I search the smoking hot stranger for confirmation.My heart drops through the floor.On his powerful hand, which is likely twice the size of mine, is a wedding band identical to the one on my finger, just bigger.A matched set?
No.Nooo.NOPE!
It’s just not possible.
I would remember getting married, right?Please, please tell me I would remember having sex with a strange, god-like man.This is a hallucination.I’m dreaming.This is simply my subconscious mind’s attempt to make me feel better after yesterday’s very public catastrophe.
Shoving my fingers through my hair, I hold my head like I’mHumpty Dumptytrying to put my fractured memories back together again.
What the hell happened last night?Who is this guy?And why can’t I remember anything after running out of the church, my best friends hot on my heels?
DidIreally have sex with this unconscious stud?Me?The woman who has never had a one-night stand in her life, got married and had sex with a total stranger?
I shift slightly and bite my lip to hold back a soft moan.Oh yeah, we banged last night.Oof!There’s far too much soreness in my girly bits.I search my memories of the last twelve hours but the only image that flashes behind my eyelids is my mysterious naked hottie gazing at me with incendiary lust as I claw at his clothes.Did he press a button on his suit and make his suit fall off in a… tattoo parlor?
Great.I have the hottest sex of my life, the only sex I’ve ever had with a guy this smoking hot, and I don’t freaking remember it?
Orgasms?I don’t know.Multiple orgasms?Given the soreness of my girly bits, I bet I did, and I don’t remember a single one.Talk about a rip off.Robbed.I was robbed.So not fair.
The man is so fine I wonder if I’m hallucinating.I can’t help but stare.He’s been inside me.This massive, sexy, muscled man has been all up in my business.He’s at least six five.Probably taller.He’s… proportional.My gaze dips and I try to see through the covers.
How much tequila does it take for a complete memory blot?I’ve never been black-out drunk before, not ever.I chose a horrible time to start.If this man sexed me up, I want to remember every dirty detail.Damn it!My one bad, naughty-girl night, and I don’t even get to ruminate on it when I’m eighty?No chance to relive the moment over and over and… over?
“I did not get married last night.”Saying it out loud makes it feel like less of a lie.The problem is, I don’t believe the words coming out of my mouth.Not with my sore va-jay-jay and the gold band on my finger telling me I did exactly that.
Emily and Hannah will never let me hear the end of it.
Just how many irrational decisions did I make last night?
I inhale deeply, trying to find my Zen, so I don’t hop out of bed and scream like a lunatic.
Riddled with anxiety, I do my best not to wake my sleeping giant, and creep out from beneath the covers.I need to assess the situation over a cup of coffee and figure out my next move without alerting him that I’m awake.I don’t feel like talking.Other than my very human need to pee, I feel like an alien in my own body, different in a way I can’t explain.My skin is overly sensitive, the slight shift of air over the hardwood floor is like a caress on top of my feet.
Coffee will help clear the fog out of my brain.It might even jostle my memory.
My heart pounds like a runaway freight train.I shift and the mattress dips.I watch for any sign of movement and sigh in relief when his peaceful slumber appears to be undisturbed.He’s a stranger, but he feels familiar.Like I should know him.Maybe I could remember if my brain didn’t short circuit every time I look at him.
He’s just so gorgeous, it’s hard to look away.The moment I look at him, I feel like I’m in a trance and nothing will do but touching him and feeling all those rock hard muscles.
Stop it.I do not grope unconscious strangers no matter how hot they might be.
But he kissed me?Shouldn’t I return the favor?
No.Absolutely no touchy, no kissy.Nothing.Nada.
My bare feet touch the cold pinewood floor and I shiver.Glancing around I realize I do recognize this place.This is the luxury honeymoon cabin I booked for me and Nicholas.My besties picked up the keys and brought a few things over, like my suitcase, yesterday morning, before coming to my place to get ready for the wedding.They looked beautiful.So did I.For once, I didn’t look in the mirror and wonder why the most eligible bachelor in town wanted to marry me.
“Well, dummy, look how that turned out.”I chastise myself in a soft whisper as my gaze lands on my balled up, ivory wedding gown.It’s in a heap in the corner, next to the oak dresser.Hanging over the attached mirror, my long veil is draped, the edges charred and filthy.
I lift the dress and bite my lip to contain my distress over the rumpled satin and lace scraps.My wedding dress was the stuff of dreams, an exquisite, empire waist ballgown that made me feel like a fairytale princess the moment I put it on.
Perfect dress for what should have been the perfect wedding day.
Now?It’s ripped to pieces, torn, stained and god knows what else.Seriously?How did I manage that?
Irritated and a little depressed that I can’t preserve the gown, because literally no one could fixthat,I tiptoe over to the oak dresser and open a few drawers looking for something, anything to put on.
Nothing.There’s nothing to wear and my suitcase is nowhere in sight.
