Page 3 of Hot Mess Wedding

This year I’ve kept a huge secret. I didn’t tell a single soul. Not my sisters-in-law, whom I love and adore, not my brothers, not even my besties that make up my online book club.

So, what is this big secret?

I wrote a romance novel.

And then, following advice I found online, I published it myself under a pen name I made up. I'm not rolling around in my money yet, but the book has done decently well.

So then I wrote another one. Then another. Readers seem to really like my books. Enough, in fact, that I’ve decided to attend a conference for romance readers that’s held every year in Vegas.

The timing is perfect. My sisters-in-law are both hugely pregnant at the moment, so I figured it was the safest time ever for me to out myself, so to speak, to my readers.

I’m excited and terrified.

Mostly excited—because romance readers are the best!

Terrified because I don’t know anyone else who will be at the conference. And that’s a lot of new people to meet all at once. And also, because I’ll be flying to Las Vegas.

And I’ve never been on a plane before now.

I know, I know! What kind of grown woman in her twenties has never flown before? The kind who has been too scared to take risks until now.

Let me rephrase that … The kind of woman who is determined to not be scared anymore and who is going to grab the life she wants in both hands, even if that means doing all the scary things.

Everyone knows I’m going on a trip, but I told them it was for a work conference. I’m a digital forensics analyst with the Lake Tahoe Sheriff’s department and while my job is super cool and I do love it, writing feels more me.

I find my seat on the plane and it’s as horrible and uncomfortable as everyone says. I glance out the window and see the workers scurrying about with carts and whatnot getting all the planes ready. There’s one guy on a ladder and he’s got a work belt around him with tools.

They’re wheeling his ladder close to the side of this plane. Oh God, is it already broken? I slam the window shade shut and force myself to look elsewhere.

While I haven't told any of my closest friends the true nature of my trip, they know I’m going somewhere. We made a pact that this week we’d all do something that scares us.

So I am on a plane, which I've never been on before. Yes, that is something that frightens me. The trip itself, outing myself as an author, meeting readers, all of that is the big stuff that scares me.

Speaking of big stuff … holy hot, bearded, tatted giant! Walking down the aisle with a black leather backpack slung over his shoulder is the living, breathing incarnation of my current hero, which is kind of weird. I mean it’s obviously not him because I write fiction. But wow, this guy with his dirty blonde hair that he wears a bit too long and his dark, fathomless eyes, looks exactly how I imagined Bolt.

I think his nose is pierced. Why is that hot? That shouldn't be hot. That should be gross and unsanitary and weird, but instead, it's hot. His hands are tatted too, one of them features a scary looking skull face.

There’s just black ink everywhere on his exposed skin, except his face, and it's nothing short of mesmerizing.

His dark eyes scan the numbers above the seats. His steps slowing as he nears my row.

Please keep walking. Please keep walking. Please keep walking!

I chant the refrain in my mind, because I do not comport myself well around hot guys. In fact, I have a long and varied history of making myself a fool around attractive guys, dating all the way back to the second grade when I fell out of my desk when Tanner walked into the room the first day of school.

And, seven-year-old Tanner was nothing compared to this man.

But, as fate would have it, this huge, Bolt-Look-Alike, stops at my row. He shifts his backpack, but then his gaze lands on me and my big, stupid red hair, and he pauses in the act of slinging it off his back.

His gaze roams over my face, then slowly drops to scan the rest of me. I know what he sees. The big, frizzy curls. The big, overt curves.

I know I’m the kind of woman who isn’t every guy’s type, but generally men don’t find me repulsive either.

But this guy?

If the shocked expression on his face is any indication, he is horrified by the idea of sitting next to me.

Okay, okay, I can do this. I can sit next to an insanely hot tattooed giant with long hair and earrings and rings on his fingers and piercings who knows where else.

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