“So you’re willing to make such a sacrifice and choose me, a dump truck of a woman, over your gorgeous art teacher?” I asked sardonically, and he nodded fervently.
“She’s kinky too. Everything with you is so vanilla. But yeah! I mean, if I can’t have a stimulating conversation, it’s just like screwing around with a sex doll, you know?” he assured me, not bothering to argue with the descriptors I’d used. I didn’t quite know why I kept fishing, hoping he would finally see the light and tell me that I was beautiful. That I was fantastic, funny, gorgeous, and…good enough. I’d have better luck finding a pet goldfish in the ocean. I still offered the opportunities, but I’d long accepted that he wasn’t going to actually make use of them. It was hard to accept that he didn’t quite love me as much as I loved him, but I couldn’t look past the obvious indications any longer.
“Uh-huh. Well, I am known for my conversational skills. That said, I’ve got to cut this particular conversation short. I have somewhere to be,” I said brusquely, trying to edge past him.
“You still seem angry. Babe, come on. Can’t we move past this? I’m willing to give you another chance if you’re willing to do the same,” he said, his voice sounding more annoying than I’d ever noticed. I wasn’t quite sure what he thought I’d done to require a second chance, but it wasn’t worth discussing at the time.
“I’ll think about it, okay? Let it knock around the noggin for a bit. I’ll call you,” I half-lied, hurrying to my car. I would think about it because I was an idiot who was still in love with the bastard. Not that things would be easy, considering I was married to a man whose name I didn’t even know. I didn’t really have specific plans to call Nick, though. It wasn’t like he’d stop tailing me at the school, so I didn’t see the need to go out of my way with a phone call. Hell, he’d never even told me about his mother dying. I would have went to the funeral at least. For having such a scumbag of a son, she had been a really nice lady. I turned to offer my condolences but was interrupted by his phone ringing. He held up a hand, answering hurriedly.
“Hey, Ma! No, no. Tiff and I will come for dinner really soon, though, okay?” he said brightly, entirely oblivious to the deadpan expression I had leveled on him. He didn’t seem to recognize his slip up even as he hung up, but I had places to be.
“Later, Prick,” I called out, getting in my car. His expression of confusion was more than just vaguely satisfying, but if he asked, I’d only ever called him by his name. Typing an address in my phone’s GPS feature, I sat it on the center console and followed the droll directions as outlined by the friendly navigator.
Truth be told, I was torn between excitement and terror. The idea of having a hot body was impossibly appealing, but I’d heard my share of horror stories about the sorts of places I was going. Especially when I was younger and my aunt twice removed had had a nose job. The place had ended up being a chop shop, and to call it that was putting it nicely. I would likely never know how they managed to make her nose more prominent than it already was, but it was…a problem – and again, that’s putting it nicely.
The place where I was having my consult had stellar reviews on all of the search engines, but there could always be flukes. Or perhaps my body was too damaged to salvage. Maybe my breasts were such lumpy monstrosities that my only hope would be completely removing them. It was possible that my ass was just formed in such a way it simply couldn’t be made cute and round… and big. Bigger, I mean. I was so caught up in my thoughts that I didn’t realize I was at the right address until my phone loudly announced as much. Just another thing I did on autopilot, I guess.
The night I’d shared with that Adonis of a man in Vegas hadn’t been autopilot. Every move and every moment was orchestrated to the very second, and the thoughts of the rewards I’d reaped sent a pulse straight between my legs. I couldn’t remember a lot, but I could remember his devious expression just before he dove underwater and gave me more pleasure than I’d ever felt in my life. Pulling into a parking spot, I took a moment to try and … cool down, as it were. I didn’t really want to straight in and have the surgeon to see me in an embarrassingly aroused state. Forcing myself to think unsexy thoughts, something along the lines of Nick jerking against Ms. Hart like he was having some kind of conniption, I stepped out of my car and inhaled a steadying breath.
