Chapter 2
What Happens In Vegas…
? Vegas - Erin Kinsey
Griffin
I’ve always been the impulsive brother, but this takes the cake.
Fuck, she’s radiant.
I can’t take my eyes off her.
How did we get here?
One minute, I’m winning a shit ton of money at blackjack, and the next, I’m standing across from Angelina Rossi in a little white wedding chapel.
“Do you, Angelina Thalia Rossi, take Griffin Ryder Hayes to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
How does he know my full name?
Oh. Right. The marriage license.
The marriage license we picked up at the courthouse an hour ago.
The marriage license I signed with my own hand. Of my own free will. Maybe not in my right mind, but I’m not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth.
“I do.” She slides a gold band onto my ring finger.
It’s nothing fancy, but it came with the wedding package, and I won’t turn down anything that tells the world this woman is mine.
“And do you, Griffin Ryder Hayes—”
I don’t even let the man finish speaking. “I do.”
I slip a matching diamond-encrusted band onto her left hand and lace her fingers with mine.
Angie giggles, swaying in her heels.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
She trembles as our eyes meet across the narrow aisle. Tentatively, as if her feet are moving of their own accord, she takes one step closer, closing the distance. Her chest rises and falls in time with mine. It’s so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.
I shouldn’t do this. She’s supposed to be marrying Tyler. I’m just the best man.
Her lips twitch into an uncontrollable smile, and whatever force was holding me back crumbles to dust.
Fuck it.
The kiss happens in slow motion, or maybe I’m too drunk to remember what the normal passage of time feels like.
I slide one hand around her soft waist and pull her body flush against mine.
The first brush of our lips feels like destiny, the second feels like coming home, and then I’m losing all control. To hell with the consequences.
I dip her backward, deepening the kiss.
She moans into my mouth, and I take the opportunity to slide my tongue against hers. She tastes like margaritas and monumental missteps.
What am I doing?
This is Angelina. The woman who, not twelve hours ago, was getting ready to pledge herself to my best friend. Still, I can’t seem to muster up a single fuck where Tyler is concerned. He fucked up, and he can live with the consequences.
I reluctantly break away from the kiss, but I don’t let her go. Not yet. I’ve waited years to have her in my arms again, and I’m going to savor this moment for as long as she’ll let me.
I’m distantly aware of the officiant speaking.
Angie pushes out of my hold and takes a paper from him.
The marriage certificate.
Christ. We really did it. I married Angelina Rossi.
“Griff?”
I blink, coming back to reality. “Hm?”
“It’s over. We can go now.”
“Right.”
Angie tugs on my hand and leads me out the door like a woman on a mission, and I’m content to go along for the ride.
The bright city lights assault me as we step out onto the street, accompanied by the mingling sounds of traffic whooshing by, the distant bells from slot machines, and chattering crowds.
It’s a far cry from small-town Oak Ridge, that’s for damn sure.
“We’re married,” she says, like she’s testing out the words.
“Yep.”
“We’re married.”
“Mhm.”
She jumps up and down, head tilted to the sky. “We’re fucking married!”
“Ok, wifey. Let’s go before someone calls the cops.”
She jerks her chin forward, and her sparkly heart-shaped glasses from the gift shop tumble onto her face. She pushes them up her nose and smiles at me.
Fuck. She’s cute when she’s tipsy.
“Let’s go do touristy shit,” she says.
I smile. “Because getting married in a shotgun wedding wasn’t touristy enough for you?”
“Oh, come on. Let’s go to the Vegas sign. It’s like two blocks that way.” She grabs my hand and starts to drag me along with her, but her heel catches on a crack in the pavement, and she nearly tumbles to the ground.
“Ok, clumsy girl. No more walking for you.”
Angie squeals as I bend and toss her over my shoulder, but she doesn’t fight me.
She pats my back and says, “Turn left.”
Angelina
I wake the next morning to the distant sound of a door opening and closing. My mouth is dry like sandpaper. With a groan, I rub at my temples, trying to soothe the dull ache radiating from them.
“Good morning, wife. Did you sleep well?”
Is that—
I peek one eye open, half convinced I’m still asleep.
Griffin.
I hold up my left hand. Where Tyler’s engagement ring once sat, there’s now a dainty gold band with diamonds encircling it.
It wasn’t a dream?
“Nope.”
“Did I say that out loud?”
“Mhm.”
I sniff the air, inhaling the unmistakable scents of fresh coffee and—“Pancakes.”
My stomach growls violently.
I throw back the covers and stand on wobbly legs, bringing myself face to face with Griffin Hayes.
