Page 31 of The Accidental Honeymoon

My heart hammers in my chest. Putting my hand onto his chest, I tentatively deepen the kiss, letting myself get lost in it for just a moment.

It’s not hurting anybody for me to enjoy being kissed by Jay. And by God, the man knows how to kiss. Shivers of pleasure course through my veins. I press my thighs together.

Yeah, it’s been a long time since I remember anybody kissing me like that. Jay did on our wedding night, I guess, but it’s all a blur. Right here and now, it seems like Jay wants to tilt my head back, cup my jaw, and devour me whole.

He stops recording, but for some reason we keep kissing. The world around us dissolves into a haze of colors and sounds. When we finally pull away, I see a flickerof something in his eyes. It might be confusion, maybe. Or hesitation? Hard to say.

"We should..." I start, but my voice trails off.

"Yeah," he says, clearing his throat. "We should go."

As the wheel starts its descent, we sit in silence, the weight of what just happened pressing down on us. I don’t know what to say. For once, neither does he.

When we reach the bottom, we make our way to the parking lot, our steps slow and measured. The day has taken on a surreal quality, like a dream that’s starting to fade upon waking.

The Ferris wheel vanishes into the distance, its neon lights spinning like a tiny star in the darkening sky.

eleven

JAY

If Mount Gemstonewas a slightly wobbly Wild West fantasy, then the lobby of the Wagon Wheel Inn is a full-blown Wild West fever dream.

It’sderanged. Wagon wheels hang crookedly on the walls, everywhere I look. And there’s a massive, slightly terrifying statue of a rearing mustang smack in the center of the room. I can practically hear the theme music to an old Western playing in the back of my head.

Calla stands next to me, her nose wrinkling slightly as she takes it all in. She doesn’t say a word, but I can almost hear her internal monologue:What the hell am I doing here?

I grin, letting the absurdity of it all wash over me. “This place has character,” I say, aiming for optimism.

My voice echoes in the cavernous room and bounces off the tacky decor. Her gaze flicks to me, pinning me in place. I can’t read her thoughts but I would guess that she is wondering if I’ve led her into an insane asylum or not.

We approach the front desk, where a woman wearing a fringed leather vest and a cowboy hat beams at us like she’s been waiting all day for this moment. “Howdy, folks!Welcome to the Wagon Wheel Inn. Do you have a reservation?”

I step forward. “Should be under Rustin. We’ve got the honeymoon suite.” The words come out smoothly. But even as I say them, a small, absurd part of me wants to laugh.

Honeymoon suite.Yeah, right.

Beside me, Calla stiffens, but she doesn’t say a word. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, wondering what’s going through her mind. Again, my best guess is that it’s probably a mix of dread and regret. Maybe a little resignation.

I’m trying not to let it show, but this situation’s got me on edge too. Fake marriages don’t exactly come with an instruction manual. Especially not when you just shared a fairly spectacular kiss with your supposed wife and it left you all riled up.

The desk clerk’s nails, bright red and tipped with rhinestones, click against the keyboard.

“Ah, here y’all are,” she chirps. “Congratulations to the both of you!”

She hands me a keycard and slides a gift basket across the counter. It’s full of cheesy Wild West trinkets: a mini cactus, a bottle of sarsaparilla, and a pair of ceramic shot glasses shaped like cowboy boots. “Enjoy your stay!” she croons. “Don’t forget to check out the nightly square dance at the dining hall!”

Calla looks like she’s about to object. Square dancing?! But I’m already steering her toward the elevators. She pulls her arm free from mine as soon as we’re out of earshot. “This is crazy.”

I press the elevator button and turn to face her. Her arms are crossed, her expression wary. I’m not sure whatshe’s worried about. Me? The hotel. It doesn’t matter at this point.

“Let’s just go to see our room. We have to film a little content to satisfy the sponsor. But they only paid for three pictures of the newlyweds canoodling. We don’t have to leave the hotel room if we don’t want to.”

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Calla hesitates, then steps inside. I follow her, and we stand in awkward silence as the elevator hums to life. I can feel the tension rolling off her in waves, and I know I need to say something to break it.

“I’m just tired,” Calla finally says. “I didn’t get much sleep last night, remember?”

Ah. Now that she brings it up, I do seem to recall us staying up into the wee hours last night.

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