Vanilla sex? What the hell was he talking about?! He was the boring one. I asked him to try different things, but he refused, I thought as I shook my head. Nick was just a boring man, and now that I’d had more, I would never consider going back to him again. I couldn’t; it would be like switching from top grade A steak to dog food. I got out of my car and walked into the office, closing off any thoughts of Nick the prick as quickly as I could. I was here to make myself more beautiful, and I had to focus on that now.
I’d arrived early, so I didn’t have to wait terribly long to be called back. If I thought I was scared in the parking lot, I had no idea what scared was. My fear felt like it’d been multiplied a billion fold as soon as I stepped into the exam room and sat awkwardly on the table where I would likely be felt up by a graying man in his fifties. I couldn’t contain my fidgeting and eventually gave up trying altogether. I wrung my hands anxiously, the thoughts I’d had in the car washing over me again. When the door opened, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Hello, Miss…Rodriguez? I’m just giving you a cursory exam before the doctor will see you. Standard procedure,” a young woman said with a bright smile. She had smiling emojis plastered all over her scrubs. I resisted the desire to roll my eyes, not sure what anyone could possibly be so happy about. “Alright, I’m going to need you to disrobe, ma’am,” she said with all of the confidence of a man about to get his prick wet. I frowned, unsure why she wasn’t leaving the room. I didn’t guess there was much need for her to leave, however. She was giving me an exam, after all. As she stepped closer, looking me over and making notes on her little clipboard, I panicked.
“Are my breasts actually malignant tumors?” I blurted, my cheeks catching aflame at her taken aback expression. It took the slightest of moments for her to regain her composure, offering me a polite smile. “I’m an idiot. I don’t know why I said that,” I continued, digging my hole even deeper.
“You’d actually be surprised by how much we get questions of that nature,” she said amicably, gesturing for me to turn around. I obeyed, feeling like a car being appraised or something equally ridiculous. I was tempted to make a joke about my headlights, but I managed to keep quiet until she was finished. “You have nothing to worry about, Miss Rodriguez. You’re in good hands. Doctor Roman is the best in the field. Between you and me, I think he’ll be relieved to have such a cut and dry case for once,” she chuckled, making a final note. I wasn’t sure what she meant, but I chose to take her words as a compliment.
“It shouldn’t be a long wait. Like I said, you’ll be in perfectly capable hands,” she smiled, muttering under her breath as she slipped out the door. It was an unmistakably crude comment about how capable those hands probably were, and I could only guess the doctor was a looker. It was hard to decide whether that was better or worse than being examined by some old stickler. I wasn’t super excited by the prospect of a strange, gorgeous man seeing my unimpressive body, but it wasn’t as if I could get blackout drunk and married again. I figured I was safe. Sitting back on the table, I covered myself with the gown the nurse had offered me. Tapping my fingernails on my knee, I tried not to let myself get even more anxious as I waited. This guy was a professional; he probably saw saggy and ugly tits every day. I mean, I was at least mostly sure I wouldn’t be the worst patient he’d ever laid eyes on. I had myself partially convinced that he would convince me to go for a complete facial reconstruction as well, surprising myself with the thought. Nick’s skewed views of me had messed up my thought process more than I wanted to acknowledge.
I could hear the scraping of my chart being grabbed and a thoughtful hum from the other side of the door. For some go
dforsaken reason, the sound caused my body to react in a way I wasn’t particularly thrilled by. My nipples hardened almost painfully, and my body flushed embarrassingly. I had no idea why I was so affected by that simple sound, but I pressed my thighs together and held my gown closed as the doorknob turned. I supposed it was zero hour, no turning back. I could only hope it worked out for the best. I forced a smile that probably seemed creepily eager as the door was pushed open, and I fought to keep my smile until I actually saw the doctor.
My heart dropped into my stomach, and nausea washed over me. It couldn’t be, but I would recognize that chiseled jaw anywhere. Clenching my hands in my gown, I could do nothing but stare with my mouth agape and my eyes wide. Wouldn’t you know it – my plastic surgeon and I were more acquainted than I’d realized. I still had the wedding ring he’d given me in the pocket of my slacks.
