by Peyton Banks
"No food." Cheryl groaned.
Thalia raised Cheryl’s left hand. "Holy crap. It's true. You freaking married Austin Chambers?"
"You know Austin?"
"No way. No fucking way." Thalia laughed until tears streamed down her pretty face.
"Happy to provide entertainment. Want to let me in on the joke.”
"First of all, it's two in the afternoon. Secondly, yes, I do know Austin we used some of his band's music on our last Paladin video game."
"Okay..." Cheryl rolled over onto her back and put her arm over her eyes. "He makes video game music, so what?”
Thalia chuckled. "Girl, you're not going to believe this. Your sister has no idea who Austin is?” Thalia pulled Cheryl’s hand to study the ring and laughed again. “How did your strait-laced ass sister go to Vegas and marry a rock star?"
"A what?" Cheryl sat up and felt woozy. Oh, he not only left aspirin, but a bottle of water on the nightstand.
At least Thalia had the decency to wait for Cheryl to swallow three pills before the yapping resumed.
"How much do you remember of last night? Wait." Thalia raised her hand. "Please tell me he's good in bed. I don’t care if you have to lie."
"Maybe Mason isn't giving it to you good enough if you're worried about my sex life."
"Don't make me have to call your mama."
"She's in Zimbabwe and can't do jack." Cheryl accepted another small bottle of water from Thalia. "Thanks. And I have no idea how good he is or isn't, because nothing happened.” At least she hoped not, because that would the annulment less complicated. ” Thank goodness. That will make the annulment less complicated.
Cheryl finished the water and was screwing the top back on the bottle when her synapses began firing. "Wait, how did you find out?"
"Oh baby, you might need a shower first. Go ahead, before breakfast gets here."
Cheryl reached for her phone, but Thalia snatched it off the nightstand. "Nope. Shower first, handle your business in there and hurry back. I'm starving."
* * *
Thalia was right, the combination of the shower, aspirin, and a third bottle of water had Cheryl feeling right as rain. And embarrassed.
Swaddled in one of the hotel’s thick white robes, she walked into her hotel room for breakfast and to face the repercussions of her apparent wild night. Thalia had opened the drapes and the table was beautifully laid out and even had with a small bud vase with some tiny white flowers.
"Ah, there she is." Thalia handed Cheryl a cup of coffee. "The food just arrived. You want the omelet or the pancakes?"
"Omelet."
"Good."
Breakfast was yummy. Cheryl had reservations last night at the Italian restaurant in the hotel, but apparently, she was busy getting married.
She’d eaten three quarters of the omelet and all the toast, and two cups of coffee, and Thalia had yet to do anything but send texts and look at Cheryl and snicker.
It must be bad.
"I’m impressed. Getting laid on the regular has made you patient," Cheryl said.
"No, it hasn't. I'm just savoring your pain."
"Some friend you are."
"I'm supposed to what? Feel sorry for you? Not a freaking chance. Besides.” Thalia sipped her coffee. “I’ve always been the wild one. Permit me this moment.”
“I really need to upgrade my social circle,” Cheryl mumbled.
"You might want to look at these while you eat." Thalia popped half of a sausage link in her mouth. "I have to say, I'm a little offended that Elvira got to be your maid of honor. Was Dolly Parton not available? What were you thinking?"
"I wasn't. And I have a feeling those gummy bears were more than candy."
Thalia coughed. "How many did you eat?"
"Don’t ask, because I’m not sure."
Cheryl opened the phone and smiled at the montage of images. It was as if a door had opened and a breeze swept in to clear the smoke. The first image was with the people from the chapel, buying masks for them all and going to the party—which was incredible. Then leaving there and going club hopping.
There was even a group picture of the ten of them on the roller coaster on the outside of the New York, New York hotel. Cheryl traced her finger across the screen, touching Austin's smiling face and her heart lurched.
"Are you okay?" Thalia reached across the table and patted her hand.
"What have I done?"
"Found an awesome man. Cheryl, look at me. He's one of the good ones."
"And he lied."
"How?" It wasn't Thalia who asked the question, but Austin. Standing in the door holding a bouquet of flowers. "You lost the ones from last night. I..."
"I'll give the two of you some privacy."
"Thalia?" Austin closed the door behind him. "Small world."
"Yes, it is." She snagged the last sausage from her plate. "Congratulations," she said to Austin.
"Cheryl." Thalia placed her hand on her shoulder, leaned down and whispered, "Remember what I said. He’s a keeper."
11
Austin
Cheryl wasn’t sure if it was the drugs leaving her system, rehydrating, or eating, but the pressure in her head was just a flicker. Now watching the handsome Austin shift his weight from foot to foot, the ached moved to the center of her chest.
“How are you feeling?” He jerked his chin at the bottle of aspirin sitting on the table amongst the silver domes and dirty dishes.
“I’ve had better mornings. And you?” She sipped her coffee. Anything to keep from jumping up and asking him not to leave. When their sham of a marriage ended it would be amicable and on her terms.
