P.I.T.A. (L.A. Liaisons Book 3)

by Brooke Blaine

Another glare. “Not that terrible according to whom? You may not be after my money, but we don’t even like each other. And the Tunnel of Love? Do you have any idea how tacky this is? I’m a wedding planner, for fuck’s sake. I don’t get married in drive-thrus.”

  “You do now.” He didn’t even look contrite about that fact.

  “How are you so calm about all this?”

  “I suppose all those orgasms, a couple hours’ of sleep, and a pretty young thing to look at in the morning doesn’t sound quite so terrible in my book.”

  “Dawson…” For once, I was speechless. He’d left me speechless, and I wasn’t the type to ever be silent. If what he said, and if what the pieces I could remember, were true, then nothing could’ve surprised me more. Telling me I’d gone streaking down the Strip? Sounded about right. Telling me I’d had a foursome with England’s hottest rugby players? No shock at all.

  Telling me I got married, though? Unfuckingbelievable.

  Even as I tried to comprehend what I’d done, my mind also went into Ms. Fix-it overdrive, calculating how soon this situation could be rectified, whom I needed to contact, how much damage I’d done, and how to make sure it stayed hidden from my parents.

  But the biggest problem wasn’t any of those things, and it wasn’t even the man in front of me.

  No, the biggest problem was:

  How the hell was I going to tell the girls?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Pussycat’s Out of the Bag

  “I SLEPT WITH Dawson.” The words were out of my mouth before I could think of a not-so-jarring way to say it, but let’s face it, it’s better to rip the Band-Aid off in one quick go, right? It wasn’t all the news I had to share, obviously, but I didn’t want anyone stroking out on me. Yet.

  All three heads turned in my direction so fast that I’d be surprised if Shayne, Quinn, and Ryleigh didn’t suffer whiplash later from the move.

  I popped my shades on and leaned back in the sun lounger I’d commandeered by the North Pool. It was a warm seventy-five-degree day in November, so we’d decided on some girl time at Glen Ivy Hot Springs—our favorite outdoor spot for spa days and vitamin D. And after getting back from Las Vegas and reeling from the revelations of my drunken shenanigans there over the weekend, I damn well deserved a day of relaxation, and I’d all but forced the girls into taking a few hours off to join me. “Can someone pass me the fifteen oil, please?”

  When there was no response, verbal or otherwise, I opened my eyes to see all three staring at me with mouths hanging open.

  “You all look like you’re trolling for flies,” I said, and adjusted the towel behind my head. When there was still dead silence from the girls, I let out an exasperated breath. “Don’t act like you’re all that surprised. I’m sure Ryleigh filled you in when she heard him in my room, and I know you fuckers placed your bets on our hooking up. So who’s the winner?”

  “I did no such thing,” Ryleigh said, her high brown ponytail going back and forth as she shook her head. “I was waiting to jump on you about it today.”

  “How sweet of you,” I replied.

  Shayne’s face scrunched up beneath her wide-brimmed hat, an accessory that seemed redundant, since she was sitting in the shade of a huge umbrella. A long-sleeved willowy cover-up protected her fair skin, her wild red curls cascaded over her shoulders, and, I had to admit, Shayne definitely had a sweet and innocent look going on today. But trust me when I say that no one I hung out with could be accused of either of those things. “How do I live with you and I didn’t know this?”

  “Surprise.”

  “But…” Shayne looked at the other two and then back to me. “You hate him. You said he was a wanker on par with Daniel Cleaver in Bridget Jones.”

  “It’s not like a good round of fucking changes that.”

  Quinn lowered her sunglasses to wink at me. “So it was good?”

  Wasn’t that the five-million-dollar question, and the only thing I hated admitting, to myself or the girls. But I didn’t keep secrets from them, so I said, “I’m positive that if I could remember it, it would be ten fucking stars. On my side, at least.”

  “You don’t remember? What did you do, drink that disgusting gold shit?” Quinn’s incredulous tone gave way to laughter, but when I pursed my lips, the laughing stopped. “Oh hell, Paige. You didn’t.”

  I told you. One sip of that stuff and it was hello short-term memory loss, and the girls had been around to see it firsthand on more than one occasion.

