11. Mr. & Mrs. Accidentally Married
MR. & MRS. ACCIDENTALLY MARRIED
DALLAS
I leaned against the bar's sticky brass rail, nursing my second whiskey while the bass thumped through my chest.
On the elevated platforms, dancers in sequined bikinis danced to the beat of the music. Their performances commanded the attention of nearly every guy in the place, myself excluded.
We'd been here for hours. Matt and James were both three sheets to the wind, sailing toward a fourth. I was ready to call it a night three hours ago, right around the time fangirl number forty-seven shoved a Sharpie at me and requested I autograph her right ass cheek.
“Dallas!” Matt's voice cut through Pitbull's eighth appearance of the night, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough to slosh my whiskey. “Man, you look like you're waiting in line at the DMV.”
“I'm taking it all in,” I lied. “Absorbing the ambiance.”
“The ambiance smells like Axe body spray,” James muttered, appearing at Matt's elbow.
Truth was, I couldn't focus on anything but the memory of Davina wearing nothing but that white towel and the water droplets trailing down her collarbone. My wife of not even a full twenty-four hours.
The word wife kept ricocheting around my skull. I should be freaking out. Full-blown, hyperventilating-into-a-paper-bag freaking out. But I wasn't. The fact that the marriage was fake took the pressure off, like playing poker with Monopoly money. Knowing the endgame was divorce made it sit easier.
Then there was the bride herself. The fact that she was so worked up about our accidental marriage made it more enjoyable for me.
“Yo, is that a new ring?” Matt squinted at my right hand. “That looks just like my wedd…”
My heart stopped. Full cardiac arrest.
“It was my dad's,” I cut him off, maybe a bit too quickly. I hated lying to Matt, but I didn't want to hijack his weekend and make it about Davina and me. That felt worse than this little white lie. “My mom gave it to me after he passed.”
Which wasn't exactly a lie. My mom had given me my dad's wedding ring when he died. It just wasn't this one. This one I'd pulled from... honestly, I had no idea.
Matt's mouth opened, probably to ask more questions I absolutely could not answer, but I steamrolled ahead.
“Any idea what the girls are up to tonight?” I kept my tone neutral, like I was asking about the weather and definitely not fishing for information about what my accidental wife was doing right this second.
“When did we become such lightweights?” Matt slurred. “We used to close these places down. Now look at us. It's not even midnight, and I can't feel my face.”
“That might be the tequila shots from an hour ago,” I offered helpfully.
“Welcome to married life, brother,” James added, slapping Matt on the back. “This is your future. Home by eleven, in bed by eleven-thirty, asleep by eleven-thirty-one.”
“We…” I gestured emphatically at myself, nearly knocking over a woman's cosmopolitan in the process, “...are not included in that domestic equation. Any of that. I closed the bars down last night.” I decided to leave out that I was so black out drunk that I married a woman who didn’t even like me.
Matt moved to lean against a nearby stool and completely missed, stumbling forward like someone had yanked the carpet out from under him.
“Shit…” he mumbled, catching himself on James's shoulder and taking them both down about three inches before they stabilized. James grunted under the sudden weight.
“Okay,” I said, setting down my glass. “We're calling it a night before someone ends up in the hospital. Or jail. Or on someone's Instagram story.”
“But the night is young!” Matt protested.
“The night is drunk,” I corrected. “It’s not the same.”
It was after midnight when I shoved open the door to my hotel room, hoping to find Davina, and I was disappointed when I found the hotel room empty.
My jacket hit the chair, and I pulled out my phone, stared at the blank screen for ten seconds, before scrolling through my contacts looking for Davina…
Strange… There was no Davina. I started to think that maybe she didn’t add her info when it hit me…
Davidson… I scrolled up and bingo. There it was.
Smiling… I opened a new text.
Dallas: Where are you?
Three dots appeared immediately. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Davidson: Out.
Dallas: Out where?
Davidson: Did you hit your head at the club? We're not actually married, Dallas. You don't get to track my location like I'm a FedEx package.
I shouldn't have smiled at that. I definitely shouldn't have felt the knot in my chest loosen.
Dallas: Just making sure my WIFE is safe. That's what a good HUSBAND does.
Davidson: Your FAKE wife is perfectly fine without her FAKE husband's fake concern.
Dallas: It's after midnight. In Vegas.
Davidson: Thank you, Captain Obvious. I can tell time.
I sat on the edge of the bed, popping open a couple of buttons on my shirt with one hand while typing with the other.
Dallas: Humor me. Where are you?
Davidson: At a casino.
Dallas: Which casino?
Davidson: Planet Hollywood. Kali’s up $300 at roulette and won't leave. Brooke’s gone through four cosmos and is making friends with a bachelorette party from Ohio. We're having a great time, HUSBAND. No need for a welfare check.
I glanced at my watch. Planet Hollywood was about a five-minute walk from the Bellagio.
Dallas: You've been drinking.
Davidson: Groundbreaking observation. It's a bachelorette party in Vegas. Should I have been sipping herbal tea?
Dallas: How are you getting back?
The three dots took longer this time.
Davidson: We'll walk. Eventually.
Dallas: I'll come get you.
Davidson: Hard pass.
Dallas: Davina.
Davidson: Dallas. We're FINE. I'm a grown woman who's been handling Vegas just fine way before you accidentally married me. I don't need a babysitter.
Dallas: Not a babysitter. A husband.
Davidson: FAKE husband. The word is FAKE. Should I text it a few more times so it really sinks in? F-A-K-E.
I was already grabbing my keycard.
Dallas: Send me your location.
I didn't need her location. I could find her with the information I had, but I wanted to see if she'd do it.
Davidson: Why?
Dallas: Because I'm either picking you up or I'm coming there and making a scene. I'll start calling you sweetness really loud. Maybe pumpkin.
The three dots appeared and disappeared four times. Five. Six. I could practically see her weighing her options: deal with me now, or deal with me embarrassing her in front of everyone in Vegas while calling her ridiculous pet names.
Davidson: You're the most annoying person I've ever met.
Dallas: You married me.
Davidson: BY ACCIDENT. I was blackout drunk. You could have been literally anyone.
Dallas: Still counts. Location. Now.
A pin dropped into our conversation. Planet Hollywood, just like she'd said.
Dallas: Be there in 5.
Davidson: I'm only agreeing to this because Kali’s had too much to drink and someone needs to make sure she doesn't blow her mortgage on red 23.
Dallas: Keep telling yourself that, wifey.
Davidson: I hate you.
Dallas: No, you don't.
I pocketed my phone before she could respond, already heading for the door.
My reflection caught in the elevator's mirrored walls, hair messed up from running my hands through it, and that damn ring still on my right hand.
I itched to switch it back to my left, but I knew if I did, Brooke would spot it.
My phone buzzed.
Davidson: And for the record, if you embarrass me, our fake divorce is going to become very real very quickly.
Dallas: Noted. See you soon, sweetheart.
Davidson: Don't call me that.
Dallas: Whatever you say, honey.
Davidson: I'm blocking your number.
Dallas: No, you're not.
She didn't respond to that, and we both knew that meant I was right.
The elevator doors opened to the lobby, and I stepped out into the chaos of a Friday night in Vegas, tourists stumbling in from clubs, couples heading out for late dinners, and an Elvis impersonator taking a smoke break by the entrance.
My fake wife was waiting at a casino, probably rolling her eyes at her phone right now, and I was heading to pick her up like this was totally normal.
I should've been freaking out.
Instead, I was smiling like an idiot.