Page 13 of The Forever Experiment

A thought of who could be making such noises, considering I’m traveling alone, drifts past my mind, but I’m too tired to catch it.

The footsteps get closer.

That thought comes barreling back.

Who the fuck is in my room?

I shoot up, the raging pound in my head assaulting all my senses as my stomach hurls forward and my body goes numb. I slowly open my eyes, squinting at the rays of sun filtering through the window that make me feel like they’re fucking bleeding.

I rub at my face, taking a moment to compose myself before I blink around the room. There is a small table in front of me, a TV across from that. I turn my head, taking a look at the bent up throw pillow wedged into the armrest.

Why was I sleeping on the couch? My room doesn’t even have a couch.

Oh, fuck.“This isn’t my room.”

“No, dumbass. It’s mine.”

Even when she’s insulting me, her voice sounds so pretty, I can’t complain. I lift my head toward the sound of her familiar, alluring voice, watching her appear in the doorway of what I assume leads to the bedroom of the suit.

She looks almost exactly as she did last night, only a small smudge of makeup beneath each eye, the curls at the ends of her long braids a little messier. She leans against the door, rubbing beneath her eyes. A sleeveless, fitted, embroidered white dress drapes her body, hugging her curves and stopping just above the knee. A flower design accents the fabric, and she’s barefoot, whereas last night, she had on those sexy as fuck pink heels.

Actually, I’m pretty sure she wasn’t wearing that outfit last night.

“What the fuck happened?”

She shakes her head, turning her neck side to side, as if stretching it. “I don’t remember much after the Vanderpump Cocktail Garden.” She sighs. “That is, until we got back here and you kept demanding to walk me to my room. Once we got here, I didn’t want to send you back alone, the mess that you were, so I made you sleep on the couch.”

“Why are you wearing that dress? What happened to what you wore last night?” I ask, nodding toward her outfit as my mind reels, attempting to remember any aspect of the night.

I blank around the same time she does. I know after we finished our burgers at the Flamingo, we walked over to Caesar’s and got drinks at that Van-whatever-the-fuck-she-said restaurant. I guess the owner stars in one of her favorite reality shows. We tested her theory and began telling people around the bar we’d eloped in Vegas last night, and from there, the free cocktails never stopped flowing.

“I think I might’ve bought this to make the bit more convincing.” She laughs to herself. “I found my other outfit in a Valentino bag beside my bed.”

My eyes all but bug out of my goddamn head. “You walked intoValentinolast night to buy a wedding dress for shits and giggles?”

She shrugs, running her hands down her sides. “At least it looks good, right?”

My eyes track her movements, and I can’t help the way I lick my lips as her fingers linger on the lush curve of her waist, the flare of her hip. “Yeah, no, that dress looks—” Something on her left hand glitters in the morning light. “What the hell is that?”

It must’ve caught her eye too, because she raises her hand, waving her fingers as themassivefucking diamond shimmers bright enough to cast a rainbow throughout the room. I don’t really know how big a carat is supposed to be, but I’m damn sure that fucker is larger than one.

“It’s got to be fake, right?” She laughs again. “Sure is convincing, though.” Dropping her arm, she shrugs at me. “I’m going to go take a shower. Thanks for last night,husband.”

That title on her tongue, with the playful wink she tosses me before turning those flawless legs and flaunting that perfect ass in the direction of the bathroom, has my morning woodraging.

The woman is downright criminal.

Husband.Fuck.Why do I like the way that sounds so much? It’s so natural coming from her, like she wouldn’t mind calling me that again. It was familiar in the way it rolled off her tongue, and for some reason, chills race down my spine at the thought of it.

Almost like she has said it a million times before.

And the missing puzzle piece slides into place, completing the image we painted last night.

Oh. Fucking. Shit.

Frantically, I begin pulling out the pockets of my pants, tossing throw pillows all along the floor, searching for my phone. I find it on the coffee table next to my wallet and keys, my debit card staring back at me like a disappointed parent.

I open the bank app, signing into my account, and…my stomach falls out my ass. There are several less zeroes in my savings account than I had last night. My brain quickly begins to fill the gaps my drunken haze left behind.

---