Well Hung Over in Vegas: A Standalone Romantic Comedy

by Kimberly Fox

  “Sounds like you should start your own babysitting business,” Tyler says.

  Kirsten shoots him a warning look. One that only a mother can give.

  She turns to me, looking for an accomplice for her evil plan to bring a baby into our lives. “You want kids, don’t you Dahlia?” The look on her face is so full of hope that I feel horrible that this is all fake.

  “Someday,” I say, glancing quickly at Tyler. And it’s true. Since my family life growing up was a complete disaster, I’ve never thought that I would ever have a family, but sticky fingers and scraped knees are starting to sound kind of appealing. Especially if the little ones running around have Tyler’s smile.

  I’m beginning to think that one day I’ll be ready for kids, but that’s still a long way away. I’m not getting impregnated tonight, no matter how many guilt trips Kirsten throws at us.

  “Great!” Kirsten says, clasping her hands together as she grabs the door handle. “There are toys in the nightstand and some outfits in the closet.”

  “What?!?” Tyler shouts, whipping his head around. His mother just smiles maniacally as she closes the door, leaving us inside.

  “Is she going to lock us in here?” I wouldn’t be surprised if she had installed a lock on the other side of the door to keep us in here until my belly is swollen.

  “I’m sorry about this,” Tyler says, heading over to the nightstand. “My mother can be so embarrassing.”

  “Your mother?” I say with a laugh. “At least her clothes don’t smell like potatoes. If anyone is going to win the argument of most embarrassing mom, it’s me.”

  Tyler’s back tightens as he opens the drawer of the nightstand. “Look in here before you say that.”

  I’m giggling as I rush over and peek over his shoulder. It looks like a mini sex shop stuffed into a drawer.

  All of the color has been drained from Tyler’s face. “Dildos, vibrators, handcuffs, anal beads, Jesus Christ, what the hell are my parents into?”

  I can’t help but laugh. I’m loving it that my parents aren’t the only freaks. “They’re not as bad as their son,” I say, grinning at him. “I don’t see any ball gags or whips.”

  He shakes his head. “We haven’t looked in the other nightstand yet.”

  “Or the closet,” I say, skipping over. I open the large double doors and start laughing when I see a row of see-through pieces of lace lingerie hanging up. “Your mother really wants grandkids,” I say, staring at the wicked wardrobe in shock.

  Tyler is walking over with his jaw hanging open in shock. He grabs a lacy pink piece and pulls it out. “Maybe she’s not so crazy,” he says, holding it against my body. “This would look fucking spectacular on you.”

  My breath quickens with his hands so close to my body, holding up the sexy outfit against me. His eyes look hungry, like he’s picturing what I’d look like in it.

  I give him a few seconds to eat his heart out and then I push his hand away. “Don’t get any ideas,” I say, giving him a look. “Your mother picked this out, remember?”

  No matter what the heat swirling between my legs is saying, I’m not going to have sex with Tyler, especially with his parents sleeping down the hall. There’s too much on the line for both of us, for the town, to complicate things with sex.

  “I’m disturbed at how well my mother knows me,” he says, still gawking at my body as he holds the lingerie in his hands.

  “Maybe she found your porn stash and knows what you’re into.”

  He grins.

  It’s time to shut whatever he’s thinking down for the night.

  “Do you think your mother tried them on?” That should do it.

  He squeezes his eyes shut as his face twists up into a look of disgust. “Ugh,” he says, crinkling his nose up. “Why would you do that?”

  “I bet she looked great in that one,” I say, pointing to the lacy number in his hands. He throws it on the ground like it’s made of acid and leaps for the door.

  “This is too fucking weird,” he says, swinging it open.

  “Agreed,” I say, following him into the hall. The lights are out and the house is quiet. All I can hear is Mr. McMillan’s snoring mixed with the soft bragging of R. Kelly, post-peeing incident.

  “Come,” Tyler says, waving me over. “I know just the place where we can crash.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, standing my ground. “It’s not another sex room, is it?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Another treehouse?”

