He was about to warn Freya they were awful, but it was too late. Her face scrunched as she finished hers. In the distance, the music changed again and almost sounded appealing for dancing. The bride and her father spun together on an expansive dance floor surrounded by globe lights. The sun set in the distance and the sky began to darken.
Zane stood and held his hand out to ask Freya to join him. She slid her hand into his and rose from the table. Giving a soft wave to the rest of the table, they snuck away.
“One dance before we head up?” He asked as they crossed the lawn.
“Sure,” she grinned.
A server handed them each a glass of champagne and continued to pass out drinks. As they reached the dance floor, typical, the music stopped. A hammy-ass toast from the best man, the maid of honor, the father of the bride… until their champagne was gone. Damn, his head was swimming already, his headache dulled thanks to all the liquor, but tomorrow was going to suck.
As the music started back up again, Freya looped her arms around him and swayed with the hokey tune. “Too much champagne,” she muttered against his chest, slurring a little.
“Exactly what I was thinking. I think that cocktail was…” he trailed off as he lost his train of thought. His chest rattled as laughter threatened. Why was that so funny?
Freya pinched his side, “Are you laughing?”
A loopy giggle bubbled up in his throat. “Apparently,” he slurred. Even his teeth felt numb.
Giggling like the boisterous partiers, she held his hand and spun out for a twirl.
He wound her back in and wrapped his arms around her waist. Her hands laced around the back of his neck, pulling him close and kissing his brains out in the middle of the crowd.
A million tiny lightbulbs flashed on with a thousand ideas all at once as every train of thought that had run through his head over the past month collided in a jumble of contorted metal. Unlocking his lips from Freya’s, he caught his breath. “I’m past slashed.”
She devoured him again in a ravenous kiss, then pulled away. “Stoned off our asses. The drinks or the cupcakes or both, but,” she inhaled slowly and blinked a few times.
“Let’s go upstairs and get some water and sober up. I don’t trust a damn thing around here.”
Glancing around, Freya nodded. “I wondered why there were no kids here. Huh. Yes. Let’s get the hell out of here. I’m so hungry. Let’s get takeout from that place across the street first.”
10
The Next Day
Mouth parched like she’d swallowed a jar of glue then slept with her mouth open, underwire digging into her chest, thong riding up her crack, Freya groaned and raised her sandpaper eyelids. What an awful night. If her cousin hadn’t taken off yet, she was going to tear her a new one for lacing something they’d ingested. Wasn’t that illegal? And potentially dangerous?
As she shifted to drink a gallon of water then take a long, hot shower, Freya found herself locked in a firm embrace. Zane’s arm and leg were wrapped around her like tree roots, the belt on his slacks digging into her backside.
Grabbing his hand to unlock his grip, a metallic clink and tugging sensation on her finger froze her solid. Lowering her gaze, knowing before she saw, her pulse kicked into high gear. Swallowing a whimper before she woke him, not ready to face him, she managed to free herself from his octopus snuggle.
The shiny band on her finger caught at glimmer of sunlight as she sat up in bed. Holy shit. What had she done?
Sitting on the side of the bed, too dizzy to stand up yet, she stared at her finger. A good-sized sapphire was embedded in a delicate, winding river of platinum. Biting her cheek, she refused to let herself cry. Not that any tears would come out, she was so damn dehydrated.
Without her next to him, Zane groaned and pulled a pillow over his face. Did he have any idea that he was wearing a black titanium band on a very important finger? Part of her really hoped he remembered how they’d gotten in this predicament, but most of her hoped he was as shocked as she was.
Easing off the bed, her legs wobbly beneath her, she snuck into the bathroom and drank and drank and drank until her cheeks were no longer adhered to her teeth. Stalling for as long as was practical, she lingered under the cleansing spray of the shower until her fingertips turned to puckered prunes.
When she could hide no longer, she tiptoed out of the bathroom and pulled on her jeans and a cotton t-shirt. She brewed her vile hotel coffee, cringing as it made out a noisy grinding sound. Looking to the bed, Zane was still hidden under the pillow.