  I shrugged. “What can I say? I was practically forced.”

  “Bullshit,” Ryleigh said. “You can take down any guy who crosses you, and that includes Dawson. Ladies, I do believe this is what you call ‘excuses because I secretly wanted to and so I did.’”

  “If I wanted to sleep with someone, I’d damn well own up to it. Oh, and, you know, be fully in my head.” I sat up and pointed to the bag of suntan lotion by the lounger farthest from me. “Shayne, the oil.”

  When Shayne tossed over the bottle, I poured some of the liquid into my hand and then rubbed it over my thighs, as Quinn asked, “When did this happen? How did it happen? Give us some details.”

  “Well, you know my parents’ anniversary party was in Vegas over the weekend, and I may or may not have made a scene when I found out in front of all those people that they’re moving to Paris. Liiiiike in a few weeks moving. Without telling their only daughter.” I looked up to see the dismay on their faces. “Yeah, I know. So, anyway, a few martinis in my system and I was good and pissed and letting everyone and their mama know they could die by choking on a snail and rot in hell, blah blah blah. Since you bitches weren’t there, Dawson decided to play babysitter by hauling me out over his shoulder, feeding me shots, and then apparently making sure I got good and tucked in. Several times.”

  They sat there, blinking in surprise, and then a low giggle left Shayne. She clamped her hand over her mouth, but the damage was done. The others joined in, their laughter turning into full-on roars that had the other guests looking over at us to see what the hell was so funny.

  “Laugh it up,” I said, rubbing the oil on my neck and chest. “Glad to see I can still amuse you.”

  Shayne wiped the tears that had leaked out of her eyes. “Oh, Paige. What are we going to do with you?”

  “Other than make sure one of us chaperones you for all out-of-town excursions,” Ryleigh chimed in.

  I snapped the lid shut and set it by my chair before stretching out. “I can’t be held responsible for my actions, ’tis true. It’s all your fault.”

  “I’m not apologizing for helping you get laid,” Quinn said. “And since I said they’d get it on before Christmas, I win the bet. I’ll let you know my terms soon.”

  Ryleigh cursed. “Thanks a lot, Pita. You couldn’t have waited until Valentine’s Day?”

  “You know me. Hella impatient,” I said. “Now, if you’re quite done, there’s…uh…something else. And before you freak out—”

  I should’ve known better than to start with that, because Shayne jumped off her lounger. “Are you pregnant?” she cried out, so loud that every head in the pool jerked in our direction.

  Well, that’s an unexpected deduction.

  The sea of amused faces were staring at my stomach, so I raised my voice for the benefit of everyone eavesdropping. “That would be a hell no. There will be no babies stretching out my vag ever, thank you very much.”

  “Oh bloody hell. You scared me for a second.” Shayne breathed a sigh of relief, her hand going over her heart.

  “Nothing is worse than the idea of Paige with a rugrat,” Quinn agreed. “No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “Okay, so you’re not pregnant, thank fuck, but Paige,” Ryleigh said, sounding wary, as if approaching a wild animal. “What did you do?”

  “It’s nothing I can’t fix,” I said, then I paused and considered that statement. “Well, nothing my lawyer can’t fix.”

  “Your lawyer?” Sh
ayne squeaked. “Jesus Christ, did you go to jail?”

  I threw my hands up. “For fuck’s sake, no. There’s no godforsaken baby on the way, I didn’t go to jail, and I didn’t end up in a hospital from over-intoxication. I just got married.” When no screaming met my ears, I smiled. “See? No big deal.”

  If I’d thought they looked shell-shocked to hear about my horizontal mambo with Dawson, it was nothing compared to the dumbfounded expressions staring back at me now. It was like I’d told them I’d decided to shoot baby unicorns out of my ass for a living. Utterly absurd.

  “No big deal,” Quinn repeated. “No big deal?”

  “Exactly. Like I said.”

  Ryleigh tapped the side of her head. “I’m sorry, I must have water in my ears, because it sounded like you said you got married.”

  “I did.”

  “You…but…” She couldn’t seem to find the words, and Shayne came to her rescue.

  “Who in God’s name did you marry, Paige?”

