And then… nothing.
But I’d been with Joey the entire time. Right?
I swung my head in the direction of the body next to me. Dark hair. All I could see. A quick glance again at his hair, settled me further.
Joey.
It was him sleeping next to me.
At least I didn’t hook up with a random in Vegas. God, but still, how embarrassing.
Somehow, we must have gotten back to his house. He was a good guy. My brother’s friend. He wouldn’t have taken advantage of me.
Nothing happened. Of course nothing happened. We probably got drunk, came home and crashed—at least, I was assuming we were at his home.
As I tried to convince myself, I swung my feet over the edge of the bed. Huge mistake. The bedroom spun and the bed tilted and wavered.
“Oh shit,” I groaned and palmed my forehead until the room settled. As I did, a scrape of something hard and cold scratched across my forehead.
I pulled my hand back, frowning, and… oh hell no.
Oh hell no. I jumped out of bed so quick and spun around, faced Joey, still sleeping, his back to me. His muted snores ratcheted up my panic level so much I almost collapsed back onto the bed, but despite the room going topsy-turvy and my stomach threatening to upheave, I couldn’t stop gawking at my hand.
The sharp object? A ring. And on the top of that ring? A diamond. And bling put the size of the rock on my finger to shame.
“Holy shit,” I gasped, right as my stomach flopped again.
I turned, raced toward one of the closed doors, and covered my mouth. Thank God I guessed correctly. I ended up in the bathroom and sprinted toward the small door at the end.
Please dear sweet heaven in all things holy, let it be the toilet.
I fell to my knees right as neon colors from last night’s last remembered drink ended up splattering all over the toilet.
I puked until there was nothing left in between, staring at the ring on my finger. My ring finger.
Left hand.
There was no way.
This had to be a joke. Right.
Had to be. There had to be some explanation. Maybe we’d been joking around. Maybe he won this for me in an arcade. Maybe he struck it huge playing poker or something and bought this for me as a prize for patiently standing next to him.
Not that I remembered any of those things. But I sure as hell didn’t remember him sliding a rock the size of Mount Rainier on my finger either.
“Fuck,” I moaned and once I was certain I’d emptied my stomach of last night’s contents, I scrambled off the floor and headed toward his bathroom that was almost the size of my living room apartment back in Seattle. All white. Stark. Marble counters, a shower with seven jets from multiple directions, and a bathtub that could possibly fit four. For a moment, I thought of climbing into it. Filling the tub and passing back out in the enormous thing. I swayed on my feet and made my way to the sinks where I splashed water on my face, used the hand soap—gross—to wash my face and remove mascara and makeup, and then found his toothpaste on the counter where I did a quick cleaning with my finger.
What in the hell was going on?
There was no way we got married. Not in Vegas.
A laugh bubbled from my throat as quickly as the thought hit my mind. No freaking way.
There had to be another explanation. Along with one of how I ended up in his room. In what I assumed was his shirt.
Because absolutely, one hundred percent, there was no way I got married to my brother’s teammate. Not Joey. Not the guy who’d never once looked at me with anything but mutual respect despite the flutter my heart gave every time he was near me. Except, there was that one time…
No. Stop it. I kicked thoughts of the night he’d gazed at me in the hospital, me sick with worry, Joey quick to comfort. He’d pulled me to his hard chest like he was built for being the protector and as soon as my heart had fluttered, I’d stopped it.
No, that wasn’t true. As soon as I noticed how sharp his jawline was, how close I was to it. As soon as I inhaled the mild scent of his cologne, that hint of campfire and spicy man dressed in plaid carrying an ax. That’s what made me pull back from him, push him away.
He’d been too damn tempting and I had to have been imagining all of it.
But this?
Oh dear God. “My mom is going to kill me.”
A scattered, nervous, and almost hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat. So much for not living off my brother anymore like she’d accused me of. Nope. Classic Gabby. I jumped right into a freaking marriage with another rich man to cover my bills.
Oh God. Tears burst into my eyes. My mom would kill me for this. Shoot disappointed daggers so deep into my eye sockets I’d die on the spot. I sniffed, splashed more water on my face, and forced down that image.
We didn’t get married. Sure, I wasn’t a planner and I was more dreamer than foot settled firmly on cement, but to do something this extravagant?
I wouldn’t.
“Right?” I asked the reflection in the mirror. My skin was pale, a slight green hue to it. My brown eyes were dull, but that wasn’t shocking. My body felt like I’d drained it of ninety-eight percent of the fluid it typically contained.
As I scanned myself in the mirror, looking for any signs of anything that could make this make sense, my reflection had no answer.
Not helpful.
But surely Joey could figure this out. He’d remember.
Right?
Right.
I turned and opened the door slowly. It was silent, and I took a second to inhale a deep breath. This had to be a misunderstanding. Of course it was.
Instead of Joey sleeping, his back turned to me with that quiet—and adorable, in retrospect—snoring sound, he was sitting up in his bed. Back to the pillows, scrubbing his hands down his face.
And on his left hand?
A fucking matte black band on his finger.
“Oh fuck,” I said, and his gaze snapped in my direction.
His hands fell to the duvet and eyes widened as he took me in right before his head thunked against the headboard and his eyes closed. “Thank God it’s you.”
Not comforting. If he didn’t know who he was in bed with, did that mean he didn’t remember anything either?
“Um.” I stepped into his room. “I think something happened.”
“I know. We must have drunk every fucking bottle of alcohol in Nevada last night if the way I feel is any indication.”
Despite myself, a quiet laugh slipped from my throat. He was joking. This was good. At least, not horrible.
But did he not know? Had he not seen the ring?
“Um. This might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever asked in my life, but did we get married last night?” As I asked, my knees wobbled. His eyes had still been closed, but at the mention of getting married, they flew open and his jaw fell.
“What?”
I gestured to his hand. Held up mine. “We have rings.”
As he glanced at his own hand, his lips pressed together. Slowly, taking several long minutes, his gaze lifted. Tortured, pained dark eyes swept over my face before settling on my left hand, still in the air, ring and diamond so big it’d be visible from a mile away. “What the fuck?”
“That’s exactly what I thought.”
“No.” He shook his head, swung it side to side and groaned as he flung himself out of his bed. He was wearing shorts. Athletic ones that hung low on his hips and nothing else. I couldn’t help it. He was ripped. Everywhere. That V-muscle of his on display and his chest heaving.