Sneaking out onto the deck, she sipped the bitter brew and stared at her finger. If she weren’t so freaked at what it meant, she might have found it a pretty piece of jewelry.
The rising sun glinted off the surface of the water, the peaks in the distance standing tall and proud. Not many people out yet, the property was blissfully quiet. Too quiet. Her memory of last night was a gigantic black hole. Last thing she remembered was escaping that awful party.
Grumbling behind her, Zane rolled out of bed. She froze, hoping he wouldn’t come out yet. Let her get her head on straight first. Not looking back, she heard the brewer powering away at his coffee, the shower starting moments later.
Cradling the rapidly cooling mug in her hands, she didn’t move when he staggered out to join her. Jeans slung carelessly low on his hips, his black t-shirt hugging that flawless body, his bare feet and unruly hair tugged at something deep in her gut. The romantic dreamer that had probably gotten them into this mess to begin with.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, both looking out at the scenery as if nothing was wrong.
Finally, Zane rested his coffee on his knee. “So,” he said, glancing her way then back to the water.
“So,” she sighed.
“I’ve got this thing on my finger. You’ve got one too.”
She nodded.
“I don’t have a fucking clue why.”
Setting down her empty mug on the table between them, she took a long breath. “I don’t think ‘why’ is the issue. It’s the what-are-we-going-to-do that’s freaking me out. An overabundance of pheromones, add some champagne and cocktails and weed, then an easy-access wedding chapel… well, that’s a Freya-disaster waiting to happen.”
“I think it’s my fault.” His gaze was steady, honest. “The last few days, that’s the most alive I’ve felt in years. The idea of leaving all this behind was eating away at me. Then, well, shit, my mom called yesterday.”
“She did? How did it go?”
“Again proved why I should stop trying. First, she had no idea that I hadn’t even been deployed the last few months. Then when she heard I was out, well, I guess my ex has been working for them for the last few years and just made partner at their architectural firm. Mom thinks it would be so great if I moved home and got back together with Blaire.” He shrugged, then downed the last of his coffee before setting it on the table. “She was so set on it, and I knew I wouldn’t hear the end of it. Her badgering can last years. So. Shit. Well, I sort of told her I remarried.”
For the first time that morning, a laugh bubbled up in Freya’s throat.
Glancing over to gauge her reaction, he caught her look and smiled back, shaking his head at himself. “It slipped out. As usual, my own words bit me in the ass as soon as I’d said them. She and my dad are planning to fly out to meet you.”
“We could have faked it,” she reached her foot over and nudged his, the corner of her mouth quirking up.
His head tilted, a subtle smile lightening his dark mood. “That was my plan. But I’m thinking, once stoned-me got all sentimental last night with ideas of weddings and that chapel next door to the restaurant…”
“Both of our fault then.”
“Looks like.”
Freya rose to her feet and leaned her elbows on the rail. Looking out over the water, she felt her brain settling. “Let’s pack up and see if we can catch an earlier flight. I’d rather not run into anyone righ
t now. Especially my parents. Then, once we get home, we can call Lincoln or Grady and see if one of them can help us with an annulment.”
Rubbing a hand over his face, Zane stood and headed inside. Within a few minutes, they were out the door. Freya texted her mom from the lobby while they waited for their cab. Trying to catch an early flight. See you at home.
A few seconds later, she got a text back, Jealous. Your dad’s fishing and I’m hungover. What was in those drinks?
Or those cupcakes?
I’m going to do some detective work and I’ll let you know what happened. I haven’t been that high since before I met your father.
Zane and the driver loaded their bags into the trunk as she stuffed her phone back in her pocket. He raised an eyebrow, silently inquiring about the messages.
“My mom’s going to kick some ass about where that weed came from.”
“Good. That was pretty fucked up.”
They rode in silence on the way to the airport. Freya’s knee was rattling a mile a minute, searching the internet to see how annulments worked. Zane’s leg stretched across the midline, his knee pressed against hers as he squished into the cramped electric car. He didn’t budge, his eyes dark, but otherwise he was completely unreadable.