He wasn’t wearing the full suit from last night, just the black pants and shirt. With the sleeves rolled up exposing his tatted arms and the shirt unbuttoned, one would not believe he’d married in that outfit.
But that wide platinum band on his left hand screamed taken.
“It’s a little crazy downstairs. So...” He glanced the cellphone sitting on the table. “I take it you’ve been on social media? Seen everything?”
“Not really.” Nothing but crumbs remained from breakfast. The table scattered with the detritus and upturned silver domes was almost embarrassing. “Are you hungry? We could order you breakfast.”
“I’m not sure I could eat without throwing up right now.”
He shook his head and handed Cheryl a lovely bouquet of tropical flowers.
“Thank you.” Her eyes burned. What she had done the night before was foolish and so off brand that anyone who knew her would believe those pictures were of some other woman.
A woman Austin Chambers, the world’s sexiest man, found interesting enough to marry.
That woman didn’t exist.
“I should put these in some water.” Cheryl stood, taking two steps before Austin’s words stopped her.
“You promised this wouldn’t happen.”
She answered without turning around. “I wasn’t in full control of my faculties last night, so I’m not sure I can be held responsible.”
Unfortunately, now that she remembered, she would do it again. The only thing that could have made the night before more perfect was if her closest friends and family could have been there.
“It’s like that? You’re going to just walk away?”
Cheryl laid the flowers on the bed and schooled her face. No way would he use this shit in some biography years from now. She’d be a footnote. The pitiful bride asking him to stay. “What did you think would happen?”
“You’re so damned smart, ask the right question?” A vein throbbed in his temple.
Screaming wouldn’t help, and neither would tears. Besides, that’s not who she was. Time to pull up those big girl panties. “Who are we in the light of day?”
“The same people we were yesterday, and who we were before we met.” Austin walked toward her. When she retreated, he stopped.
Her headache was returning with a vengeful stab behind her right eye.
“God, I must have seemed like a real idiot to those people last night.”
“No.” Austin shook his head. “They love you as much as...” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at her left hand. “Anyway, we exchanged numbers and promised to get together for our anniversary next year.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“It was your idea. I guess that’s not going to happen now that you’ve come to your senses.”
Cheryl grunted as she walked to the floor to ceiling windows, snagging her cup of coffee on the way. “This is so...”
Before Austin arrived, she was so sure of the solution of their dilemma. But being in the same space, breathing the same air...
Everything was more complicated. Then she recalled their conversation from yesterday, where she confessed about the inability to show vulnerability. Obviously, she’d felt safe enough to propose to this man.
Could she not trust him with her truth?
Speaking of truth... “Brian specializes in entertainment law. Was he acting as your agent when I saw you yesterday?”
“Yeah. Can you believe that was a little over twenty-four hours ago?”
“I should have put it together then, but I was distracted.”
“The good kind I hope.” He stood beside her, leaning a shoulder against the window as if the view didn’t hold his interest.
Gah, it was that focus of his—okay, and the thighs—that got her in this mess. He really needed to stop. Or put a paper bag over his head or something.
“What were you guys negotiating?” she asked in a voice that exposed none of her panic.
“A year residency here at the hotel.”
“That sounds nice.” She wrapped her fingers around the warm mug to keep her hands from shaking. “And lucrative. Congratulations.”
Austin took the cup from her hands and drank. “You still didn’t ask the right question.”
“What’s there to talk about?”
“Ask me what I’d like to happen.”
“Just tell me.” Break up and get it over with. Well, at least he was being kind about humiliating her in front of the world.
“Last night you asked me to marry you.” He took another sip of her coffee then handed it back.
“And today?”
“I’m asking you to stay my wife. Give me twenty-five years of yes.”
“What?” She tried not to look shocked, but the mouth hanging open, probably didn’t add cool points.
“A wise woman once said: why waste time when you know it’s right.”
Cheryl looked at Austin, really studied him. What she’d earlier interpreted as pity had been fear. That he’d believed that she wouldn’t want him or the crazy that comes with his life was clear.
She still didn’t know him from Adam—but no snake would have tempted Eve if her man looked like Austin. If Cheryl had been brave enough to take the leap last night, there were no downsides to riding this bitch until the wheels fell off.
Hopefully, that would take a few decades.
“Well.” Cheryl released a loud dramatic exhale. “I guess we’ll be racking up some air miles.”
“So that was a yes?” He wrapped his hands in the thick lapels of the robe and stepped into Cheryl as he pulled her closer.
“Oh yeah.” She sat her mug on the small round table and wrapped her arms around her new husband. “What should we do for our second date?”
“How about we start with a nap?” Austin gathered Cheryl in his arms and tossed her on the bed. “And when we wake up, the honeymoon is on and popping.”
About the Author
Want to read more about Cheryl and her crew? Join my mailing list www.acnixon.com/mailinglist for updates. If you want to find me around social media, or check out my other books go to www.acnixon.com/quicklinks .
Thank you so much for supporting such an incredible cause.
