by T L Dasha
I Do (Not)
By: T. L. Dasha
Copyright © 2019 by T. L. Dasha
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First Printing, 2019
*
Book Design and Cover Art by T. L. Dasha
More Books by T.L. Dasha
Devil in the Details
(A Male Male Paranormal Cozy Mystery)
But Why Him?!
(A Male Male Arranged Romance with a little bit of heat)
ALL IN series
(A Male Male Dark Romance with a sexy game of poker)
Game One
Game Two
Game Three
The Dating Game: Unkept Secrets
(Scandalous Male Male Reality Show Erotica)
Love Convention
(Male Male Romance with Sex and Cosplay)
The Zodiac Werewolf Series
(Female Male Shape Shifter Erotica)
Transformation of Aquarius
Transformation of Capricorn
“It is a bizarre yet wonderful feeling to arrive, dead center, at a target you didn’t even know you were aiming for”
Chapter 1
Beep beeep beeeeeep
“Shut up,” I groaned through a throbbing pain that permeated my skull. My eyes were still crusted shut, dried out from not nearly enough sleep, leaving me to locate the offending alarm clock through blind flailing.
Wait. When did I set an alarm? Better yet-- when did I buy a clock? I forced my eyes open, barely managing more than a squint as my body protested this early rise. My hand instinctively blocked sunlight that poked through the blinds, knowing that was my only chance to continue this act of defiance.
The room didn’t look familiar. Cream colored walls, a chocolate colored bed. I was more of a black and white kind of guy myself. The silhouette of tall buildings teased through thin window shades, and the unmistakable scent of champagne stuck to my clothes.
I lifted my hand to rub my eyes, trying to defeat the last of my lingering exhaustion, when the sensation of cold steel unexpectedly touched my eye lid. I looked at my hand, startled and confused. It was as it always was. That scar I had gotten as a kid still crossed my palm, a traces of glitter, undoubtedly from some stripper’s backside sparkled from my fingertips. But there was one glaring problem. On my finger sat a ring. Silver and smooth and impossible to miss.
It was all coming back now. The shots. The chiming of slot machines. The shots. The bars filled with eye cLiz. The shots. The strippers filling my mouth with whipped cream. The shots. The battle with gravity as I stumbled down the strip. The shots. The…. Chapel?
Fuck.
The chapel.
At that moment, I finally found the courage to turn my head, just enough for my peripheral vision to catch the lump in the blanket next to me. It wasn’t just any lump. It was breathing. Steadily and comfortably, surely in the middle of a wonderful dream. This lump was long and slender-- and a mess of mid-length brown hair scattered over the pillow, just poking out from under the covers.
I climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb whoever was lying next to me. My slacks and my boxers were both conspicuously absent, although I still had my half-buttoned shirt clinging to my chest. I guess there hadn’t been time to completely remove everything. Priorities and all.
The pants had been haphazardly thrown onto the couch, my underwear somehow made it on the television. I looked best I could, but I didn’t see where I had tossed my dignity. I must have left it in one of those shot glasses.
There was no time to shower. I didn’t want to risk the noise. I slipped into my clothes and slipped out of the room, closing the door as silently as possible. A maid was already walking the halls with her cleaning cart, making sure there was someone to bear witness to my walk of shame. She gave me a knowing look as I walked by. Although the scent of sex and alcohol was so strong, I couldn’t have fooled her even if I had been walking out of a church.
I got in a cab to the airport and slogged through a fast food breakfast, hoping the greasy eggs might counteract the pounding that was still going on in my head. I was 5 hours early for my plane, but I felt the airport waiting room was a fitting punishment for my life choices. Hopefully what happens in Vegas really does stay in Vegas.
#
“How was the party, Jake?”
I spun around in my chair, meeting a set of eyes looking down from the other side of the reception desk. Liz leaned over the counter top, her apron tied loosely around her waist as she wiped flour from her face with a hand that left more mess than it removed. Her messy hair and old t-shirt stood in stark contrast to the white vaulted halls and the marbled tiles of the hotel lobby.
We were practically siblings-- well, legally anyways-- but it was by pure chance that the bakery she worked for was just a block away from the hotel.
“I hear your sister ended up in the fountain. That dress must have weighed a hundred pounds after it got wet.” Liz wore that same easy smile she always wore when she visited me on her lunch breaks.
“Elegance and grace really run in the family.” I chuckled recalling the look on Anna’s face-- her towering hair crumbled in a wet mess, and her make-up running down her cheeks. It would have been tragic if it wasn’t so completely expected. “I don’t know if there’s any more appropriate introduction to being married to a Conner.”
“I guess it’s a good thing she’s a Johnson now.”
“Good thing.”
“It’s a shame that you won’t ever get to change your name. Although, I guess it wouldn’t even make a difference if you were a woman with how backwards your view on marriage is and all.”
