“Well, now that we all know your marriage started out as a sham,” Elena says, breaking the silence. “I say we toss the cards and ask the really nosy questions!”
Oh, boy.
“Fucking ouch. Stupid dresser…”
I awake to the sound of someone stumbling through our room.
No, not just someone.
My very drunk husband.
“What the…damn these pants.”
I stifle a giggle, but not well enough because suddenly the bed shifts and Hollis is hovering over me with a stupid grin on his face.
He smells like a tequila factory.
I’m gonna kill my brothers.
“Hi.” Red curls fall in front of his mischievous green eyes. His grin widens.
“Hi.” I laugh. “Have fun?”
“Your brothers made me do shots.”
“They made you, huh?”
He shifts so he’s lying on his side next to me. I look down, and his damn pants are still halfway down his legs. Shaking my head, I sit up and crawl to the end of the bed. The drunk idiot still has his shoes on, which isn’t exactly conducive to removing pants.
“There’s a code,” he explains as I start to untie his boots. “I had to.”
“A code?”
“Yeah, you know, the bro code. You’re not supposed to hook up with your best friend’s sister. Definitely not supposed to drunkenly marry her in Vegas because her feet hurt and the jewelry store was open.”
I freeze. “Wait, what did you say?”
“There’s a code, Pres. Bro…code,” he says it slower, his head sloshing from side to side.
I drop his other shoe on the ground and abandon his pants. He can deal with those later. I need to know what he just said. I scoot back up to the top of the bed and lie down next to him. His jade-green eyes are half closed, and he’s looking at me with a sleepy smile. “You’re pretty.”
“I know,” I say dismissively. “About Vegas. You said my feet hurt?”
“Uh-huh.” His voice is groggy. I swear, if he falls asleep right now, I will pour a bucket of water on his head to wake him the fuck back up. “You were wearing those gold fuck-me heels with the tiny straps that wrap around your ankle. All I could think about was how they’d look wrapped around my neck.”
His eyes flare with heat as he looks me over, like he suddenly just realized I’m lying beside him in bed.
Stay focused, Pres.
“Then what?” I ask, clearing my throat. “Did I take them off? Ask for a piggyback ride?”
“You tried to tough it out, but I suggested we go find a shoe store so you didn’t get blisters.” He hiccups. “Don’t you remember?”
No, I want to tell him.And until my brother plied you with tequila, neither did you.
“It was the middle of the night, though,” I question.
He shrugs. “It’s Vegas. They have stores open twenty-four hours a day. But not a shoe store, apparently. It closed at midnight. The jewelry store next door, however…”
