Chapter 3

Becky

10:09 AM THURSDAY

I met Persephone Owens during my first-ever college party, an occasion on which she saved my life.

Of course, the way Percy tells it, she didn’t realize I was choking on beer from a keg stand gone wrong. No, Percy thought I was motioning for her to come make out with me. She just ended up giving me the Heimlich on top of mouth-to-mouth in the process.

We’ve been friends ever since.

I pick my way through empty beer bottles and broken glass as I rush to the sound of Percy’s voice bellowing from a bedroom:

“MY PUBES! HOLY FUCK, MY PUBES!”

In the attached bathroom, I find Percy laying in the bathtub, handcuffed to the hot water tap. She’s wearing a bikini top, a fez, and more curves than I can count.

And yeah, her pubes are definitely aflame, probably thanks to the fact that she smells like she bathed in vodka last night and there’s a smoldering cigar rolling around on the edge of the tub.

“Fuck’s sake, Percy!” I grab a half-finished can of Red Bull off the bathroom counter and dump it on her. Percy sighs and relaxes in relief as the flames are extinguished. “And they call me a fire-crotch.”

“That’s the last time I fall asleep smoking,” Percy says.

I snort. Like I haven’t heard that one before.

“Percy, what the fuck did we do last night?”

“No idea.” Percy scratches her head with her free hand then sets about dislocating the fingers of her cuffed one. The cuff slides right off and brings back a wave of nostalgia with it. Last time I saw her do that, we were in the back of a police car during spring break. “But shit, I’m hungover this morning.”

She lets out a roaring burp that reverberates within my own head like a thousand hammers on a kettle drum.

“That makes two of us,” I wince, tossing her a towel.

“Nice tiara, slut,” Percy says back, catching it.

In the kitchen, Not Dan is still totally there, totally naked and, yeah—still totally gorgeous.

And still totally off limits.

“Fuck me,” Percy swears as she lays eyes on him. “That’s an open offer, by the way.”

“Sorry, love,” Not Dan says, sliding her over a cup of coffee. “I’m a married man.”

Oh god. A married man. That makes it, like, a billion times worse.

“He says I slept with him last night,” I hiss at Percy when his back is turned.

“Nice,” she hisses back, slapping me on my ass.

“No, not nice! Bad, Percy! So bad!”

“Oh. Does that mean I can fuck him then, or—”

“Did I not tell you to leave?” I ask Not Dan, who is currently doing dishes while we gawk at his perfect ass.

“Doubt it,” he says over his shoulder in that sexy British accent of his. “Women tend to prefer me coming rather than going.”

“I’d prefer you gone,” I say, turning to Percy again. “What happened to Sammi? Mysti May?”

“Present,” a slurred little Texan voice pipes up from behind the kitchen island. Mysti May emerges in all of her blue-eyed, blonde-haired glory, looking topless, sticky and well-fucked.

“Coffee,” Not Dan says, wheeling around to her with a mug. I can’t help but notice that he doesn’t look at her tits—though he makes a point of admiring mine, even as I cross my arms over them in a huff.

“Well, aren’t you just sweet as pie?” Mysti May gratefully accepts the coffee, then looks down at her bare chest. “So…just wondering…do y’all know why I’m so sticky?”

Percy and I both eyeball Mysti May’s exposed torso, which is completely smeared with unidentifiable white stuff.

“Could be cum,” Percy suggests.

Mysti May pulls a face and lowers her mouth to lick her shoulder.

“Whipped cream,” she verifies.

“Well, you smell like pussy,” says Percy.

“Perhaps something to do with the showgirls?” Not Dan suggests helpfully.

“Leave,” I hiss at him, but he only chuckles and returns to dish duty.

Because of course he does dishes. Dan doesn’t even know how to work the dishwasher.

Percy and I peer over the kitchen island and spy three showgirls still passed out at Mysti May’s feet. They’re in various states of undress, and also covered in whipped cream.

“Guess we know what you did last night,” Percy says, winking at Mysti May.

“More like who you did,” I add, even though my own supposed shame-fuck is still walking around the apartment nude, so I can’t really talk.

