Page 13 of The Accidental Honeymoon

Jay’s phone buzzes, and he fishes it out from underneath his body. “Thanks,” he says to the girl, but he’s already distracted by the caller ID. The girl waves and jogs off, leaving us in a stunned silence.

“Hello?” Jay says into the phone. He winces, holding it a bit away from his ear. “Yeah, Mike. No, everything’s fine.”

I can hear the angry squawk of the person on the other end, though I can’t make out the words. Jay’s expression shifts from concerned to something more resigned.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he says, cutting the guy off. “I’ve got a situation here. Yeah. Sure. Thanks.”

He hangs up and looks at me. “That was one of my sponsors. He called to be sure that the honeymoon package is still going to be used. I guess I called last night to leave him a voicemail about how love stinks.”

I want to scream. “How did we even— I mean— What?—?”

Try as I might, I can’t seem to formulate the right words to voice my frustrations. Jay rubs his hand against my upper arm, soothing me. It’s funny, because it sort of works.

“Freaking out isn’t going to help. Let’s just take a breath and figure this out logically.”

“We’re not Vulcans, Jay. We’re humans who make incredibly stupid decisions when drunk, apparently.”

He runs a hand through his hair. For a moment, I swear he looks as lost as I feel. It’s strange, because every second I have known Jay, he always seemed to have a good grasp of what is going on. Now that I’m seeing him adrift from reality, it looks odd.

“Let’s get dressed. We’ll think better with clothes on,” I say gently.

We try to stand up at the same time, both clutching the blanket. Jay notices me struggling, and with a shrug, he drops his corner. He’s seemingly unbothered by his nakedness, and looks like a Greek statue come to life. He pads over to the gym bag as I sneak a glance at his physique and immediately regret it. My cheeks burn hotter than the rising sun.

It may be freezing cold outside, but Jay’s erect cock juts proudly, swinging with every step he takes. It’s glorious, massively long and thick, giving a new meaning tomorningglory. I have never been both so mortified and so unable to stop staring at anything in my whole damn life.

If Jay notices my struggle, he is kind enough not to say anything. He tosses me a set of clothes from the gym bag: a men’s XXL T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. I slip them on under the blanket, grateful for the absurdly large sizes. They make me feel like a child playing dress-up, which is oddly comforting given the current nightmare.

I wrap the blanket around myself. Even bundled in the clothes, it’s still below freezing in Georgia and I’m shivering so hard I can’t think properly. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the first early morning runner.

Yeah, it’s time to get the heck out of Dodge.

Jay pulls on bright pink basketball shorts and a tie-dyed hoodie. The hoodie looks comically small on him, making me snort. He looks intently at his wrist. He pulls the cloth away from his skin, working the hoodie’s sleeve up to his elbow.

“Whoa. Fresh ink,” he says. A small calla lily is tattooed on his forearm, covered by a sheer bandage.

Oh. I get a flashback to last night. I have a vague memory of getting something painful etched into my flesh.

“Oh my god,” I whisper. I check my own wrist and nearly scream.

A tiny jay bird is perched there. Its beak is open, as if singing.

“Added bonus,” he says, though there’s no real humor in his voice. “A bird and a flower. Huh.”

I close my eyes, shaking my head. “No. A Jay bird and a Calla lily. I remember laughing really hard about that.”

Jay whistles. “We were wasted. Well, at least they’re tasteful.”

I’m beyond words. This isn’t just a bad dream; it’s a full-blown calamity. How could we have been so… so stupid?!

“Come on,” Jay says, motioning for me to follow. “Let’s go before more people show up.”

I hesitate. “Where?”

“My place. We need to lie low until we can sort this out.”

“I think I should just go home. I live above my shop.” I point to You Butter Believe It, way at the end of the town square. I’m thinking that if anyone else sees us together like this, the gossip will spread faster than a buttercream frosting on a too-warm cupcake.

“Calla. Let’s just go to my house. I promise we’ll fix this. But we need a plan. And clothes that weren’t scrounged out of a teenaged girl’s gym bag.”

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