A.C. Nixon has worked with explosives, been a singing waitress in Switzerland, and pranced around the stage, but is constantly surprised when her friends refuse to believe that she’s an introvert.
So far, she’s traveled to five of the seven continents, and honestly—only wishes to visit one more. Of all the places she has experienced, falling into fictional worlds felt most like home.
A.C. loves to create tales of flawed and diverse characters who get their happy on.
Incapable of committing to a single genre, A.C. pens love stories with fur and fang as Annalise Nixon.
When she’s not abusing those on the road to a happy ever after, she’s hanging out in Texas, with her wild, wacky and wonderful pals, searching for the best beef brisket on the planet, while trying to convince her two cats that she really is in charge.
A.C.’s personal prince charming wore camouflage rather than armor and now drives a truck, instead of a trusty steed. But she’ll keep him all the same.
Moment in Time
AMANDA FAYE
This short was strongly inspired by the song, Jealous, by Labrinth.
1
Tremelle
I hate these things. Most doctors do—the required dog and pony show that has little to nothing to do with the art of practicing medicine.
I hate them more than most.
As one of the few African American Cardiovascular Surgeons in the state of New York, I feel like I have to exceed my peers, to earn the same respect as they do. I have to dress nicer, speak stronger, and be all around extra, compared to my white contemporaries.
It’s exhausting.
It’s challenging to be a gay Black man in any profession, but especially one like this.
“No,” Liam says pointing at me with a beer bottle in his hand, before I even open my mouth.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to, and the answer is no.”
I was going to ask if we’d been here long enough, but it’s just plain rude to rub it in my face like that. I tip my nose up, aiming for an air of superiority. That’s hard to achieve, though, when the other person is your boss, and he once handed you toilet paper under the bathroom stall.
“It’s opening night, and we’re the hosting hospital. You guys are stuck here for as long as I’m stuck here, and I can’t leave until the room is almost empty.”
Sami, his wife, and my favorite anesthesiologist, wanders up to us and hands me another brandy, waiting the moment it takes me to slug back the last splash in my current glass.
“I recognized the look in your eye,” she says, as I pull her to me and give her a kiss on the cheek. “You needed a refill stat.” Sami worked a shift tonight, not that you can tell it from how she’s rocking the cocktail dress she’s wearing and owning the four-inch heels that bring her up to a somewhat normal height, instead of the lower plane that she normally occupies.
Liam and I are both well over six foot and stand head and shoulders above most of our friends. I’ve only been at East Side a few years, in contrast to the decade-plus most of them have, but they accepted me into their inner circle as if we’d grown up together. From what I understand, some of them did.
“No date tonight? I thought that guy from last weekend looked promising,” Zoe asks, and I lift my shoulder in a noncommittal answer before bringing the amber liquid to my lips.
“No point. I haven’t had a decent date in ages. I don’t want to squander a promising date on this, no offense, and it’s too much effort to smile at a man I’m not interested in.”
“Preach,” Zoe says, and Mandy rolls her eyes. Zoe and Mandy have been together ages, but that doesn’t stop Zoe from coming with me to the local bars on the weekends. It pays to have a bi-sexual bestie.
That’s how you know it’s true love, I suppose. When your lesbian wife doesn’t complain that you wing-man for your gay best friend.
“Next time we host a party,” I say, “make it at a Cigar Bar. At least then I can enjoy a Cuban while pandering to the masses.”
“Here, here,” Liam croons as he raises his beer, and we all toast i
n the middle.
“And you—a lung doctor,” Sami teases me. “You’re not setting the best example.”
“Do as I say, not as I do,” I deadpan, pretending to take a puff from a cigar.
A rich magenta suit from across the room catches my eye, and my banter trails off as I focus on the man occupying my line of sight.
His suit is perfectly tailored, cut to accentuate his trim waist and long legs. While the material is designed to be flashy and eye catching, his shirt is white and crisp, his patterned tie checkered and sleek. There’s a cream-colored handkerchief neatly folded and peeking from his outside breast pocket.
The oxygen flees my lungs as I take in the vision of his figure.
He’s grown since I’ve seen him last, if that’s even possible. Wider at the shoulders, broader through the chest. His jacket fits him like a glove, but with one wrong move, it would split at the seams from the flex of his muscles it.
His hair is shorter now, clipped close to his head. His face is scruffy, where before he was clean shaven.
There’s a maturity to him now—a sophistication broadcast across the crowded room—that wasn’t there the last time I saw him.
Of course, the last time I saw him, he was on his knees, begging me not to leave.
He’s seen me staring, because of course he has, and raises his glass in salute. I turn towards him, tipping my glass in return.
It’s a bold move for him. Different from the timid little kitten I left behind.
My companions, nosey in the best of circumstances, follow my line of sight, and stare between me and Zion as the moment between us stretches and pulls until the tension is thick enough to snap.
It breaks, when a woman in a business suit walks between us, putting a hand on his chest as he leans down to give her his ear. His eyes stare at me over her shoulder, but the moment has been cut short.