“I would never,” Mysti May swears. “For one thing, I’m happily married to Alfonso, as you’ll recall—”

Percy and I both groan. Alfonso is Mysti May’s husband, and I don’t think she’s gone an hour without mentioning him yet this trip.

“And for another, I’m simply not into women,” Mysti May adds. “That’s just not how we do things in Texas.”

“But what happens in Vegas…” Percy smirks, pausing to take a huge gulp of her coffee. “Stays out of Texas. Bitchin’ coffee, by the way.”

Not Dan turns and flashes her a billion dollar grin.

“Okay,” I say, putting a hand to my throbbing head and thinking fast. “We need to figure out what happened last night before I like, lose my fucking shit. You two—” I look at my two blonde, half-naked bridesmaids and sigh. Where the fuck is Sammi? She’s the level-headed one of us. She’ll know what to do. “Find Sammi. Figure out what the hell happened last night. I’ll take care of…”

Our eyes collectively slide back over to the mighty fine ass of Not Dan at the sink.

“Yeah,” Percy says, smacking my ass again. “I bet you will.”

We break. Percy and Mysti May disappear to hunt down Sammi, and I step over the three showgirls to try and convince Not Dan to get the fuck out of my suite before, well—

Before I either break down crying out of shame or whatever drugs I must have done last night kick back in, and I throw myself at him again.

He turns away from the sink as I come to his side. He’s still got a massive hard-on—and there’s not a woman alive who wouldn’t be happy to watch a man like him doing chores for her.

But if he’s after a tip, I can’t oblige.

“So, love.” He’s smiling at me, and for a moment, I let myself drown in those blue eyes. “Have you changed your mind about that quickie, then?”

I roll my eyes, which unleashes giant waves of pain in my fucking head. Note to self: keep body movements this morning to a minimum.

“I think you should put on some clothes on leave.” I try to sound polite, firm, and in charge of the situation.

Truth is, I’m fucking none of those things. Any second I’ll dissolve into tears, and then I’ll just be a blubbering mess.

Dan once said something about his belief in my ability to make good choices.

This guy, though? He’s got bad choice written all over him.

“I heard you the first time, love,” he says, drying his hands on a dish towel. “It’s just not a message I want to hear.”

“And what is it that you think you’re going to hear from me?”

He shrugs. “Something about how you’ll have mad, passionate sex with me, I suppose.”

I almost chuckle. Almost. I have to admit, the man is fucking good.

Just my type, in fact.

Except, I’m getting married in two days.

And he’s married already.

I’ve fucked up. Holy shit, I’ve fucked up hard.

“You’ll be waiting a while,” I retort, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him toward the door.

“Hallway sex?” He chuckles, falling into step at my lead. “Kinky little tart, aren’t you?”

“What you do in that hallway is your own business,” I say, pushing him and his sexy, naked ass out the door. “I just won’t be joining you.”

“Shame,” he pouts. The places on his chest and shoulders where my hands touch feel like they stain my skin with sex and shame. “And here I was, thinking we could—”

What exactly he was thinking we could do, I’ll never know, because at that point, I make the only good decision I’ve made all day:

I shut the door in his face.

When he’s gone, I find myself staring at my hands, remembering the way his body felt against my palms. Hard and warm and like I’d kill just to touch him again—which is bad.

But as I’m looking at my hands, I realize something even worse.

My million dollar engagement ring is gone.

That’s it. I’m finally ready to break down and cry at how fucking bad I’ve fucked my fucking life up.

My bridal suite is trashed. I’ve cheated on my fiancé with a big-dicked British dude—and with no recollection of it. There are three whipped-cream covered showgirls passed out in my kitchen. Percy has burned off half her pubic hair, Mysti May is in denial of her own sexuality and Sammi—my only level-headed friend—is nowhere to be found.

And now my wedding ring is missing. Great. Fucking Great.

So yeah, I nearly cry then and there. I’m about to turn on the waterworks and let the tears fall.

But that’s when I hear it again:

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzt!

“RUN!” Percy bellows, and I watch as she and Mysti May flee across the suite, pursued by the biggest, sparkliest vibrator I’ve ever seen.Yeah, shit’s pretty much fucked.

We need to find Sammi, and I need to call Dan. Like, now.