As they drove into Reno, he reached over and stilled her vibrating knee with his hand. He let go. Her knee started back up again. Again, he stilled her movement with his hand. This time, he stayed. The burning connection melted away the tension that the vibration had fruitlessly combated.
At the airport, he took their garment bag again, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Mindlessly, they linked hands and headed inside. Logically, she knew that sort of thing had to stop, but she was so freaked and wanted out of this asap, she paradoxically needed that connection, to know they were in this together.
They’d timed it well, only needing to wait in line a few minutes before the attendant flagged them over. “How can I help you today?” he asked with a chipper smile.
Zane adjusted his backpack and asked, “Our flight home to SeaTac isn’t until tonight, but we were hoping you might have openings on an earlier flight.”
“Let’s see what we have,” the attendant scanned the computer. Looking up, the attendant offered an apologetic smile, “I have a flight leaving in forty-five minutes, but the last two seats together are in first class. For the last-minute upgrade, it will be a hundred fifty dollars per ticket and there won’t be time to check any luggage.”
He flashed Freya an adoring smile; rather than feel adored, she cringed at the uncharacteristic softness, “What do you think, Babe? Won’t that be a nice treat for our honeymoon?”
She swallowed the cringe, smiling just as sweetly. “Oh, I suppose we can pull from the credit card to celebrate.”
Brightening, the attendant clicked a few keys. “I think we can waive the fee today. Congratulations on your marriage.” After a few more clicks and the hum of the printer, she passed across their updated boarding passes.
Zane smiled, “Thanks so much.”
“Have a wonderful trip home.”
As they left the counter, he took her hand again, leaned over, and landed a zinger on her; one of those kisses that wasn’t demanding or lusty, but enduring and savoring. Like newlyweds should do. Heart stumbling a little further, Freya bit her lips together as they pulled away and kept walking toward security. “We won’t get an annulment if we go around kissing and telling everyone we’re married,” she mumbled, unable to make her voice perk up enough to project.
He nodded with that subtle tilt of his head, the corner of his mouth turned up. “That was for the attendant.” As they rounded the corner, he dropped her hand and jammed his in his pocket.
Shoving her own lonely hand in her pocket, she ignored the pang. “Nice finagling. I didn’t think you were one to manipulate.”
He shrugged, “Not usually. But I can when the situation calls for it. Learned something useful from my parents at least.”
The plane slammed into the ground and bounced in a rocky landing. Zane gritted his teeth, flashing back to the time the airfield had been roughened from a recent airstrike, the base mid-evacuation. His team was the military’s last-ditch effort to recover the area.
As soon as they taxied into the gate and came to a stop, he hopped up from his seat and grabbed their bags. He handed Freya her backpack, hauling his over his shoulder and wrapping the garment bag over his arm. Keeping his hands to himself, they walked spaced apart as they crossed the speckled white tile, up the escalator, and into the concrete parking garage.
At his truck, he dumped their stuff in the backseat and they hopped in. Not a word on the entire drive back. Shellshocked, regretful, who the hell knew what was driving her silence.
How could he have been so fucking stupid? Sure, he was trashed as all hell, but he wasn’t some kid that got the dumbass idea to get hitched while his brain was altered. Nor was he the type to get hammered twice in as many weeks.
Back home, he dropped her off, but stayed in the truck. Before closing the door, her eyebrows dropped as she realized he wasn’t getting out. “Where are you headed?”
“See if I can catch Grady at home while Asher’s gone.”
“You don’t want Asher to know?”
“I’ll tell him, but I need a plan first.”
Nodding, her face fell, dejected. She wanted the annulment, right? She’d been the one to bring it up in the first place. And again at the airport.
He’d lived a disaster of a marriage to Blaire, constantly disappointing her while she drained his soul and his bank account. Stupid fucking mistake, and he wasn’t doing that to himself again. Or Freya; she wasn’t anything like Blaire, but she didn't deserve to get stuck in his directionless, selfish life.