  “Better.”

  I don’t know what to expect, so I just follow him down the hall. He opens a door, and I smile when I see that it’s his old room.

  I chuckle under my breath when I walk inside and see an N’Sync poster hanging on the wall. “I bet you never had a girl in here before either.”

  He just laughs. “What gave you that idea?”

  “The kiss marks on Joey Fatone’s face,” I say, giggling.

  “I’ve always been a sucker for frosted blonde tips and glasses with yellow lenses,” he says as he closes the door behind us. “Don’t judge me. It’s only up there because I lost a bet.”

  “Sure,” I say, laughing at him.

  “It’s true!”

  “Mm-hm,” I mumble as I walk around his room, looking at all of the teenage boy stuff. His dresser and desk are littered with CDs, football trophies, comic books, and old school books. It’s like I stepped into a time machine and went back a decade to become Tyler’s fake girlfriend instead of his fake wife.

  Real wife.

  I keep forgetting that we’re actually married—at least according to The Pineapple Chapel we are.

  “Any more nudie magazines in here?” I ask as I rifle through some Wolverine comics.

  “No,” he says, shaking his head. “Just don’t look in the closet in the box under my baseball cards.”

  He sits on his bed and watches me as I look through his things. He seems more amused than annoyed at my complete lack of giving a shit about his privacy.

  “What the hell is this?” I ask, holding up a whoopee cushion. “What are you fourteen?”

  “I was when I got it.”

  I just shake my head as I toss it back onto his desk. “I’ll never understand boys.”

  “It’s funny,” he says with a laugh. I roll my eyes.

  “So?” I say, crossing my arms as I lean on his desk. He looks so sexy sitting on his bed in his perfectly tailored suit. His hair is swept to the side, his jade green eyes locked on me. Even the Spider-Man bedspread he’s sitting on isn’t killing my arousal. “Where am I sleeping?”

  He scoots to the side and slaps the bed beside him. “On Peter Parker’s face.”

  I’d rather sit on Tyler McMillan’s face. But that’s not going to happen.

  I glance at the closed door and then settle my nervous eyes back on him. I should have insisted on leaving earlier. I should have insisted on the annulment. I should have picked an uglier guy to marry.

  “Is that a good idea?” I ask, feeling my voice crack.

  His beautiful face softens. “I won’t try anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. If I was planning on trying anything I wouldn’t have run out of the sex room that my mother so creepily prepared for us.”

  “This room is even worse,” I say, glancing up at the N’Sync poster on the wall. “Mr. Timberlake is getting me so hot.”

  “Works every time,” he says with a sexy laugh.

  “Fine,” I say, raising my chin. “We can sleep in the same bed, but there will be no touching, no clutching, no feeling, no moaning, no groaning, no nudging, no groping, no talking, no licking, no kicking, no poking, no stroking, and definitely no nudity.”

  “But can we have sex?”

  “No contact of any kind. You understand me?” I ask, staring him down with my fiercest stare.

  “Got it,” he says, giving me a sexy salute. “No fun, whatsoever.”

  “That’s right.” I push off the desk and
look around. “I can’t sleep in this dress.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  I narrow my eyes on him. “I’d like to borrow some pajamas.”

  He jumps off the bed. “Avengers or Batman?”

  “No N’Sync pajamas?” I joke.

  He shakes his head. “Those are for me only. I don’t share them with anyone.”

  “All right,” I say, laughing. “I’ll take Batman.”

  He rifles through his dresser and pulls out some comfy pajama pants with the Batman logo plastered all over it. “Batman pants,” he says as he hands me the pants and then opens another drawer. He pulls out a t-shirt and drops it into my hands. “And a Sum 41 T-shirt. Anything else?”

  “Some privacy?”

  He steps back and curses under his breath as he takes one last look at me in my dress, looking me up and down slowly. “You really are beautiful, Dahlia.”

  His words bring a mild pain in my chest, and I have to look away so he doesn’t see my pink cheeks. “Wait until you see me with no makeup on in your old pajamas.”