It should be criminal to look this good in the morning.
He’s in a pair of grey sweatpants and a plain white shirt.
It’s wrinkled as if he threw it on at the last second to answer the door for room service.
He runs his fingers through his loose, wavy hair, and a memory of the night before flashes across my vision: Griffin standing on the balcony staring out at the skyline with a bottle of champagne, his golden brown tresses blowing in the breeze.
I rub my hand over his back, and he leans down to kiss my forehead.
My heart squeezes at the reminder of his unexpected tenderness in the moments before he stripped me bare and fucked me over the railing on that very balcony as I cried out his name in ecstasy.
I glance down at my bare legs. I’m wearing a man’s dress shirt. Bringing the collar to my nose, I inhale Griffin’s familiar masculine scent.
Another memory flashes.
I’m up against the wall again, only this isn’t five years ago. It’s last night. Griffin is thrusting inside of me as my fingernails dig into his shoulders. I can still feel him inside of me now, a dull ache pulsing between my thighs.
A jumbled mix of images flickers like an old movie reel. Room service: chocolate-covered strawberries and a bottle of bourbon. He pulls on the tie holding my robe closed as I lie back, then he pours the cool liquid down my chest and licks a path from my belly button all the way up my sternum.
His gruff voice brings me out of the salacious memory. “I can see the wheels turning from over here. Come sit down and have breakfast with me.”
I pad over to the small round table near the floor-to-ceiling windows and take a seat as I peer out over the Las Vegas skyline.
“It’s prettier at night,” Griffin says as he pours me a cup of coffee. “Do you remember?”
I scan the room as more pieces of the night before come back to me in waves. My robe is draped over a chair, a pair of heart-shaped glasses on the seat, and my shoes are strewn across the floor, as if I hastily kicked them off.
“So, we’re…”
“Married? Yes. Or so you said about a million times last night.”
I pause with a forkful of pancakes halfway to my mouth. Everything’s a bit fuzzy after the stripper show. My cheeks heat.
Oh god, the stripper show.
“Ah, so she does remember,” he says.
I swallow around a bite and cover my mouth with my hand. “You were just as drunk as I was.”
“Lucky for me, memory loss isn’t something I experience with my hangovers. I couldn’t forget last night even if I wanted to.”
“Do you want to?” I ask.
“Fuck no. Best night of my goddamn life, Angel.”
I know he’s teasing, but a distant, foolish part of me wishes he weren’t. It wouldn’t be the first time I fell for his empty words only to be disappointed.
He sets his mug on the table and stands. “I have to get going. My flight leaves soon.”
“Shouldn’t we talk about this?”
“Later. Can’t miss my flight.” He casually presses his lips to the top of my head, robbing me of the argument I had at the ready.
I can’t help but stare as he throws on a black hoodie and picks up his duffel bag near the door. “See you in Oak Ridge, wife.”
As the door snicks closed, I lean my elbows on the table and cover my face with my hands. “Shit. What have I done? What if Tyler finds out... Do I care?”
I pick up my phone and scroll through hundreds of images from my drunken night in Vegas.
I look… happy. Happier than I have in a long time.
Before I can think better of it, I select a photo of me hanging off Griffin’s back with my heart-shaped glasses on, holding out my ring finger with the Welcome to Las Vegas sign in the background, and I set it as my screen saver.
I swipe over to my social media account to make sure drunken Angie didn’t do something stupid like hard launch her marriage to the best man at her wedding, only to be sucker punched in the gut instead. Drunk Angie didn’t do anything, but sober Tyler did.
There’s a photo taken from an airplane window posted only minutes ago. I don’t even have to read the caption to know he’s on his way to Mexico for our honeymoon.
Without me.
Anger bubbles up, and a single tear falls against Griffin’s shirt. Much to my dismay, I’ve always been an angry crier. I hate it. It makes me feel weak and vulnerable, even though I’m pissed as hell.
I swipe away the angry tears and finish my breakfast. As soon as I found Tyler’s note, I booked my flight home the next day.
I have a few hours before I have to be at the airport, but no part of me wants to wait around in the honeymoon suite, so I pack up my things—including the marriage certificate and my unused wedding gown—and head down to the lobby to wait for my Uber.
Part of me wants to hop a flight to Europe, to hell with Tyler, but I have to go home and see what kind of mess he’s left behind. I wouldn’t put it past him to toss my stuff out on the lawn, even though the house is legally mine.
Then there’s Griffin.
Fuck my life.
Maybe I should flee the country.