Shit.
6
CHAPTER SIX
Archer
Sleeping in wasn’t something I did particularly often; it wasn’t what you could call my style. Just the same, getting out of bed happened to be particularly taxing today. It was just a gut feeling, I suppose, just the feeling that my day wasn’t going to go particularly well. The sun was shining a bit too brightly, and my arm was cramped from the position I’d slept in. Perhaps it was a little much, but I understood what it meant to wake up on the wrong side of the bed for once. Sitting upright, I brushed a hand through my hair and breathed a sigh.
I hadn’t slept easily since arriving home from Vegas. The wedding band itself was shoved deep in a drawer where I’d been hoping I could forget it, but it still lingered in the back of my mind. What was by all rights an altogether unimpressive thing was impossibly beautiful in its simplicity. I could only imagine the mysterious woman had picked it out for me – subtlety wasn’t one of my stronger suits. Glaring at a spot on the wall, I tried to shake off these thoughts as I swept the blankets off of myself. My phone dinged occasionally, and I was almost positive Jasmine had decided to resume blowing up my phone. As far as I was concerned, things couldn’t have gotten much worse.
Snatching my cell phone off the nightstand, I swiped the screen and prepared for the worst. I was surprised to see an email notification from an address I didn’t recognize; I almost dismissed it as spam. There were photo attachments, so it wasn’t wise to blindly open the email. I found myself doing so anyway, as if compelled by a force outside of myself. It wasn’t a virus; that much was evident. I should have been relieved, but I would have almost preferred to have had my identity stolen or something. It wasn’t as if I were being the most responsible person in the world, as evidenced by the photo attachments.
God. I hadn’t fooled myself into thinking I’d made any progress moving past the whole accidental marriage, but if I had, it would have gone straight in the crapper just now. I almost didn’t recognize the euphoric smile on my face as I clung to the strange woman like a koala. God, I hadn’t even changed out of my jeans. With no shirt and damp hair sticking to my forehead, I looked worse than I’d thought possible. My mind bitterly pointed out that I should have felt the same about the robed figure featured in every other photo, but my traitorous heart only gave a painful twinge at the sight of her. Her smile was beautiful, and even if we had both been drunk out of our minds, I could easily recognize that was the happiest I’d ever been. It almost made it more of a shame that I couldn’t remember a damn thing besides the sex.
Scowling at the ordained minister, I could only curse myself for how tacky I had been while in a drunken fog. We’d been married by an Elvis impersonator. Not even a good Elvis, not even a young Elvis, but an old, fat, and balding Elvis. The buttons on his excessively blinged-out shirt were straining to contain his gut. There was a look of mirth on his face, and I vaguely considered using the email address to locate the tacky little chapel. I had plenty to say about allowing people to get married while so obviously inebriated. Then again, it wasn’t exactly in their job description to turn down a check because of the bad choices of their patrons. Exhaling an agitated groan, I was tempted to immediately delete the email and move on with my life. I was even further tempted to scan the photos and do a cursory facial recognition scan – just to satisfy my own curiosity. It was pretty easy to guess which idea would win out, and I cursed myself the whole time I strode to my computer desk and booted up. The photos were even more embarrassing at full size, but somehow, my heart throbbed even more painfully at seeing the woman’s face in high definition. It made sense that I would be idiotic enough to be soft on the woman who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to be a one night stand. No strings attached, she’d insisted. Yet my heart had to go and start doing flips in my chest. Gritting my teeth, I cropped the most defined picture of her face, internally screaming as I ran the search. I didn’t really expected to get results; it was just to satisfy my curiosity after all. Like scratching an itch or more like clawing at a rash.
