Last.
Night.
Aksel’s control is admirable, though. Not many alphas would’ve been able to turn down a drunk, begging omega. Props to him for that, I guess.
Eric cackles at the chaos, and I lift my head just long enough to glare at him, the effort making me feel as pathetic as I must look. The anger hits harder than I expect, tight, sudden, and sharp in my chest, squeezing until my eyes burn.
“You can be a real dick,” I say, my voice quieter than I mean it to be. “You know that, right?”
Eric’s laughter dies immediately. He glances at Aksel, then back at me, his expression softening. “I’m sorry, babes,” he says, a nervous chuckle sneaking out anyway. “That was overboardeven for me. I was trying to make you laugh. I wasn’t thinking.” He shrugs, sheepish, an apologetic half-smile tugging at his mouth.
Aksel clears his throat, drawing our attention, and holds up his phone.
“For the record,” he says evenly, “I have the holy grail of embarrassment right here.” His mouth twitches despite himself. “Eric has absolutely no room to talk when it comes to last night.”
I take the phone and hit play, bracing myself as the grainy video fills the screen.
“Come here, Mr. Sexy Elvis Man,” Eric slurs loudly. “I wanna say I do to that dickprint.”
Onscreen, Eric is very clearly leaning into our wedding officiant’s personal space, specifically, whispering directly into his ear while groping the poor minotaur’s crotch with reckless enthusiasm. Elvis shoves him back with a stern, deeply offended warning about sexual harassment, and Eric immediately loses his balance, tumbling down the steps and landing sprawled across a wooden pew.
“Flirt,” Eric mutters proudly, narrating his own downfall.
The video cuts to him swiveling toward a bride waiting for her turn to walk down the aisle. Without missing a beat, he offers to have a threesome with her and her future spouse.
The video ends.
“I see nothing embarrassing there,” Eric says, completely serious as he examines his nails. “I don’t remember most of last night, but Idoknow I got laid. So honestly? Worth it.”
Aksel and I lock eyes and immediately dissolve into laughter. Apparently, Eric was just as obliterated as we were last night. As much as I’d like to be mad at him for enabling our impulsivemarriage spiral, it’s hard to stay angry when the whole thing was my brilliant, terrible idea in the first place.
GuesstheonlypersonIcanblameismyself.
Fuck. I hate when that happens.
“Why do you think you got laid last night?” Aksel asks, brow furrowing in genuine confusion.
Eric scoffs like the answer is obvious. “Please. Did you not notice me walking like I’d just ridden a horse across state lines this morning?” He sighs dramatically. “Honestly, I’m hurt. You’re always checking out Hale’s ass. I assumed mine got the same appreciation.”
He punctuates this with an exaggerated pout. “Pity.”
I squint at him. “So you’re saying you got laid because your ass hurts and you woke up naked in Aksel’s bathtub?”
That tracks. Eric could find a willing participant anywhere, anytime. His standards are… flexible. As he so eloquently puts it:any hole is a goal. Freaking pansexuals.
“Why yes,” Eric says proudly, nodding to himself. “Yes, I am, Hale.”
Aksel sets his phone in the center of the table, a video of Eric shucking off his pants and promptly falling ass-first into the bathtub looping on repeat.
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Eric says with a dismissive sniff.
The tension that’s been choking the air all morning finally cracks, and I take my first full breath of the day. Yeah, we got married, but people get married all the time. That doesn’t mean we have tostaymarried. It’s not like we’re fated mates or cursed by some ancient spell. This is Vegas. I’m sure divorce lawyers here hand out business cards like flyers.
This will be fine.
Everything will be fine.
Hell, maybe Aksel and I can even salvage a real friendship out of this disaster now that I’ve finally let go of my grudge. That’s something, right? One tiny silver lining in a vodka-soaked mess.
