Prologue - Liam
#ImNeverDrinkingAgain
Shit, my head hurts. I was drinking motherfucking cocktails until the early hours of the morning to celebrate Tate and Zoey’s engagement.
Given everything that’s happened with Zoey’s mother, our two lovebirds didn’t indulge as much as Austin, Cameron, and I. When they disappeared upstairs for their own private celebration, the rest of us painted the Strip red, and now I’m suffering for it. I’m going to throw up—I’m sure of it.
Having money to burn in Sin City isn’t good when it leads to free drinks. Thank the lord we don’t have a concert tonight. I’ve no plans to get out of this bed. Even an earthquake couldn’t shift me at the moment.
Scrap that! My bladder has other ideas. I’m going to have to struggle to the toilet or piss the bed. I don’t think Zoey would want to deal with the fallout of that particular story hitting the press, and Tate would have my balls for making her work extra hard.
Reluctantly, I climb out of bed. It takes a while. I don’t try standing, because I know I’ll vomit. Instead, I slide onto the floor and crawl slowly along the plush carpet. Every movement is agony, and my body groans, telling me I’m too old for drinking—I’m only twenty-four. It really does go downhill after you turn twenty-one. Another couple of years, I’ll probably be downing Viagra to get it up. Not the most inspiring thought when you’ve got the mother of all hangovers.
Finally reaching the bathroom, I realize I’ve got no choice now but to stand up. I have a vision of Zoey looking disappointed as she fends off the press, following my drunken exploits in a posh hotel. Beside her is Tate with a look of thunderous rage written all over his face. Jesus, I’ve turned into a nerd overnight.
Using the porcelain bowl of the toilet to steady myself, I push up to my feet. The world spins, and my stomach churns, but everything stays down.
“I’m never drinking again,” I tell no one in particular, but it’s a promise I plan on keeping this time. Well, maybe for a week or two.
I’m naked so don’t need to pull my dick out of my clothing. I reach down and aim. It’s probably the best piss I’ve ever taken, long and warm. On and on it goes until I shake the last few drops and flush the toilet. Cleaning up, I contemplate a quick shower, but I really don’t have the energy. Instead, I splash some water on my face and head back to bed. But as I walk out the bathroom, I’m stopped in my tracks by the vision of a stunning brunette sitting up in my bed with the sheets wrapped around her. Damn she’s gorgeous. I may be dying on the inside, but my dick has other ideas and stands to instant attention.
“Hi,” I manage to say with a voice sounding gravelly as hell.
“Hi,” she returns, looking terrified at my dick.
He’s my best attribute, long like my drumsticks but much wider. The woman shifts on the bed. I can just make out she’s testing for tenderness between her thighs. Yes, if I’ve fucked her, she’ll know all about it. She pales. Yeah, we had sex.
“I-I...” she stammers not knowing what to say.
She doesn’t seem like a usual groupie. They’d already be out of the bed and on their knees in front of me. Is that why I let her stay last night? I don’t normally do that, but then I don’t remember coming back to the hotel room, let alone having sex with her.
“It’s okay. I know it’s a little awkward. Do you need the bathroom?”
She nods quickly, still not having said anything other than ‘hi’.
I swing my arm to the side, motioning for her to go. She tentatively slides from the bed with the sheets wrapped tightly around her body.
“Can you er…”—she bites her lip—“put something on…some pants or something?”
I look down at my exposed, hard dick.
“Yeah, sorry.”
Looking around the room, I find my discarded underwear from last night. I didn’t unpack yesterday as we were running late for the concert. They’ll have to do until I can find something a bit cleaner. I slide them over my muscular legs as the woman races into the bathroom. She shuts and then locks the door behind her.
She’s an intriguing little thing, and I find myself not wanting to chuck her out immediately like I normally would do with a groupie. I notice her conservative dress folded over the back of a chair. There’s no sign of the leather or glittery top I would usually expect. Very strange.
Her bag sits open on the floor, next to the bed, with a piece of paper sticking out of the top. I know I shouldn’t look, but something draws me to it. Reaching down, I pull the paper out and open it. But before I get a chance to look at it, a feminine voice comes from behind me.
“What are you doing? That’s my bag.”
“Sorry.” I swing around to face her, and the room sways with me, reminding me of my hangover. “I didn’t mean to snoop. I don’t know why I did.”
I go to hand it back to her but stop when I see the words written on it.
‘Marriage License.’
I’m not sure I can keep the bile down this time. Have I just spent the night with a married woman?
“What is it?” the woman asks.
She comes over to me as I continue to scan the license. Gradually all the blood drains from my face, and I feel a need for the world to swallow me up.
“Are you Harmony Ward?”
“Yes.”
“Then, according to this, we got married last night.”
Chapter 1
Liam
#IFeelLikeATotalDick
“Have you lost your ever-loving, frigging mind?” Tate stares at me with red tints of anger staining his cheeks. His presence seems to fill my suite room at the Wynn Hotel in Las Vegas. “You got so fucking pissed you got married to a stranger?”
Zoey comes up to her fiancé and places her hand on his arm. “It’s all right—we can deal with it.”
“Deal with it?” Tate stomps his feet like a petulant child. “Zoey, he’s married. We know nothing about the woman. She could take him for all the money he has, and it’ll affect Saving Tate. Why didn’t you have a bodyguard or someone with you?”
I’ve been standing, but the swirling effect from my hangover gets the better of me, and I slump down into a white fabric covered chair.
“I know…I’m sorry. I thought I did have a bodyguard with me, but I don’t remember what happened. I must have lost him at some point.”
Austin returns to the suite, having gone to his room to get me some painkillers. He hands them to me, and I swallow them down with the help of a bottle of water from the table in front of me.
“I have to say it’s probably the most stupid thing you’ve ever done,” Cameron adds.
The dark glasses covering his eyes shield them from the brightness. He too appears to be nursing a hangover, but his doesn’t seem to have left him married to a stranger.
I’m such a dick.
“I’m not going to argue with that,” Tate moans, and I realize I must have spoken my thought out loud. “We need to get a lawyer here and get the marriage annulled immediately. Did you consummate it?”