—I’m an open book.
Her smile was sinful when she peered up at me. “Fair warning, I like to read.”
Fuck. My dick thickened more than I thought possible.
It was then that I knew Laikyn Quinn was going to change my life in ways I never imagined. As for whether she realized it, too, only time would tell. But I had a feeling Rule was in the know based on the way he stared at me from the doorway. I didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, but the heat in his eyes said it had probably been about the time Laikyn had touched me.
And something told me he didn’t care for the fact that she had.
Or perhaps he did, and that was what confused him.
7
Laikyn
At one o’clock on the dot, Rulesummoned me to the outdoor living area. It wasn’t a formal space, but it was probably the most appealing part of the house. At least what I’d seen so far.
The back wall of the house was made of retractable glass. Just beyond that were three long, deep steps that started the downward cascade of the backyard. The rectangular patio space was covered partially by solid roofing and partially by wide trellises that allowed some light to filter down. On the right was a wall with a wide-screen television mounted on it, to the left, a small outdoor kitchen sectioned off by a bar with three wooden stools. In the center were two extra-deep lounging sofas facing each other atop a large bamboo rug with a hideous neon-colored geometric pattern. Thankfully, it was mostly hidden beneath the furniture. Last but not least, two potted Areca palms stood on either side of the opening that led to the swimming pool.
Like a lot of real estate in California, the lot was long and narrow. Enormous hedge trees—at least twelve feet tall and crammed together to create a wall—ran down both sides of the property to add privacy from the neighbors. It was the only green in the space except for two rectangular patches of grass, about four feet wide and twenty feet long, on each side of the pool. Waldo’s spot was on the left, I figured, since there was nothing on the grass. On the right side were two covered lounge chairs/bed contraptions that would give a king-size bed a run for its money.
The pool itself was lovely. Also rectangular, it jutted out from the house. It had a sun shelf on the end closest to the house and a hot tub, complete with a gentle flowing waterfall on the other.
Not exactly where a girl envisioned saying her wedding vows, but I figured it could’ve been worse.
The ceremony took all of twelve minutes from start to finish before we were pronounced husband and wife. The nuptials weren’t sealed with a kiss but rather a dismissive head nod from Rule before he turned his attention to the officiant to finish the paperwork.
“What? No birdseed for luck?” I muttered, strolling into the house and leaving Rule behind to deal with the officiant.
Twelve minutes and I was now … Mrs. Rule?
He apparently didn’t have a last name. At all. And I don’t mean like Prince or Pink or Madonna. I meant legally, he had only one name. It was the weirdest shit I’d ever heard, but based on what the officiant said, it wasn’t as uncommon as people believed. I wanted to ask if that was the case with Jinx, but I figured it was a question better left for later. Probably not wise to be inquiring about another man on your wedding day.
So, did that make me Laikyn now? Just Laikyn? Or, I guess, technically, I could make Rule takemylast name. Then he would have one of his own. Jinx could have it, too, if he wanted.
The thought made me snort a laugh.
No, neither seemed like a Mr. Quinn to me. Then again, I wasn’t sure Quinn suited me all that much, either. Since it wasn’t a family name, I didn’t really have any ties to it. My mother was born Renee Noblespreyer, but she had it legally changed when she moved to California to become an actress. And because she claimed she didn’t know who my father was, she’d passed her fake name on to me. I guess I should thank her since Laikyn Audrey Marilyn Noblespreyer would’ve been a mouthful. Seriously. I didn’t have one middle name; I had two. My mother said she couldn’t choose between naming me after Audrey Hepburn or Marilyn Monroe, so she opted for both.
I went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water, staring out the back windows at the two men deep in conversation while the officiant finished something up at the patio table. I’d been briefly introduced to Red Wally, one of Rule’s employees, moments before the nuptials. Like Jinx, Red Wally was a witness, and based on his expression, this was par for the course for his boss. He sure as shit hadn’t seemed surprised to learn Rule was marrying a woman he didn’t know.
As for me … well, my prior behavior never would’ve alluded to me having a quick and dirty wedding in someone’s backyard with the Hollywood sign looming in the distance. I mean, shit, Wes Carver had been boyfriend number two, and that was seriously rare for a twenty-two-year-old living in Beverly Hills.
So, to sum it up, last night, I went on a date with Boyfriend #2, and today I was hitched to Husband #1.
No one ever said my life was boring.
I still couldn’t believe I went through with it. Not a single second thought or butterfly in sight, either. After sharing breakfast with Jinx, I excused myself to my bedroom, where I spent a couple of hours unpacking my things and setting up my canvases. Right before the ceremony, I took a minute to clean up, not bothering to change out of the capris and T-shirt I’d put on this morning. I’d applied only minimal makeup, but other than that, I hadn’t given much effort to my appearance.
Thankfully (and perhaps a bit regretfully), there were no pictures. However, I did intend to sneak a selfie with Rule at some point today. I mean, sure, this was all some sort of convoluted debt reduction plan, but in the eyes of the law, we were officially wed. Might as well capture the moment for eternity. You had to have something to reflect on when you were old and gray and reminiscing on the highs and lows of your existence. Oddly, I would consider this one of the highs.
The weirdest part—and I didn’t use that term loosely because … well, obvious reasons—was that I hadn’t realized how old Rule was until right before we were wed. His driver’s license had been out on the table, noting him to be thirty-six years old as of April 7th. I considered myself fairly good at guessing ages, so I’d been leaning somewhere in the mid-thirties range. Turned out I was right. However, with people like Rule, whose eyes told a story of pain and sorrow, it wasn’t easy to tell for sure.
As for Jinx, he looked younger. Not by much. I pegged him around thirty, but again, it was all a guessing game.
“Did we miss it?” a deep voice asked.
“Probably,” a woman said.