  I rolled my eyes, not that they could see the move from behind my darkened lenses. “Who do you think? The bastard babysitter.”

  “Dawson?” Shayne’s eyes lit up. “You married Dirty Dick Dawson?”

  I held up my drink. “Surprise. Cheers.”

  Quinn’s head was going back and forth. “You’ve gone and done it. You’ve actually lost your mind.”

  “Relax. It’ll get taken care of. People are idiots and get married all the time. It’s an easy fix,” I said.

  “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” Ryleigh repeated behind the hand that covered her mouth. “You’re married. Like married married. I mean, really married?”

  I nodded. “As opposed to fake-married? I know. I thought the same thing too at first.”

  “But…” Ryleigh looked so bewildered that it was hard not to laugh. “It’s just that it’s…you. You’re the most anti-marriage person I’ve ever met.”

  “Seriously, Paige. What the bloody hell possessed you to get married? Have you gone completely mad?” Shayne asked.

  “Hello,” I said. “Did you not hear the word ‘gold’ earlier? As in Goldschläger.”

  “People don’t get blackout drunk and marry someone they hate in Vegas,” she replied.

  “Uh. Yeah, they do. All the time.”

  Ryleigh waved her hands to shut us up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute. How did this even happen? Where did it happen? Please tell me it wasn’t officiated by one of those tacky Elvis impersonators.”

  “God no, nothing like that,” I said, and took a long sip of my cucumber water. It’s a lot more shameful than an Elvis impersonator… “From what I heard, I couldn’t even be bothered to get out of the limo, which means your brilliant, sound-of-mind BFF—wait for it—got married in a drive-thru. And yes, you heard that right.” I lifted my drink. “Cheers again. And just so you guys know, I completely blame all of you for what happened. If you’d been there, you would’ve been the pussy guard and Dawson would’ve fucked off. But nooooo. You had to go have your own lives, while I—”

  “Got married.” Quinn’s mouth opened, shut, and then a surprised laugh left her. “Holy shit. I can’t believe this.”

  “Way to put the blame on us, asshole,” Ryleigh said.

  “Did you really just call us the pussy guard?” Shayne asked. “And if you’re really married, where’s your ring?”

  “You don’t buy a ring for a sham marriage, hon. That’s a cockblock. Besides, I’ve got my own ring for when the situation demands it.” I did, too. After planning my first big wedding event, I went straight to Tiffany’s and bought a diamond band that I kept on my ring finger whenever I was working, just to keep the women from side-eyeing me and thinking I was a threat when I had to wrangle the guys for the ceremony. I hardly had the stomach to wear the thing now, though. Tainted, it was.

  Ryleigh balked. “Paige, you’re married, sham or not.” I went to interrupt her, but she paid me no mind. “And don’t give me that crap about a ring being a cockblock. Damn right it is—you’re a monogamous woman now.”

  I sat up and glared at her over my sunglasses. “Don’t you ever say that dirty word to me. This shit doesn’t count, especially considering it’s getting annulled tomorrow.”

  “What? Why would you—” Ryleigh started, but Quinn put a hand on her arm.

  “Paige,” Quinn said, “I’m not gonna lie and say this doesn’t come as a shock to all of us, but…maybe you should take a few days to think about if that’s what you really want.”

  My eyes popped. Was she serious? What did I even need to think about? There was no way a marriage would work out for me, and definitely not with my former neighbor turned…whatever he was. “Excuse me? You think Dawson is what I really want? We’d kill each other.”

  “Well, it’s obvious you two take it out on each other in the bedroom,” Shayne said with a small smile, and to that, I shot her my perfectly manicured middle finger.

  “I’m just saying that maybe this happened for a reason,” Quinn continued. “But let’s face it, the sexual tension when you get together is ridiculous. It’s like you’re one-upping each other any time we go out because you’re fighting whatever this attraction is between you two. We notice it. Everyone notices it. Hell, I’m sure even Dawson knows it.” Before I could protest, she said, “Now, don’t bite my head off for this, like I know you’re dying to, but maybe you two could…I don’t know…spend some time together. You used to be friends, right?”

  I flounced back into the chair and crossed my arms.

