I wake up with a splitting headache, which is about average for me.

It takes a few minutes before I feel good enough to roll out of bed. It’s a hotel like any other hotel, maybe a little gaudy, but otherwise fine. I shamble over to the bathroom, take a piss, and brush my teeth before I even remember what city we’re in

Las Vegas. Jesus fucking…

Of course we’re in Vegas. The night before comes flooding back, at least parts of it. At least the beginning.

There’s a knock at the door, followed by an insistent pounding. It mirrors the headache lancing through my skull.

“Shut the fuck up!” I shout. “I’m fucking coming.”

I walk over to the door and yank it open. I’m just wearing a pair of boxer briefs, but I’ve never been ashamed of my body. Actually, sometimes I like to show it off.

Chase arches an eyebrow at me. This is not one of those times.

“Sweet dick,” he says, pushing past me.

“Thanks, babe.” I sigh and head back into the room. I grab a pair of shorts and pull them on as Chase plops down in a chair and kicks his legs out.

The room’s pretty big, which means we sprung for the nice shit. That’s fine by me. The first album’s been selling nicely and the label’s been pretty good about discretionary spending while we fuck around and start writing material for the third album.

The world doesn’t know it yet, but our sophomore work is already pressed to vinyl, ready to ship. It releases in a few days, and after that, we go on a surprise tour.

This whole thing was Nathan’s idea. He figured it would be more mysterious if we drop the album without any hype, just out of nowhere, and announce a tour at the last second. The venues and vendors and all that shit aren’t happy, obviously, but the label’s been smoothing it out.

These past few days have basically been the last hurrah for us. Once we hit the road, we all know what life’s going to be like.

Boring. Drudgery. Shitty city after shitty city playing the same songs over and over.

And I’ll do it with a smile, because I don’t love anything more than those moments on stage. When I’m up there, and the crowd’s screaming along with my music, I feel more alive than I ever thought possible.

I feel indestructible. I feel beautiful.

“You wanna talk about it?” Chase asks me.

I sit at the edge of my bed and arch an eyebrow. “About what?”

He barks a little laugh, and I wince. “Holy shit. I knew you were wasted, but not that drunk.”

“I was fine,” I shoot back, although I think he’s right. I’m only getting hazy snippets of the night before.

Champagne on the label’s private jet. Shots in the limo on the way to the Chandelier.

Grace smiling and laughing at me, slowly loosening up.

A spike shoots through my gut. Grace. Holy shit.

Chase is grinning at me. “Well?”

“Well what?” I stand up and go to the minibar. Fortunately, there’s some Gatorade in there. It’s blue, but whatever, good enough. I crack it open, drink half of it down.

“You’re seriously trying to play coy with me right now, man?” Chase shakes his head. “You remember the bet at least, right?”

That part I definitely remember.

We were sitting in the control room, bored and losing steam. The engineer left an hour ago, and the only person in the whole place with us was Grace, that gorgeous little intern.

I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. So naturally, Chase noticed, and he decided to piss me off.

“Hey, Joss,” he said to me, grinning ear to ear. “I’m bored. Let’s make a bet.”

I arched my eyebrow. He’s always making bets, small and large. “What kind of bet?”

“I bet you can’t marry the first girl that walks into this room.”

I stare at him and bark a laugh. We both know the only girl in this building is Grace. And I’m betting he noticed how I was staring at her.

“Why would I take that bet?”

“Because if you win, we’ll put your song on the record.”

I stare at him. “Seriously?”

“Hold up,” Nathan says, shaking his head. “That’s insane. We didn’t discuss this.”

“Come on,” Chase said. “The song’s good, we all know it. So let’s make it interesting.”

My song. The song I wrote every part for, full control.

Nathan’s been our lead songwriter on these last two albums, and he hasn’t been willing to give up a bit of control. We’ve been butting heads over that for a couple years now.

Getting one of my own songs on this record…

“Let’s fucking do it,” Landon said. “Marry the fucking girl and let’s fucking do it.”

Nathan went to stand up but Landon and Chase just talked over him. That’s when Grace walked in an asked if we needed anything.

I stared at her. Short, curly blonde hair, full, red lips, bright blue eyes. Curves that would tempt any man.

