10. What Happens in Vegas. Doesn’t Actually Stay There
WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS... DOESN'T ACTUALLY STAY THERE
DAVINA
After breakfast, Dallas and I met up with everyone for a few drinks and a late lunch, without anyone knowing we were now married. By the time we made it back, we had an hour until sunset, and I needed to shower and get ready to meet the girls for the bachelorette party.
Steam filled the bathroom as I opened the shower door, grabbed a towel off the heated rack, and wrapped it around myself, tucking the corner in.
I swiped my hand across the foggy mirror and stared at my reflection. “So much for what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” I muttered, glancing at the diamond band sitting on the counter. This whole situation was beyond cliché. Get trashed, get married, wake up to a naked man in Vegas.
I was still working out how to process any of this when the bathroom door swung open.
Dallas, all six foot four of him, walked in wearing a hotel bathrobe that wasn't doing much to stay closed.
I gripped my towel tighter. “What the hell, Dallas?”
“What?” He grabbed his toothbrush off the counter. “I need to brush my teeth.”
“That's great, but I'm in here right now,” I said, trying to sound authoritative while standing in nothing but a towel with my hair dripping cold water down my back.
He shrugged, looking annoyingly amused. “I don't mind. That's what married couples do, right? Share bathrooms and shit.”
“Dallas Dodger...” My voice came out as a warning, though the effect was somewhat diminished by the fact that I was backing into the corner, wedged between the shower door and a towel rack.
“Speaking of last names,” he cut me off, flipping on the water to the sink as his gaze met mine through the mirror. “Davina Dodger has a nice ring to it.”
“D…” I started to scream, but caught myself when I realized he'd used my actual name instead of Davidson. “Dallas, we are not really married.”
He huffed out a laugh as he leaned over the sink, his bathrobe gaping dangerously.
“We are really married. There's a whole ass marriage certificate sitting out there with both our names on it.” His gaze locked with mine in the mirror again, one eyebrow arched in challenge. “You signed it. It's legit.”
“You know what I mean,” I said, trying and failing to sound calm. “There's no reason to discuss last names when this is all temporary.” I shoved against his immovable form. “And we do not do things that married couples do because this is fake. F-A-K-E. A business arrangement.”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest and straight into my increasingly frazzled nervous system.
“Okay, whatever you say, Davidson.” He held his hands up like he was surrendering, though his expression suggested he was winning a game I didn't know we were playing.
“But we are going to have to kiss again at some point.”
“We've already kissed,” I groaned, trying not to notice how his lips curved into a perfect bow. “It was so unimpressive that I can't even remember it. No need for a repeat performance.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you're kind of cute when you're all worked up?” He leaned closer. “Your left eye does this little twitchy thing right... here.” He brushed his thumb just below my eye, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“No. Get. Out. Dallas.” I shoved my whole arm toward the door, pointing with such force I nearly dislocated my shoulder.
He backed away, still looking amused. “Okay. I know when I'm not wanted.”
He clearly did not believe that.
I frantically yanked on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt before I flung open the bathroom door and stepped back into the hotel room. “Now...” My voice died in my throat as my gaze locked on Dallas's bare, muscular back, as he stood by the bed buttoning his pants.
God clearly had a twisted sense of humor. Giving such a beautiful man such an insufferable personality.
“Like what you see, Davidson?” he asked without turning.
“For the love of all that is holy...” I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache forming behind my eyes. “My name is Davina. Da-vi-na. Three syllables even your oversized ego should be able to handle.”
He turned, revealing abs, and smirked.
“I think we need to set some ground rules,” I said, looking at his face and only his face.
“Good idea,” he said. “We should set some ground rules for tonight.”
“Ground rules,” I repeated, my face pinching with confusion. “For tonight.”
He walked toward me. “Since we're married...”
“We are not married,” I said automatically.
He huffed out an exaggerated sigh that made his chest rise and fall. “We are married.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out my wedding ring. “And we have to act like it.”
He grabbed my right hand, his touch gentler than I expected, and slipped the ring onto my finger. “You can wear it on this hand until we get back to Florida.” He released my hand and pulled his ring off, slipping it onto his opposite hand.
“Even though we agreed not to tell our friends right now, we still need to act married to some extent. Our marriage license is public record and was signed yesterday.”
“Shit.”
“When this all goes public, and it will,” he said, his voice taking on a seriousness I wasn't used to from him, “that's the first thing that will surface, and I don't think either of us wants to be caught on camera doing something...”
“Something that would ruin our fake marriage,” I finished.
“We want to end this marriage on our own terms,” he added, studying me.
“If you're worried about me cheating on you, don't,” I said, attempting to lighten the mood. “Big dick energy, remember?”
He laughed, genuinely this time. “Right.”
“So we both come back here alone,” I said.
“Deal.” He held out his hand.
I took it. His palm was warm, and I felt it more than I should have.
“I'm heading out to meet Matt and James,” he said, picking up his phone from the table. He stared at the black screen for a second. “We should probably exchange numbers.”
“What? Why?” I asked, blinking rapidly. “Are you afraid I'll get lost between here and the elevator? It's a straight shot. Even I can manage that level of navigation.”
He cut me a look that was half amusement, half exasperation. “Because we are married.”
“Is that going to be your answer for every question I ask?” I challenged, crossing my arms over my chest. “What time is it? We're married. Where should we eat? We're married. What's the meaning of life? We're married.”
He nodded, dimples making a brief appearance. “Probably. It's convenient and technically accurate.” He handed me his phone. “Put your number in. Unless you want me to ask the concierge to send up a carrier pigeon when I need to reach you.”
I took it, opened his contacts, started typing D-a-v-i-n-a, then deleted it and typed Davidson instead.
We swapped phones back. Our fingers brushed.
“Promise you'll call if you guys get into any trouble tonight,” he said, his voice dropping to a register that did interesting things to my insides, like they were rearranging themselves to better accommodate the sound.
“Trouble.” I almost laughed, the sound catching in my throat. “Like getting drunk and marrying your arch nemesis? I think I've hit my quota.”
The corner of his lips quirked up, and he stepped into my space, our bodies nearly flush with each other.
“No.” He lowered his voice to a seductive tone I'd never heard before.
“You're already married.” His hands curled around my waist, his fingers spread wide, and I suddenly couldn't think straight, my brain offering nothing but static like a TV channel off-air.
“I mean, if anyone touches my wife.” He leaned down, letting the heat of his breath feather across my lips. “You let me know.”
I swallowed hard, the protective-husband spiel melting my insides like chocolate left in a hot car, sending a wave of heat straight to my core. The intensity in his eyes made me think he was going to kiss me, and for a horrifying moment, I realized I wanted him to.
Instead, he straightened and took a step back, leaving me feeling like I'd been standing too close to a fire and suddenly been pushed into the cold.
“See you tonight, wifey,” he called over his shoulder as he headed for the door, the sun from the windows highlighting the confident set of his shoulders.
As the door closed behind him, I collapsed onto the nearest chair, my legs suddenly unreliable.
“This is fine,” I told the empty room. “Everything is completely fine.”