“Okay,” she adjusted her bag and closed the door. He watched as she trudged into the house. Sophie sat curled up with a book on a rocker on the porch. Good. She wouldn’t be alone if she didn’t want to be.
11
Celery
A shiny new Forerunner was parked in the drive. Asher’s truck was notably absent. Good.
Zane rang the bell. A few moments later, a pretty-boy sort that looked like he regularly modeled for O’Neill or Volcom opened the door. “Grady?” he asked.
The guy nodded. “Zane?”
“Yep.”
“Freya called; said you were on your way over.”
“Cool. Um. Yeah. Did she tell you why?”
“Nope. Said she’d leave it to you. And seemed to be laughing and crying and hyperventilating as she said it. What’s up?” Stepping inside, Grady motioned for Zane to follow.
Zane’s stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten breakfast or lunch. A half-eaten ham and cheese sandwich sat on the kitchen island. He tried to not stare.
Grady grinned, “Hungry?”
“Yeah. Long morning.”
“Are you useless in the kitchen like Asher?”
“Hell no. That lazy ass bummed a lot of food off me over the years and made up for it by inviting me over for steak or burgers or PB&J, as he couldn’t manage much else.”
Pulling the ingredients out of the fridge, Grady smiled, “I’m not sure his PB&J is worth bragging about. As Sophie won’t let him move in until he learns to cook, I feel like I’ve turned into a cooking instructor. Honestly, I’m still not sure how he convinced me to let him live here. With Lincoln moving in with Pippa, I thought I was finally in the clear of roommates.” Slapping some mayo on the bread, Grady nodded to the island, “Have a seat and fill me in.”
Sliding the sandwich across the island, neatly plated with carrots and snap peas, Zane tore into the ham and cheese, muttering a thanks through full cheeks. Grady sat down to finish his own lunch.
Keeping his mouth full as a tried-and-true procrastination strategy, Zane looked around. The place was nice. Nothing high-end, more the practical sort of a guy still new to nine-to-five life. In the corner, a bookshelf held five bowed shelves, filled wit
h about everything from law to history to survival skills to classic and contemporary fiction.
Ha, and a few romances. At least Grady was honest about it and didn’t hide the guilty pleasure. If any of his SEAL buddies had caught him reading that shit, he’d never have heard the end of it, so he kept his in digital format.
Grady caught him squinting to read some of the titles. “I read a lot.”
“So I see,” he said as he swallowed. “I donated most of my stuff so I didn’t have to rent a moving truck to get up here. Still regretting that I got rid of my books.”
Swallowing the last bite, he knew it was inevitable. He cleared both of their plates, rinsed, and checked that the dishwasher was empty and loaded them in.
Grady strolled into the living room. Zane followed, forcing himself to sit on the opposite chair, his knee threatening to vibrate like Freya’s had all morning.
Not saying a word, Grady waited.
“So,” Zane began. “I, uh, well. I went with Freya to her cousin’s wedding at Lake Tahoe this weekend.”
Leaning back, Grady crossed his arms and seemed to smile, as if he already guessed it. Jackass, he let Zane try to put the words together all on his own.
“Bunch of college kids, rowdy as hell. Anyway. Short of it is, according to Freya’s mom that asked around this morning, they served the wrong cupcakes for dessert and drugged all the guests with weed. Apparently those were for their friends after all we old folks went to bed.”
Eyebrows lowering, Grady shifted in his seat.
Controlling his breathing, Zane swallowed a wave of nausea that lingered from those damn drinks. Even more so from what he’d done. “We’d already had a few drinks, so by the time we left, we were trashed. With a serious case of munchies, we went to the restaurant across the street. Then, well, we sort of wandered into a wedding chapel instead of heading back to our room right away. And, well, we, uh, we got married.”
He held up his hand, the titanium band still on his ring finger. Should have taken it off, but he didn’t want to lose it. He’d already checked his bank account; last night cost a pretty penny. They’d hit the restaurant, the chapel, the jewelry store. Licensing fees, photographer.
The Next Day (Foothills Book 2) Page 10
