Page 25 of Perfect Playbook

“I don’t even know for sure you got it there, I just remember you wanting to go. After the slot machines, it’s pretty much a blur, but I remember you saying you wanted to visit a pawnshop from some show you watch on TV.”

I contemplate the beautiful sparkling object on my ring finger. My stomach drops for so many reasons, the money,but also a twang of regret that I’ve never had one on this finger before. It is a lot like my mom’s, a ring I wanted but that she gave to my eldest brother for his wife one day.

No matter how much it was, I shouldn’t have bought it. “I need to take this back.” I tug it, but my fingers are swollen from drinking so much.

He chuckles lightly but not at me, just in general, so much more comfortable with this kind of moment than I am, which is a fact that dredges up all sorts of discomfort. I’m sure this is commonplace for this dirty little playboy. The memories from years of seeing gorgeous women on his arm has me pulling at the ring harder. I’ll flay myself in a moment if I don’t stop. I’m going to need Vaseline or a health spa to get this off.

He hands me a bottle of water from the bedside table. “Here. You’re dehydrated.” He grabs another bottle for himself and slugs more than half of it before stopping abruptly. He pulls the bottle away from his lips in slow motion, staring at the back of his hand gripping the plastic.

I trace his gaze, and it lands on his ring finger, wrapped in a circle of platinum. He caps the bottle, hypnotized by the ring.

I tread lightly with my words. “I didn’t notice that last night.”

“I…” He can’t even finish his sentence. The man is in shock.

“Why are we both wearing rings, Logan?”

He lists off what he remembers, and it sounds like we took psychedelics.

“Slot machines. Roller coaster. The pawnshop. And after…” He furrows his brow in concentration. “I kind of remember us seeing Elvis.”

There are only two kinds of Elvises in this town. Myheart thumps. “Elvis, as in an impersonator?” It’s not a question, but more a warning that I need the right answer or I’ll pop.

He shakes his head as he tries to remember. “There was confetti…”

“Confetti?” Is there confetti in the stage shows?

He stares at his ring again, and it doesn’t feel like he’s really talking to me. “Do you like Elvis? I’ve never really thought about seeing Elvis before.”

I whip up and out of bed, securing the sheet to my body in the hopes of finding clues. Receipts. Accounting is my second religion. I wouldn’t throw out the receipt if I’d bought this ring.

I bury my hand in my purse, and there are a lot of tiny pieces of paper. It’s like a trashcan in there. I pull one out, and it’s from the club. I feel a heart attack coming on.

“Oh shit…” If I had any water left in my body, I might just cry. My voice is high and squeaky. “I spent three thousand dollars at that club last night?” I have to put my hand in front of my mouth. I swear vomit is on the way. “I don’t even have that limit on my credit card.”

“That was me.”

I turn my head toward Logan who is now on the bed with a pillow over his dick since I whisked the sheet off.

“You insisted I start filing my receipts and keeping track of expenses.” He points to my handbag. “You said you’d store them for me.”

This man lives on a whole different planet. I lift another wadded-up paper snowball between two fingers. “You’re a bookkeeper’s dream.”

I smooth and read out the tiny white slips one by one.We won some money on the slots. We got some fries at the MGM hotel bar…

He waves his hands as if urging clarity to come to him on a breeze. “I remember being in some… some office we were in?” He turns his head to me sharply. “Did we get arrested?”

I roll my eyes. I wouldneverget arrested. I snatch out another wad. Smooth it. Read it. Read it again. And have to read it a third time because I cannot believe what I’m seeing. This can’t be.It’s just not possible…

“What’s that one?” he asks from behind me.

I turn around to show him, but his eyes are closed, with no idea I’m about to give him a nightmare. His nonchalance disappears in an instant when my words drop like a bomb.

“We bought a marriage license, Logan.”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh, one I’ve never heard before because I’m sure Logan typically believes all the other shit he gets up to. He shakes his head, jaw slack, eyes full of disbelief. “I’d never…”

My eyes narrow temporarily, and I wonder if he means he’d never marrymeor marry at all. I throw the paper onto the bed over his bare legs, and he picks it up while I dive back into my purse, my stomach sloshing with dread.

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