Page 33 of Operation Annulment
I fall to my knees on the plush hotel carpet with a strained gasp.
What in the actual hell did I do last night?
“Nate?” I croak, folding my arm across my stomach. “Is that you?”
“Who the fuck else would be in your bed?” he growls, kicking off the comforter.
I peer down at the offending object on my finger, feeling lightheaded.
“We—we might have a problem.”
It means nothing.
Maybe I saw the ring and decided to use my newfound funds to treat myself.
“Yeah, we do, Katy girl,” he says with a low chuckle. “Why don’t you come back to bed so we can solve it?”
“I’m not—” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I’m not talking about sex.”
“Babe, we’re in a hotel in Vegas for the weekend. Let’s get romantic.”
I inspect my left hand again on the off-chance the ring happened to disappear in the last ten seconds. “Oh, we got romantic, alright.”
“What? What are you doing over there?” Nate rolls over and slaps at the nightstand until he finds the light switch, flooding the room with light.
I wince at the sudden brightness, blinking through watery eyes until he comes into focus.
The mattress groans as he swings his leg over the side of the bed and cracks his neck from side to side. After raking a hand through his medium-length dark hair, he stands with a yawn and stretches his arms overhead, either unaware or unbothered that he’s completely nude.
And completely aroused.
The sight of his cock bobbing against his abdomen as he pads over to me provides a momentary distraction from the problem at hand.
On hand.
He rubs the sleep from his eyes and scans my body, silently assessing the situation before asking, “Are you sick?”
Worse, I think…
As much as I want to reassure him that, physically speaking, I’m in tip-top shape, I can’t seem to find the words. Instead, I can do little more than stare in transfixed horror at the black titanium band on his left hand before an uncontrollable shudder sweeps through my body.
“No, we didn’t,” I whisper, shaking my head in a slow back-and-forth sweep of denial.
Nate reaches for me before visibly paling when he sees the ring on his finger. His brown eyes immediately move to my hand, and he swallows hard. “We’re?—”
“Don’t say it,” I plead before he can finish, hugging my knees to my chest. Saying the word will make it true, and it’s not. “We didn’t. It’s just jewelry. It doesn’t mean anything.”
But the evidence says otherwise.
sixteen
COMMANDMENT #17: THOU SHALT SEEK ENTHUSIASTIC CONSENT THROUGHOUT
Nate
Fuck.She doesn’t remember.
The woman who just hours ago appeared as sober as a judge was, in fact, so intoxicated that she’d forgotten our nuptials.
