, and I don’t want to let it go either.
“Like an experiment?” I ask, my voice coming out hoarse, strained from the struggle of holding my reaction to him at bay.
“Sure.” He laughs quietly.
The sound of it caresses my searing skin, and it’s instinct to arch my back, pressing myself into him. One of his hands comes off the wall and grasps my waist as his lips tickle my cheek.
“How do we do that?”
He pulls away, smiling down at me, and I’m suddenly relocating my senses. I’d become completely unaware of the environment around us—not the cool air or the night sky or the bright lights.
“Let’s say we’d gotten real life married and had a traditional reception.” He twirls one of the long braids framing my face around his pointer finger. “What song would we have danced to?”
I snort. “I have no idea.”
He leans back, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. “There is a song, and the first time I heard it, every time I’ve listened to it since…” He opens his music app before snagging his AirPods from his pocket . “I’ve thought of you.” He places one in his ear, handing the other to me. “So, this is what I’d dance to.”
I tilt my head in curious amusement, popping the bud into my ear. The soft melody of ‘Pretty Boy’ by The Neighbourhood floats through the speaker, drowning out everything around us, sealing Easton and me firmly inside this bubble of easy bliss.
“I love this song.” I laugh.
I thought about him the first time I’d heard it, and now, I can’t help but wonder if he was doing the same thing at the same moment. If we sat on opposite sides of the country, reminiscing on what could’ve been—the one that got away.
There are too many coincidences between Easton and I not to believe fate played some small role in our meeting and our reconnecting, I’m not sure it’d be farfetched to believe we could’ve discovered this evocative melody at the same time.
I let my head drop against his warm chest, snaking my arms around his neck and clasping them behind it. With my movement, both of his hands land on my waist, gripping me tightly as he turns me from the wall, swaying in circles around our small bay as the fountains erupt behind us.
I know some other music plays in the distance, I know the water is lit in color and crowds cheer around us, but none of it exists to me. There is only Easton. I’m lost in his touch, his voice, his scent.
“Sometimes, I think we hardly know each other, but other parts of me feel as if I’ve known you all my life,” I admit softly.
His breath tickles the top of my head as he chuckles. “All I know is I liked you a hell of a lot when I was twenty-one, and I like you even more at thirty-one.” If I’m not mistaken, I feel his lips press a kiss into my hair. “I don’t think it’d be a stretch to believe I could like you all my life.” “You know,” I muse, “that might’ve been the riskiest thing I’ve ever done, what we did in the library.”
“Until you married me.”
I look up at him, laughing. “Until I married you. You make me risky.”
“Sometimes, I feel like an imposter. A wanderer.” Easton sighs, his eyes going distant when he looks beyond me, though his grip tightens, as if I’m anchoring him. “I’m not that passionate about what I do. It just felt like what I should do. It felt like it would be easier to do this than be a doctor,” he shrugs, “and for some reason, I thought those were my only two options.”
“Why?”
He drops his head, offering me soft eyes. “The two most influential men in my life are a lawyer and a doctor, and I guess I’ve always wanted to be like them. I don’t know. But I’m not passionate about it. It doesn’t feel like purpose.” His lips tilt upward. “But when I watch you…it does. I like your determination, your ambition. It makes me want to work harder myself.” I feel his hands tensing in the fabric of my dress, like he’s hanging onto me. “That’s why I loved being around you in college. You were the only thing that made me care. But I think you can be wound a little tight sometimes, and I don’t know…” Easton smirks, those soft eyes becoming a smolder. “I like being the person to unwind you.”
“More like unravel me,” I murmur.
He bites his lip in that familiar way that makes me melt, sliding his hands up my back and over my shoulders. “Well, I like unraveling you.” “I still like your hands,” I breathe as he brings them to my face, cupping my cheeks and tilting my head toward his.
The music still flows through our ears, though it feels more like the song runs through both of our chests, the thrumming of each chord a tether binding us together.
Easton’s gaze bounces between my lips and my eyes, searching for permission. Throwing all my cautious nature into the breeze that is the man standing in front of me, I tangle my fingers in the hair behind his head and pull his mouth to mine.
A surprised groan escapes him, and he opens for me, allowing my tongue to slip into his mouth and dance with his. He tightens his hold on me, forcing my back to arch and our bodies together. There’s no space between us, and yet, I desperately want to be closer.
It’s a hunger I’ve never felt with anyone else, something dormant for years, suddenly reawakened by his touch. I don’t know how to make sense of it, and at this moment, I don’t think I want to. As Easton’s mouth moves against mine and he lifts my feet off the ground, hoisting me into his arms, his hands on my hips, I feel everything . I’m hyper-aware of where his skin meets mine, of the way he tastes, and the pounding of my heart where it presses against his. All I want is more of it, more sensation and feeling. I want to be lost in his hands and tied up in his body, entwined with his soul.
“Easton,” I breathe into his mouth. “Take me back to my room. Take me to bed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The laugh he lets out against my lips is a salacious promise. “But you’re getting the wife treatment tonight.”
“Hmm,” I muse, nipping at his skin. “You better deliver on that.”
“I always do, Maya, baby.”