“‘Hunka Hunka Burning Love Chapel?’ Could we have been anymore drunk and cheesy?” I asked no one but myself. I had to chuckle; it was like a bad dream that had reared its ugly head again. The bulging Elvis, with his fat belly, and us, the two drunks. It was almost comical to look at, and I wondered if this would be a good picture to place on our Christmas cards one year and send out to all of our friends. I got a bit of a guilty laugh at thinking of my mother and father looking at the picture and what comments they would come up with. My father, I was sure, would berate me like he usually does. My mother, well…I wasn’t really sure what her reaction would be to this picture. I put the pictures down and looked up at my computer to see if the search had come up with anything further.
Seeing results from the local school district was enough to make my heart leap into my throat. It was a coincidence. There were probably thousands of women who looked like my flavor of the night – though my brain desperately argued that she was one of a kind. Against my better judgement and all rational thought, I clicked the link and brought up the photos from a school function. My eyes nearly bulged out of my skull, and though I wanted to rationalize that it was just some sort of…doppelganger, I couldn’t ignore the truth. It was her. The woman of my dreams. The woman I’d gotten shitfaced with and married. I almost expected her to be some floozy, the type that one had a hard time sympathizing with – or maybe that had just been my hope. Instead, I saw the glowing face of an angel gathered with a flock of cherubic children. Alright, maybe cherubic was a bit of an exaggeration. Three of them were picking their noses, and I could see a boy pulling a girl’s hair. Still, it didn’t detract from the pure beauty that the woman – their teacher – resonated. Looking at the details, I tried to convince myself not to fall deeper into the rabbit hole. She’d insisted on no strings attached, but that was before the circumstances had shifted entirely. Whether or not she wanted them, we were both tangled in the strings of fate. Ms. Rodriguez and her fifth grade class. Her first name wasn’t listed, and although I probably could have scoured the directory, I desperately wanted to reign in my control on the situation. She was sexy, gorgeous, radiant, and absolutely perfect. Somehow, the sight of her dressed casually without any pretenses was sexier than she had been in that red wrap dress at the citadel. It cemented the fact that she wasn’t just some fantasy; she was a real woman with a real life that was filled with passions and goals. It wasn’t as if I’d considered her some kind of soulless android prior to now, but to see her with her defenses so effectively wiped away…
I felt my cock harden at the memories of the sex we’d had. It had been truly incredible, the best I’d ever had in my life. I wasn’t some sort of sexual addict, but I’d had plenty of partners in the past. None of them had compared to what the sex had felt like with my little teacher wife. I laughed as the Van Halen song “Hot for Teacher” came on the radio. Taking it as a sign, I shook my head. I recalled her velvety folds and how they had felt wrapped around my cock. This only caused me to become harder, and I knew that I wouldn’t be any good like this for
the day. I stared a bit more at her picture.
“Dammit,” I swore loudly, resigning myself to my inability to control myself. I had to find her in the directory. I had to figure out every single detail I could; I had to know this woman. I had to talk to this woman. I tried to dismiss this urgency as a matter of working out the whole accidental marriage, but for reasons beyond my understanding, I was less annoyed by our marriage than by the fact that I’d not had the opportunity to do things right. Before I could entirely lose myself in the depths of the school district’s servers, I was shaken from my reverie by my phone ringing. The funeral march resonated through my penthouse apartment, and I glared at the offending object.
It wasn’t an exaggeration; I had actually set the funeral march as my father’s ringtone. Why not? I wanted to throw myself off a cliff every time I got off the phone with the old bastard. I wasn’t mentally unwell, but anyone would struggle to live with themselves if they had my father. I was tempted to ignore the call and focus on the task at hand, but a small part of me hoped the trip to Maui had been cancelled and I wouldn’t have to deal with the situation. Better yet, maybe Jasmine and my mother had had a falling out and she wouldn’t be joining our vacation. I knew better than to expect something as ridiculous as an apology, but it would be satisfying to hear that they had recognized they were wrong about my cruel ex. Swiping to answer the call, my father was speaking before I could even greet him.
Accidentally Married Page 7