She was fucking beautiful in that moment, and every moment since.

“Beer, please,” Landon said to her, and winked at me. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Sure, anything else?” She looked around, her wide eyes bright and innocent.

My god, I thought to myself. I’m going to destroy you, little girl, and I bet you’ll thank me for it.

She left and the guys cracked up, except for Nathan. He was pissed.

“I’m not going along with this,” he says.

“Too fucking bad,” I snapped at him, sick of his shit. “It’s a good song and you know it. I shouldn’t have to win some bet just to get it on a record.”

Nathan grumbled and glared at me. “I’m still not going along.”

“Oh, lighten up,” Chase called out. “Our boy’s in love. Look at his face.”

I grinned at Chase and stepped out into the hallway, out toward my destiny.

It didn’t seem that way last night. It seemed insane, stupid, reckless. But when she agreed to come with us to Vegas, I knew I had to do it…

I groan, back in the present. My head’s fucking pounding.

“I didn’t actually…?” I ask him, tailing off.

His grin gets bigger. “Can’t say I’m surprised you don’t remember. You were taking tequila shots like a fucking fish.”

“No wonder I feel like fucking ass,” I grumble. “Tequila always gets me. Why was I drinking that shit?”

“Grace asked for it.” Chase shakes his head. “She’s a spitfire, your wife. She can party with the best of them.”

He says something else about body shots and dancing but I don’t hear him. I’m just staring, those words reverberating in my skull.

Your Wife.

“Hold on,” I say, interrupting a particularly graphic story about impatience, a British gentleman, and a public urinal. “You called her my wife.”

“Oh, yeah. I was getting to that.”

“I actually married her?”

He nods, his grin splitting his face. He’s clearly so incredibly delighted he can hardly stand it.

“You sure did.”

I feel like I might pass out. My whole world’s spinning and I have to grab onto the sheets. Chase actually looks a little concerned as he leans toward me.

“You okay?”

I actually did it. I really fucking married her. I never intended on going through with it. I figured I’d play along with the joke, have some fun, maybe fuck the pretty blonde intern, but not actually marry her. I’d talk to Nathan, straighten shit out, get him to agree to the song without this insanity…

But I did it. I went through with it.

And I don’t remember a fucking thing.

I stand up, floor lurching. I pull off my ratty old shorts and throw on a pair of jeans before stumbling to the door. Got to try and look my best, even when hungover as fucking hell.

“Where are you going?” Chase asks.

“Grace. Where is she?”

“Across the hall.” He gets up. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

I just ignore him. I stumble out of my room and across the hall, falling against her door. I knock until I hear footsteps on the other side.

It opens, and there she is. Maybe a few inches over five feet, round, perky breasts, glowing honey skin, full lips, curly blonde hair. She looks almost as bad as I feel, wrapped in a hotel robe.

“Joss?” she asks, blinking. “Are you okay?”

I push past her, dragging her into the room. I slam the door shut and take her into the main room. Her bed’s a mess, clothes are on the floor, and I spin her around toward me. I need to talk to her, explain what happened, beg her to….

That’s when her robe falls open.

I gape. She’s wearing a little bra that barely covers her full breasts and these sexy black panties. For a second, she stands there, before she realizes she’s putting on a show. Embarrassed, she covers up again and steps away from me.

“What’s your problem?” she asks me. “Asshole.”

“Sorry,” I mutter. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, whatever. What do you want?”

“We have to talk.” I feel dizzy again. I keep seeing her body in my mind, so fucking tight, so fucking soft at the same time. I’m hard and it makes all the blood leave my brain. I can barely think.

“Fine,” she says. “We can talk, but can I get dressed first?”

“Yeah, right.” I back away. “Meet me downstairs. Breakfast.”

“Okay, sure.” She frowns a little. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great.” I flash her a grin before turning and running out of there.

Chase is in the hall and he ushers me back into my room. I stumble into the bathroom and think I’m going to get sick, but it passes. Chase stands there and shakes his head.

“Marriage ain’t that bad, man.”

I look up at him miserably. “It is when your wife looks like… that.”

Chase cracks up, and I stare at my hands, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into.