  He smiles. “I can’t wait.”

  My heart is pounding as he gives me a little wink and leaves the room, bringing some old clothes for himself.

  I quickly get changed then crawl under the covers of his bed, pulling the blankets up to my chin while I wait for him.

  He comes back a few minutes later wearing plaid pajama pants and a tight Pearl Jam t-shirt. The shirt is snug around his muscular frame and large arms, showing off every delicious curve of muscle. He must have filled out a lot since the last time he’s worn it. Mine, on the other hand, is huge on me.

  But it’s wrapped in his essence, so it’s not that bad.

  “This is weird,” I say, watching him as he walks to the other side of the bed.

  He shrugs. “We’ve done more than this. A lot more.”

  “But we can’t remember it,” I remind him. “It didn’t happen if we can’t remember it. Remember?”

  He chuckles as he slides under the covers beside me, making my skin tingle. “I don’t have to remember,” he says as he settles in beside me. “I have the souvenir mug to commemorate the evening.”

  I close my eyes, screaming in my head to shut out the embarrassing thoughts like I always do when I picture our lovely wedding photo.

  “I still can’t believe that happened,” I say, staring straight ahead. “You may do things like that all of the time, but I never do.”

  “Wake up with a ball gag in my pocket and no memory of getting married the night before?” he says, looking at me funny. “I can’t say I’ve done that before.”

  “I meant the sex,” I say, feeling embarrassed. “One-night stands. It was the first time I did that.”

  “It never happened,” he says, turning off the lamp beside him and plunging the room into darkness. “Remember?”

  “Yeah,” I whisper, suddenly disappointed that he finally agrees with me. “But it kinda did.”

  “I know,” he whispers back, turning to look at me. His flawless face is even more gorgeous in the soft darkness with only the moonlight creeping in through the blinds lighting him up. His muscular arm is over the sheets, his tattoos looking dangerously sexy.

  “Think back,” he says, watching me. “We had the drink, then what?”

  I try hard to remember but there’s a long deleted scene in my brain where the memory should be. “My friend Emily said that I was dancing in a fountain and then she lost me. Next thing I remember is waking up with you.”

  “Naked.”

  “Yes,” I say, cringing as I remember that morning. “Very naked.”

  He smiles as he gazes into my eyes. “Maybe if we recreate the moment now, the memory will pop back into our heads.”

  “Do you have a ball gag?” I ask.

  He shakes his head with a smile on his lips.

  “Damn,” I say, turning over. “Then next time.”

  “Next time,” he says, turning away from me. “Goodnight, Pumpkin.”

  He can’t see my face so it’s safe to smile.

  “Goodnight, Tyler.”

  I think we’ll just have to face the fact that we’ll never know what happened that night…

  12

  Big Doc

  The night…

  “Look at that drunk chick,” I say, laughing as I point to a cracked-out girl who’s standing in the fountain in front of the Olympus hotel. The water is up to her knees, and she’s making out hard with the stone statue of Poseidon.

  This is what I love about Vegas. Taking a smoke break always comes with a hell of a show.

  My tattoo shop is set up on the strip, so I see all kinds of shit from the corporate sheep like the fountain-kisser over there who can’t handle Sin City. It’s like they leave their inhibitions and common sense at the McCarran baggage claim, doing things they would normally never do in public. But somehow, it’s okay because they’re in Vegas.

  “Wait until security comes,” my assistant Jess says, giggling as she watches. “Paul is going to pepper spray her for that.”

  “You think?” I ask, taking a drag of my cigarette.

  She looks at me with her tattooed forehead wrinkled up. The ink roses on her forehead kind of looks like a pussy when she furrows her brow like that, but I shouldn’t make fun of her. I’m the one who tattooed it on her after all.

  “Come on, Big Doc. Have you ever met Paul?” she asks, grinning at me.

  I nod. “She’s getting pepper sprayed.”