I glanced down at the finger that had held that wedding ring. I had decided a long time ago that I wasn’t ever going to get married, and I couldn’t even fathom my drunk subconscious mind thinking that could be a good idea. Maybe I had just won a ring out of a vending machine? Maybe I had been drugged? Vegas weddings weren’t real weddings anyways, right? Was anything in Vegas real?
I considered telling Liz about the whole ordeal, but I thought better of it. She would never let me live it down, and she already had plenty of things she didn’t let me live down.
“It’s not backwards, it’s just logical. Why would I want to be legally bound to someone? I can handle my relationships just fine without needing the law in it.”
“Well of course you can.” She laughed. “It’s easy when you don’t have any relationships to handle.”
“Whose side are you on here?!”
Liz reached over the counter and gave me a pat on the cheek, leaving the flour and residue of some manner of scone all over my face.
“Dammit, Liz!”
“Loosen up a little! You’re just the desk clerk, not the manager. You don’t have to be perfect all the time.”
I rubbed at the white powder with the back of my hand, but I was doing more harm than good.
“I’ll always be just the desk clerk at this rate!”
“Awww, don’t be like that. I’ll see you tomorrow, Jake.” Liz headed back to work with a wave, almost bumping into the bellhop as she made her way through the rotating glass doors.
That grin of hers made it impossible to stay mad for long.
As Liz disappeared, a new threat emerged from what I can only assume was now a rotating door from hell. He was tall, his hair was meticulously kept, brushed back behind his ears in an attractive wave. His eyes were sharper than razors, with a darkness that would swallow you whole if you gave them the chance, and his suit was a perfectly tailored pin stripe, i
mpeccably draping itself over every perfectly built muscle of his perfectly built body. But most noticeable of all was the insufferable smirk that always fell on those clever, smooth-talking lips of his.
Aaron Craig. Heir to the Craig Hotel & Resort empire. And… well… my boss.
“Conner.” My name sounded like a curse word in his mouth. A really sexy curse word, admittedly, but still not something I wanted to hear.
“Mr. Craig.” I nodded, holding my composure.
“I’m going to need your help today.”
“Of course, Mr. Craig. What can I do for you?” I couldn't fathom why he would be asking for my help. The only time he ever really looked my way was to criticize me, since it seemed like he had a real penchant for showing up just in time to watch me trip or stumble or break things. Should I be terrified? Worried? Excited?
“My brother is in town, and I need you to book him a room. Put the reservation under Trevor Craig.” He paused for a moment, as I started scanning through our suite availability. “How long have you lived in San Francisco?”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Were you born here, Conner?”
“Yes sir. I’ve been here my whole life.”
“I figured.”
What was that supposed to mean? We can’t all be the children of billionaires.
“It’s a nice city.” I forced that perfect customer service smile. “Why do you ask?”
“Trevor needs a guide for the week. I was hoping you might be up to it?”
I was at a total loss. Why would he be asking me? I’m just the desk clerk. And a verifiably clumsy one at that.
“Of course, Mr. Craig. It would be my honor!” I cringed as I heard my own enthusiasm. He made no effort to hide his gaze as he looked me up and down, sizing up my capabilities. If I thought for one second that he might have been gay, I might have thought he was sizing up more than that. But the perfect and successful Aaron Craig could never be such a “deviant.” Instead, I watched, mortified, as his line of sight settled on my face, staring directly at the spot Liz had ruined.
“Great. He’ll be here tomorrow. Maybe try to stay out of the mud for a day or two. He can be picky about the company he keeps.”
“O-of course, sir.”
He walked off to his office, leaving me to stew in my embarrassment. This was a huge opportunity to show my worth, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let anything screw it up.
I didn’t know much about Trevor Craig, but I knew he was as famous for his charity work and humanitarian efforts as he was for his striking good looks and charisma. And well, all the scandals that went with them.
It was nearly ten o'clock by the time I got home that night, lugging bags of new suits up three flights of stairs to my apartment. I pulled the luggage from my trip to Vegas out from under the bed, and started digging for my oxfords. I tried on every shirt in my bags and in my closet, once or twice, or maybe eight times.
As I dug through my suitcase for my cologne, that small silver ring bounced onto the floor, spinning like a quarter until it finally fell on its side.
I unconsciously picked up the ring, rolling it around in my fingers. How did such a small, silly piece of metal come to have so much meaning?
The whole weekend seemed like a distant dream in hindsight. Or maybe a distant nightmare would have been more accurate. And the worst part of all was that I didn’t even know who I had theoretically sworn my life to. Hell, I couldn’t even say if it was a man or a woman. The god of vodka had a strong hold on my memory, and I didn’t see any chance he might ever release the hostage.
But it’s not like it mattered. I’m sure even if I had gone through a silly ceremony, I wouldn’t have signed a marriage license. There must be some level of inebriation where they cut you off from even using a pen, and I had been about ten levels beyond that.
I shook my head, not wanting to dwell on it further. This wasn’t worth stressing over. Impressing Trevor Craig was the only thing that mattered right now. I could worry about unraveling the mystery of my alleged spouse some other time.
