Page 12 of Hot Mess Wedding

That thing that had been poking at my bottom is poking at his boxer briefs. It wants out. Good Lord, are they all that big?

No. I shake my head. I’ve seen some disturbing crime scene photos and the penises are never that big. But maybe that’s because the men had been murdered. Murdered penises might just get small.

I shake my head to clear it.

“We got married!”

He sits up and even with all the ink and designs covering his torso, I can clearly see his muscular definition as he scrubs a hand over his hair. And that’s when I realize I’m still standing here in my bra and panties.

“I can’t believe we got married and clearly had sex and I remember none of it.”

“Cleary, none of this is the way it looks,” he says.

I put my fists on my hips. “We are both in our undies!”

His lips quirk in a grin. “That’s true. You got hot once we got to the hotel. Stripped out of your clothes before I could stop you, and then fell asleep before I could get you into something else.”

I frown. I didn’t wake up though. In fact, I stayed in bed all night, judging by the sunlight trying to peek in at the edges of the window coverings.

I point at him. “And you?”

“I always sleep like this.” Then his hand scrubs over his face. “That’s not true. I usually sleep nude, but I didn’t figure you’d appreciate sharing a bed with a naked man.”

“You had your hands on my body this morning. I thought I was being attacked by a man-eating burrito. Woman-eating, whatever.”

He chuckles quietly, but I can tell he’s laughing by the way his shoulders are shaking.

I look around, trying to locate my luggage so I can put something on my body. No reason to be flashing this model of male perfection with my pale, wiggly body. There’s a wedding veil slung across one of the chairs.

My thumb nail goes to the back of the band on my left ring finger. I vaguely remember finding it in the bedding and slipping it on my finger. And it’s obvious from looking at the gaudy, enormous stones that the man who gave it to me, doesn’t truly know me. Obviously.

I’d never wear something this ostentatious. At least not on purpose.

I mean, obviously he doesn’t know me or he wouldn’t have bought this ring. And also obviously he doesn’t know me … because we just met yesterday!

Unless I’m missing more memories than just last night. Not that losing one night of memories isn’t enough. It is!

Suddenly the ring feels less like a ring and more like a noose. But when I try to pull it off my finger, it won’t budge.

“Where is my luggage and what time is it?”

That’s when it hits me.

The book signing.

The reason I came to Vegas to begin with.

“Oh my hell! Seriously, what time is it?” I search for a clock somewhere, but there’s nothing.

Ian reaches over and picks up a phone off the bedside table. “It’s a quarter after eight. Why?”

My mind explodes with thoughts. First and foremost, I slept through the night. Like for the first time since my parents died in the car accident when I was ten. Maybe Xanax and a margarita is the magic combination I’ve been looking for. But something tells me that’s simply not right.

I mean, if I’m missing time, it’s certainly not a combo I want to try again. And even if it is, I feel like it’s not the drugs that knocked me out all night, but being held in Ian’s arms.

And that’s a thought I do not have time for right now.

Ian gets up and walks to the other side of the suite, it’s around a corner so I can’t see him, but then he’s striding back in, my suitcase in tow.

---