  The girl’s cute friend is laughing at her, telling her to suck Poseidon’s stone dick when Paul finally comes out, clutching the pepper spray that’s strapped to his belt. The cute friend takes off running when she sees security coming, leaving the drunk girl all alone with her new stone boyfriend.

  This scene is going to be so good that I no longer care that I have no clients for the night. My tattoo shop has been empty for too many nights in a row, and I’m lucky if I’ll be able to pay the bills for the month. At least I have a show to distract me from my money problems.

  “Miss!” Paul shouts, standing on the edge of the fountain. “This is private property. Get out of the water—now!”

  “Pepper spray her!” Jess shouts.

  Paul turns to us and rolls his eyes. “Miss,” he repeats, turning back to the crack head. She’s not listening. She’s too busy trying to stick her hand down Poseidon’s stone pants. “I’m giving you to the count of three to get out or I’m coming in.”

  The woman turns to him, seeing him for the first time, and covers her open mouth with her hand. “Oh, my goodness,” she says with wide wild eyes. She keeps jerking her head from side to side, and her hand keeps twitching beside her. She’s pretty fucked up. I should get the name of her dealer.

  “You have a rainbow growing out of your forehead,” she says, staring at Paul in wonder. He steps back as she approaches him with her arms out like a zombie. “Rainbow,” she whispers.

  Paul, who definitely doesn’t have a rainbow growing out of his forehead, backs up, looking more nervous than ever.

  The girl’s hair is a wild mess as she climbs out of the fountain and walks up to Paul with pure wonder in her bloodshot eyes. “Are you magical?”

  “Miss,” Paul says, stepping backward. “Stay back.”

  She tilts her twitchy head to the side as she walks up to him, ignoring his warnings completely. “Can I touch your rainbow?”

  Jess is giggling beside me. Her cigarette is finished, but she’s lighting another one. We’re not going anywhere until this show is over. “She’s getting pepper sprayed.”

  “Yup,” I say, watching.

  Paul struggles to yank the pepper spray off his belt but can’t get it unhooked. His eyes widen in panic as she lunges forward with her hands out. He spins away and sprints back to the hotel, looking over his shoulder as he runs away from her.

  “Pirate’s gold!” she yells before leaning over the ledge of the fountain and grabbing handfuls of wet pennies.
She stuffs them into her purse like they’re priceless treasures.

  Just when we think the show is over, a guy in a disheveled suit comes running out of nowhere and wraps his arms around her. He looks just as fucked up with his wide, twitchy eyes and a business tie wrapped around his forehead like a corporate Bruce Lee.

  “Bar girl!” he shouts, staring at her with crazy eyes. He must have the same dealer because he looks equally fucked up.

  “It’s you!” she shouts back, smiling widely at him. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

  “I was riding on a unicorn!” the guy says, bouncing from foot to foot. He can’t seem to stay still.

  Neither can she.

  “Wow,” she gasps, staring at him like his drunken face is made of pure energy. She reaches up, touches his cheek, and then just like that, they’re making out.

  Heavily.

  I mean tongues dragging across cheeks, hands dug into matted hair, teeth crashing together. At one point, I’m worried that she’s eating his face.

  I really have to get the name of their dealer. For a friend…

  “This is the best night of my life!” the man says when they finally pull away.

  “Oh, shit!” the girl says, looking back at the statue. “My boyfriend is going to get jealous.”

  “Fuck that guy,” the drunk man says, grabbing her wrist. “You’re my girl now.”

  “Okay,” she says as he pulls her toward us.

  “Brace yourself,” Jess says as they lock eyes on us.

  I take one last puff of my cigarette and then crush it under my foot. These two look high as fuck, and high as fuck people are always insanely unpredictable.

  “Is this an apple pie store?” the man asks when they arrive.

  Jess looks up at me and giggles.

  “No,” I say, standing with my back straight, ready for anything. “This is a tattoo shop.”

  They both look confused. The strong drugs burning through their brains like acid probably aren’t helping.

  “We should get matching tattoos!” the girl says when my words finally get through the hazy fog in her head. “We’re soulmates.”