I shoved the ring in my coat pocket, then changed into my pajamas to turn in for the night.
#
I stood in the lobby, hands resting neatly in front of me, wearing pressed dress pants, and a light blue polo shirt. It was just crisp enough to say “I’m a professional,” yet just colorful enough to say “but I still like to have a good time.” Not that I thought anyone with the name “Craig” would possibly be interested in a good time, but that feeling of being well put together gave me an extra shot of confidence.
I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears as I saw the door starting to rotate. Aaron stepped into the lobby first, then another man followed close behind. He was about the same height as Aaron, but dressed much more casually, with a burgundy shirt buttoned low, tucked into a relaxed pair of black slacks. His hair was unkempt in that way that only a skilled stylist could achieve, while his eyes were a light brown, different from Aaron's black. They both approached me.
“Trevor, this is Jake Conner. I've arranged for him to be your chaperone for the week.”
I immediately bowed my head like some kind of servant. Why did that make sense to me? Get it together, Jake.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Craig.” I extended my hand, but he didn't return the gesture.
“Whose idea was this? You trying to keep an eye on me, dear brother?”
Aaron's expression tightened, clearly not amused by the sarcasm.
“Now why would I need to do that, Trevor? If you have a problem with Mr. Conner's services, you can send your complaints to father. I know you're well versed in that.”
I didn't know it was possible to have scarier eyes than Aaron, but while his would swallow you whole, Trevor's eyes falling over my body felt like pins and needles. Eventually, that cold brown found its way back to my face.
“So this was definitely your idea.” Trevor chuckled. “You know I enjoy trying your patience much more than I enjoy trying dad's. It might be interesting to see what it's like trying his.”
If I wasn’t trying to be professional, I would have rolled my eyes. The Craig family really makes me glad I've spent so much time perfecting my “I totally care what you're thinking” smile. Rather than have them continue to talk about me as if I wasn't in the room, I opted to interject.
“Mr. Craig, you must be tired. I've prepared our best room for you, and I'll be happy to be your tour guide while in the city. If you don't wish for me to accompany you, I have plenty of important guests to tend to who will better appreciate my services.”
He looked at me with a bit of surprise. Aaron, however, seemed relieved.
“More important than me? That's a bold statement.” Trevor sneered, a playful grin on his lips. He glanced sideways at Aaron. “I suppose I can give this one a chance. Since you asked so nicely.”
Trevor stepped aside to verify his luggage with the bellhop when Aaron spoke to me in a careful whisper.
“If he gives you any trouble, come straight to me.”
As Trevor returned, Aaron gave me a silent nod, which felt oddly reassuring despite our otherwise disdainful relationship. I returned the gesture, then turned on my heel, and lead Trevor to the elevator. We stepped onto a red carpet surrounded by mirrored walls, where I swiped my key card to gain access to the VIP floor, watching as the door closed on us.
There's something about elevators that have a real power to make you feel incredibly alone and incredibly trapped. Perhaps it's the thick steel doors, locking you in while you're suspended with no other way up or down. Perhaps it's because no one can hear you or see you while you're in its jaws. Or perhaps it's that little red button that would let anyone stop the whole thing whenever they saw fit.
I never used to think about these things, but as I waited impatiently to ascend twenty-nine floors, all of these little pitfalls became impossible to miss.
We stood in silence as the elevator began traveling upward. The t
op floor would be the only stop, preventing any non-VIP guests from interrupting our most important people. I stood facing forward, trying to play the good and proper host, while I watched Trevor in the reflection of the door. He was leaning against the railing, hands in his pockets, and staring off into nothing. Floor ten, floor eleven, floor twelve, floor thirteen. The elevator seemed to slow down as it pushed through the cloud of awkwardness.
“So, are you fucking my brother?” My whole body jumped as his voice shot through my ears with the force of a well-placed bullet. I turned to face him, trying to process if he had really just said what I thought he said.
“What? He’s not… I'm sorry Mr. Craig, I--”
“Mr. Craig is my father. Trevor is fine.”
“Trevor.”
“Answer the question.”
“O-of course not.”
“Why are you stuttering? So that's a yes, then.”
“No, I'm not. I- I mean, he doesn't- He isn’t- We barely even work together. I don't have anything to do with his personal life. I'm just the desk clerk... Who asks someone a question like that?!” I was shaking as I spoke, more from confusion than anything else. Why would he even think that? What kind of secrets did this family have? My eyes darted to the floor counter, practically begging for the elevator to hurry up and let me go. Twenty--five, twenty--six, twenty--seven....
Trevor shook his head, then, casually pulled a hand from his pockets, reached over, and hit the emergency stop button. The elevator came to a halt somewhere between the twenty-eighth floor and freedom. It was just me, him, and this solid, stainless steel cage.
“I suppose I can believe that.” His voice was low. “Though that clears up any questions I had about your sexuality.”
“Why does that matter?” Was I that obvious, or was this some kind of wishful projection? I took a step back as he approached me. Then another and another until my back was against a wall.
