ELEVEN
Tennessee
She’s a stripper? I got married to a fucking stripper?
Hanging my head, I pinch the bridge of my nose. I feel a headache coming on.
Christ, Sawyer’s right. Bennett’s going to straight up kill me for this.
Just as my tequila-logged brain starts to grasp the full ramifications of what I’ve done—goodbye tour, hello rehab—a door slams, making me wince. I lift my head, realizing she’s shut herself in the bathroom.
Sawyer snorts. “Even the stripper’s embarrassed to be married to you.”
I cut a glare to my brother. “Don’t fucking talk about her like she’s less than. She’s still a person, for fuck’s sake.”
I get shit on all the time in the press, so I know how it feels to be talked about like you’re not even a person. Case in point, these two hyenas are still laughing at me on national television.
Scowling, I grab my boxers from the heap of clothes on the floor and stab my legs into them. My phone starts to blare from somewhere in the pile of jeans at my feet, and I groan when I finally fish it out of my pocket, seeing Bennett’s name on the screen.
Even his ringtone sounds pissed.
“Turn that shit off,” I tell Sawyer, glaring at the TV. Swiping right, I hold the phone up to my ear. “Unless you’re calling to say congratulations, I really don’t want to hear it, Bennett. It’s too early and I’m too fucking hungover.”
He snorts. “All right, then. Congrats, you idiot. Hope that piece of ass was worth losing half your money over.”
My teeth grit together as Sawyer leaves. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about how you got married without a prenup, dick-for-brains!”
Oh, shit.
I don’t remember much from last night, but that sounds about right. I have a bad habit of not looking before I leap.
“And a stripper? Seriously? Could you be more cliché?”
“I didn’t know she was a stripper,” I mutter quietly. Shit, I’m not even sure I know what her name is.
Bennett sighs. “This is gonna cost you, there’s no way around that. I doubt she’ll agree to an annulment, not when there’s a payday for her if she holds out for a divorce. Maybe if we offer her some money up front she’ll agree to the annulment…”
His words go in one ear and out the other as he talks about her like she’s just some gold-digger who’s looking for her fifteen minutes. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s probably right. I know squat about this girl other than the fact that she takes her clothes off for money and she willingly married a complete stranger.
That doesn’t bode well for me.
God, what the hell was I thinking last night? How in the hell did this random chick get me to marry her?
Her tits must be fucking filled with whiskey. That’s the only explanation I can think of.
I tune Bennett out as he reams me for being a careless drunk who can’t fucking keep it in his pants. He’s not wrong.
The bathroom door opens a second later, reminding me that my wife is still here. I’d completely forgotten.
When I turn to look at the girl awkwardly standing in the bathroom doorway, my frown eases. She looks…scared.
And fucking beautiful, if I’m being honest.
“I gotta go,” I say to Bennett, hanging up on him mid-rant.
She brushes a lock of wet curls behind her ear, her shy green eyes dropping to the carpet as she walks over and places something on the nightstand.
It’s her ring.
My frown is back as she murmurs, “We were pretty drunk last night. Shouldn’t be too hard to get an annulment.”
I don’t know what to make of this. Bennett had me convinced she’d be looking for a payout, but now that I’m face-to-face with her, she seems like a young girl who’s embarrassed by her mistake, not a shark circling the water.
“You want an annulment?” I ask skeptically. “Just like that?”
She kind of laughs as she adjusts the bag hanging off her shoulder. “Well we can’t stay married.”
The way she says it, like the idea of being married to me is just ridiculous, pisses me off. And even though I know damn well why we can’t stay married, it doesn’t stop me from asking, “Why?”
She shifts from one foot to the other, suddenly looking nervous. “I don’t even know you,” she half-whispers.
And I don’t even know her. Not really. All I have are hazy bits and pieces.
Like how she tastes. What she feels like. How dangerous her curves are under that sweatshirt and how beautiful she is when she comes.
She’s like a dream I can’t quite recall but at the same time I can’t forget, because I remember how good she made me feel.
Like I was a person worth knowing. Like I was more than the lead singer of some stupid band.
Like there was still hope for me.
I may not remember the vows I said, but I’m slowly realizing I meant every word.
Pissed that she doesn’t remember, or maybe just doesn’t care, I take a step toward her. “You knew enough to say ‘I do.’ You knew enough to fuck me.”
She apparently doesn’t appreciate having that thrown in her face, based on the lethal glare she levels on me. “What’s my name? Huh? Five dollars says you don’t even remember.”
Goddamn it, she’s right.
My mouth thins into a harsh line as I pace away from her, willing my brain to push through the haze of booze still clouding it.
“Whatever,” she mutters, digging through her purse. She pulls out a pen and a piece of paper, scribbling something on it before setting it next to her ring on the nightstand. “Have your lawyer send me the paperwork.”
I’m in front of her before I realize what I’m doing. “You can’t leave.”
“Why?” she demands.
I have no fucking clue. I just know that I can’t let her walk out that door.
I feel like once she does, I’ll never see her again.
Running my hands through my hair, I huff out a breath. “You ever have one of those dreams where you can’t remember the details; you just remember how good it felt?”
She nods slowly.
“You see where I’m going with this?”
“No,” she says, clearly getting frustrated.
“Look, I may not remember your name, but I know we married each other for a reason. Aren’t you the least bit curious to find out what it is?”
She looks at me warily. “What are you asking?”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. “I don’t know. Have breakfast with me while I figure it out.”