Page 13 of The Better Bride

“Mysti, sweetheart. Breakfast is ready.”

The smell of bacon frying hits me, and I look in the direction of the deliciousness.

And that’s when I see it. There it is…the empty Patron bottle right on the counter. Shit!

“Brendon, did I have tequila last night?”

He laughs. Like, belly laughs at me. He strides toward me and reaches for my chin, directing my eyes to his.

“You pounded that shit, babe. I think you enjoyed that as much as you did me.” He winks.

My stomach drops, and I feel the floor turn into mush. I begin to see black, and I lose my balance, falling into his chest. His hard, warm chest.

He smells…like me.

“You alright there? Need some bacon?”

I push him away, and I glare at him. Now I’m scared.

“We didn’t…?” I begin, my hand gesturing between us. “Brendon, please tell me that we didn’t.”

It’s almost like if I say them, it’ll make it true. And I’m not in any state to swallow that bit of information.

“Oh, honey,” he says, mimicking my accent. “We did. Many, many times.” He leans closer to me, our lips inches apart.

Oh, lord. I can smell the tequila on his breath, too.

“Ahhhh…”

A loud groan comes from somewhere in the suite, and I turn toward it, thankfully allowing me to breaking our contact.

“Who is that?” I ask Brendon, not looking at him.

“Who the fuck knows?”

He turns back around, grabs two mugs, and pours us some coffee.

I look up at the chandeliers hanging over the dining room table, covered in feather boas and rainbow-colored G-strings. Something shiny catches my eye on the ground, and I bend down to see dick shaped confetti.

What…the…hell?

I force myself to think, recover any memories from the night before, but it’s all black and foggy.

“Order up! Bacon, nice and crispy.”

I walk up to the island across from him. He slides me a plate of bacon, still sizzling in its own fat. The second I pick it up, I drop it and realize my folly—

“Fuck, that’s hot!”

He turns to me and grabs my hand, raising it to his mouth. He sucks the bacon grease off of my fingers, then blows cool air onto the lightly burned tips.

“All better now.” He smiles innocently and stares at me with those deep green eyes. They sparkle as I meet them.

He rubs my hands, and I melt into him, loving how his touch feels on me. But I hear a loudthump, and I yelp in surprise, pulling my hand out of his.

Reality sinks in. What in the hell am I doing?

This isn’t my fiancé—this isn’t Norbert. This is Brendon. Brendon fucking Brooks.

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