by Avery, Lark
Thinking of the most humiliating forty-eight hours of my life, I struggled to sit up against my headboard and searched the bedroom with my gaze again. That had been the first and the last time I’d had more to drink than a glass or two of wine. And while my life might have gotten a bit wilder than it had been back then, I’d stuck to my two drink limit ever since. Until, apparently, last night.
I searched my memory for what I’d done last night. I remembered going to work. I was the stage manager at the hottest burlesque club on the strip. One of the girls had called in sick. I could remember discussing shuffling performers around to fill her spot in the show. I wrinkled my nose and my head pounded as I tried to recall what came next.
Oh, yeah. Someone had suggested I take her place. I’d seen every rehearsal, and I’d even filled in for a few of the chorus girls on occasion. But never one of the girls who spent most of the night on stage. And never for one of the girls who showed anything more than a little leg.
But the spot that needed filling last night required being part of the chorus line where all the performers covered their chests with only large, feathered fans. At the end of the dance, the girls briefly dropped the fans, flashing their tits at the audience just as the house lights went down.
It was barely enough time for anyone to really get more than a glimpse of anything, but burlesque was all about the tease anyway. There were other acts in the show where the girls showed a lot more skin, but that tantalizing glimpse of flesh always managed to bring the house down.
I’d resisted at first, but then Shelly, one of the show’s veterans and star performers, teased me, calling out, “Come on, Amber! It’ll be fun. Besides, how long has it been since someone other than your doctor’s seen those tits?”
She’d been teasing, but damn, she didn’t know how close to the truth she’d come. And even I had to admit, I had good tits. It really was a shame nobody but me, my doctor and the lookie loos in the locker room at the gym had gotten a gander at them.
I’d decided it was time to stop saving myself for a guy who had made it clear over two years ago that he had no interest in my tits or any other part of me. And that’s when I’d reached for the bottle of tequila the costume designer kept stashed backstage.
Which brought me to now, confused and hung over and alone in my bed. I didn’t even remember flashing my girls at the audience. I huffed out a sigh and that’s when my gaze caught on my hand where it rested on top of my comforter.
Holy shit! This had to be some kind of joke. Glinting up at me was a platinum wedding band. I pulled my hand closer to my face, squinting through my still bleary eyes at the ring that hadn’t been on my finger when I left for work last night.
I wiggled the fingers of my left hand as I stared, open-mouthed at the hunk of jewelry adorning the ring finger. I must still be drunk. That was the only explanation. Because the more I gaped at that ring, the more it looked exactly like the ring Kellan Sullivan put on my finger two years ago.
The same ring I’d ripped off my finger and thrown at his head as I exited his hotel room. Right after he told me not to worry, since we hadn’t consummated the marriage, he could easily get it annulled.
“Inconceivable,” I whispered. I did another quick inventory of the room, but I was definitely alone. Then a thought occurred to me and I gripped the top of my comforter and lifted it to peer underneath.
I was in my pink nightie and matching panties.
I looked back at my hand.
Yup. Ring was still right there. I flopped flat on my back again and squeezed my eyes shut tight as I dug through my hazy memories and came up blank.
Then I realized what the ring on my finger along with the still present clothing meant. The confusion was quickly replaced with annoyance.
“Damn it!” I didn’t have the strength yet to get out of bed, but that wasn’t going to stop me from ranting at the universe. “I’m probably the only twenty-three year old virgin on the face of the planet. And definitely the only twenty-three-year-old virgin who’s been married! If I got married again without losing my virginity, someone’s going to pay!”
“Sweet Pea, I’d be more than happy to help you with that.”
I sat up with a shriek and my head collided with the head of the last man I ever thought I’d find standing over me in my bedroom.
Kellan Sullivan. My ex-husband.
I blinked and shook my head, but to no avail. It was all suddenly too much for my brain to process and darkness started to creep in on me, and I did something I’d never done before in my life. I fainted.
Want to see what happens when Amber wakes up and realize the man she married two years ago is back in town? Grab Lucky Hook Up here:
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Meet Lark
Lark Avery prides herself on her abilities to procrastinate, find excuses to drink wine before noon, and go days without wearing real pants. She entertains herself by writing outrageous, filthy romances full of cocky heroes, wild women and over-the-top escapades. When she’s not writing, she enjoys binge watching angsty teen dramas and finding new places to hide the good snack cakes from her family.
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