"I don't know," I said, shaking my head.
"This was the direction you tossed 'em?" he asked, already getting down on his hands and knees to look through the thick carpet by the television.
"Why? Did we steal them?" I asked. "Oh, my God. We don't know. We probably five-finger discounted them." I pressed my hands in my hair, pulling it away from my face. "We're criminals. I'm going to prison."
"No, I have the receipt." He was still searching the carpet with his hands. "We didn't steal them, but they cost a fucking fortune." While hewassearching for them, he wasn't super into it. Actually, he was being laidback about the whole thing.
"Do you have a hangover?" I asked. "Because I do."
"Yeah," he said, still searching. "My brain's on fire."
All things considered, he was handling the wholewoke up naked with a wedding bandshebang way too well.
Gah, I wasn't. The nauseating headache from whatever the bartender put in those tequila-infested yardstick cups was the absolute worst.
Bartender was a very loose sort of term for the man, because in hindsight, the guy was more of a hangover-inducing evil wizard. Extra emphasis on evil.
"Found one." Sloan slid my diamond band on his pinky and looked for the other.
"Sloan, I cannot be trusted as an adult," I said. "I am a grown-up human being, and I cannot be trusted." I bit my lips together, because soon, I'd start to cry and once that happened, everything would go to hell. The only thing worse would be to wake up marriedandpregnant. I wouldn't, because I was consistent with my birth control pills, but…
"Oh my God." Hangover notwithstanding, I practically leapt from the sofa. "Did we use protection? Tell me we used protection. Did you even bring condoms? Please tell me we practiced safe sex. I cannot get an STD! Icannot. My health insurance is total shit. It's the worst. You don't understand how bad it is. Like if there was a contest for the worst health insurance, my insurance would win that contest. I take extra vitamins every day, just because it's so crappy."
I checked the nearest trash can, but it was empty.
Damn.
"You didn't flush it, did you?" I asked. "Because if you flushed it, there will be no evidence. Also, it's really bad for the pipes and stuff to flush that kind of thing down."
"Maya," Sloan said, pausing his ring search. "Chill."
"I will not chill," I replied. "Now is not the time to chill."
I lifted the trash can nearest the bed to check it and?—
"Oh, thank goodness. We were responsible." I held the trash can against my chest. Yes, all of the appropriate evidence suggested we may have been inebriated, but we were responsibly wasted.
"Found it," Sloan said, holding up the other ring and sliding it back on his finger.
Good thing I had the wastebasket on hand, because watching him slide that ring on his finger?
Any remnants left of that margarita came right up.
CHAPTERSEVEN
MAYA
No matter what, accidentally finding myself married in Vegas, for the third freaking time, sucked.
I cleaned myself up. Sloan cleaned himself up. We both got some Tylenol and fluids on board, so the hangovers subsided a little. Then Sloan and I did what two people do when they wake up married and want to avoid reality a bit longer—we checked out of the hotel before going off to find breakfast.
While he settled up with the front desk, I checked in once more with Angela and Emily. I didn't mention my situation, and I sure as hell didn't offer to call. Nope, I just slipped my phone in my purse and pretended it didn't exist.
Then Sloan found us a restaurant, and I walk-of-shamed my way through the buffet line before plopping my ass down at a table to wait for him.
I added a pat of butter to my plate, smearing it to cover the entire top pancake before adding a touch of syrup. Then I pressed my fingertips against my temples to relieve the residual headache.
It didn't work because that wasn't a hangover cure.