  “Paige…right?” she said, and I sighed before reluctantly nodding. “Okay. So you start there. Get to know each other again. You might be surprised at what you find.”

  “I know what I’ll find,” I said. “A manboy with the mentality of his nine-and-a-half-inch cock.”

  Ryleigh’s lips parted as she shot a glance at the girls. “Uh…does anyone else here volunteer to take charge of said nine-and-a-half inches?”

  I shook my head. “You guys are perverts.”

  Letting out a laugh, Ryleigh swung her legs over the side of her chair to face me, and it didn’t escape my notice that she was still wearing a pair of bright red heels to go with her black-and-white vintage polka-dot bikini. Heels. At a pool. That was Ryleigh, all right. “Like you’re not proud of that fact. Look, I know he drives you nuts, but I think he’s a pretty good guy under all that bravado. Maybe give him the chance to prove it to you.”

  “And the guyliner is hot,” Shayne said, and when I shot her a look, she said, “what? It is.”

  “I know you don’t honestly think Dick and I are a good idea,” I said.

  “It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever heard. But…maybe don’t get knocked up,” Quinn suggested.

  “Gee, thanks, that’s super helpful.”

  She twirled her long jet-black hair into a coil before pinning it on top of her head. “Anytime, bitch.”

  “Ugh. Jesus.” I rubbed my temples, a headache of epic proportions coming on. “You’re talking like he’d even want to stay married to me. Which nobody in their right mind would. I’m insane. Obviously.”

  Ryleigh’s eyes sparked with mischief. “Like attracts like, right? Maybe you’ve met your match.”

  “That’s it. I’m going to the Grotto. All this Dick talk is gonna make me yak,” I said, standing up and stepping into my flip-flops.

  Quinn laughed. “That’s gotta be a first.”

  “I don’t know why I hang out with you guys,” I said, tucking a towel under my arm. “Let’s pretend this conversation never happened.”

  As I made my way around the pool, I heard Quinn call out, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Congratulations, Mrs. Richard Dawson. Make sure to tell us where you guys register.”

  Middle. Fucking. Finger.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A Fungus You Can’t Escape

  I’M SURE YOU’RE sitting there waiting for me to tell you that I changed my mind about this whole marriage thing. That, ye
s, giving Dawson a chance to grow on me like a fungus sounded like the most amazing plan ever, and maybe this was a happy accident that would end in an HEA after all.

  That would be a hell no.

  Instead, I sat across from my overpriced lawyer at my oversized oak dining table, tapping my pen on the annulment papers that sat in front of me.

  I glanced at the empty seat beside me and had to bite my tongue to keep from cursing. Never mind that Dawson was half an hour late—he was also not answering his phone. If he didn’t show up, I’d make sure his balls were served on a silver platter at my parents’ next dinner party.

  I plastered on a fake smile for the woman sitting across from me. She was the no-nonsense type, which was exactly the reason I’d hired her, but I hadn’t expected Dawson to drop the ball and make me look incompetent in front of her. Ruth Thomas cleared her throat, her eyes on my pen, and I set it down before she felt the need to throw a dagger at me.

  “I’m sure he’ll be here any minute,” I said.

  “Of course,” she replied, but the look on her face said, It’s your dime.

  Damn right it was. Another half-hour and I might not be able to afford to get an annulment. Okay, slight exaggeration, but come on, Dawson.

  The chimes went off through the house, signaling someone was at the front door, breaking up the dead silence that was about to drive me insane.

  “Excuse me,” I said, pushing away from the table. I muttered charming obscenities about the many ways I planned to torture Dawson when I got him alone, as my heels click-clacked across the floor. The girls might have thought this marriage thing was salvageable, but the more I’d thought about it—and the longer I’d had to wait this morning—the more I knew that the old saying was true: what happens in Vegas should sure the hell stay in Vegas.

  Crossing the entryway, I smoothed down the front of my tailored jacket, not wanting to look in any way flustered in front of the man I’d be cutting myself away from in the next ten minutes. I’d decided to dress the part of a grown-up today, one who made responsible decisions that didn’t include marriages made from drunken debauchery. As I threw open the front door, it was clear Dawson hadn’t had the same idea.