My hands slid up her thighs, holding her hips for a moment and then coming up to her breasts, letting them fill my palms and spill over the sides. I sat up then, to catch a tight, pink nipple between my teeth and tug, knowing by now that I’d hear a soft whimper when I rolled it between my teeth, that it would shift to a hiss as she wrapped her arms around my head and held me to her chest. I reached across the floor to the box of condoms we’d left lying there earlier and pulled one out, slipping it on as quickly as I could.
She barely waited for me to finish before she tilted her hips to capture the tip of my cock and then rocked back so that I slid completely inside of her. I could feel her body pulse around my shaft and I groaned into her breast in response.
Cupping my face in both her hands, Ava drew me up for a kiss. Like the sex, the kiss started slow, teasing and sweet and hot, until our tongues were all tangled up. Then she quickened the pace, catching my lips with her teeth as I shifted my weight to roll her onto her back, shoving a towel under her head for a pillow to support my matching faster and deeper thrusts. I couldn’t deny the urge I had to drive myself deeper still into her core, letting my cock explore every inch it could reach. I couldn’t get enough.
Ava whispered my name, her voice choked and breathless, and I felt her fluttering around me, gripping me tight, legs wrapped around my hips in an effort to pull me even harder into her. “Yeah, take me home, Cowboy,” she whispered into my ear.
5 hours ago…
My fingers slid through Ava’s hair, carding between strands. Her head was tucked under my chin, and she stroked her fingertips lazily over my chest.
“I just…,” she said softly, her voice half asleep. “I used to have it all figured out, you know? My career was going a certain way, and now….”
I hugged her close, feeling a tightening in my chest when she talked about her asshole ex-boyfriend/manager. I couldn’t believe he’d done that— leaked those pictures of her. That must have been what the frat guys had been talking about. I had done some shitty things in my life, but that was reprehensible.
“And now?” I asked, surprising myself with the gentleness in my tone.
“And now I... it’s like someone else decided what kind of person I am, and that person... doesn’t fit the career plan.”
She curled closer to me, and I pressed my lips to her temple. “Who says you have to be what they say? Isn’t that how you got here in the first place?” Sweet as she looked, I could see already that Ava was more than a preteen drama star with a squeaky-clean personal life.
“I guess it is,” she whispered, and then, so quietly I almost didn’t hear she added, “Sometimes I wish I could just escape it all. Just run away and not have to be Gabby Rover. Just me. Just Ava.”
“You can,” I said, suddenly determined. “I’ll help. Let’s run away together, Ava. Let’s just run away from all of it. From everything.”
She pushed herself up to look at me, a sleepy but genuine smile on her face. “Yeah? You mean it?” she blinked slowly and let her head fall a little to her raised shoulder. She still had alcohol on her breath and smelled like the sex that we had been having all night. She was perfect. Breathtaking and flawless and everything I wanted in that moment.
“I do,” I said, feeling more sure of that than I had about anything in a long, long time. More proud too, like I’d found something I actually wanted to do after years of bumming around aimlessly. “I really do.”
As soon as the word “wife” was out of my mouth, I regretted it. Sure, I was a little angry that she didn’t remember me, a little disappointed that our plans to run away from it all had been completely forgotten. But it was the petty side of me that wanted to get her back for that, the side of me that spoke first and thought later. The whole idea of the stereotypical drunk, Vegas wedding was what led to the whole idea in the first place, and was why I thought it would be a pretty funny little joke. A harmless prank.
I honestly didn’t even think she’d believe me.
Chapter 3
Ava
“Well, that’s a shitty thing to hear from your wife.”
Wife?
I had to shake my head to make sure I’d heard him correctly. He’d said “wife”.
Wife.
I could feel the blood draining from my face. It must have been pooling in my ears because they were burning, and all I could hear was it coursing through my veins, driven to a furious pace by the pounding of my heart.
Wife.
“I’m sorry?” The words came out stammered and unsure. “You must be... we got married last night?” I cleared my throat, deliberately not letting the words sink with the weight they wanted to carry. I was still holding the throw in front of me, and I sat as demurely as I could manage on the sofa it had come from. I tucked the soft fabric under my arms and let it fall across my lap, hiding everything important. The hotel room was littered in wet bar mini bottles and reeked of sex. As I looked around, I spotted other hints of last night’s activities. My bra was hanging over a lamp, my tank top wrapped tightly around the leg of a chair. My skirt was nowhere in sight.
Distant explosions of memory from the night before begin to fill in some of the still very foggy picture. His broad hands on my naked hips, his burning lips against the side of my neck.
Whether or not we were married was still very much up for debate, but there was no doubt in my mind that I had spent the night with him. I tried to sort out how I felt about that. I navigated around thoughts and feelings while trying unsuccessfully to ignore the fact that this stranger was now the only other guy I’ve ever had sex with besides Ken.
If I’d felt like my life was spiraling out of control last night, this just showed how things could always find a way to get worse.
“We got married by an Elvis impersonator,” he continued. Was I really this much of a cliché? Thoughts of other child stars who’d crashed and burned before me filled my head. Lindsay Lohan... Miley Cyrus... Hell, Britney had even had a her own 14-hour Vegas marriage.
“He sang ‘Don’t Be Cruel’ at the reception. I was starting to get jealous, actually. You seemed pretty taken with him.” He was laughing, but I was genuinely freaking out. Couldn’t he see the fear in my eyes. The shock?
I kept thinking of those names—Lohan, Cyrus, Spears—all of them continuing to run through my head like a litany. I thought about my mom, how worried she’d always been that I’d have a similar breakdown. I thought of Ken, as I left his house, sobbing. I heard the exact timbre of his voice as he told me, coldly, that it was only a matter of time before I’d end up just like them: a handful of babies, laundry list of addictions, and a string of divorces.
And here I was, right on the way to at least one of those. First wedding already under my belt.
I looked back at this guy. He was still standing there, naked and confident, staring at me like he was waiting for a reaction.
As husbands went, I could have done much worse. He was easy on the eyes, if nothing else, hard muscles and dark hair framing soft blue eyes and a smile that drew me in, even in my confused state. Just looking at him brought a hitch to my breathing. There was something about the way he looked at me. Like he believed there was more to me than Gabby Rover. Like he wanted me for myself. Like my unemployment and scandal didn’t bother him. Like he didn’t believe I was eventually going to crash and burn, even if my descent had already begun. And looking into those eyes and across that body, as he in turn watched me with a gaze seemingly filled with the hope and belief that a husband might feel toward his new bride, it actually made my body ache for his.
“I…,” I began, unsure where to go from there. I still had my doubts about his story, despite the overwhelming evidence of what seemed like a very passionate night together. If we had done all of that and I didn’t remember it, then who was to say we hadn’t also gotten married? But I still wasn’t sure. I once trusted people by default, but ever since finding Ken with Fiona, I’d felt like maybe I’d just been too gullible. A
n easy target to be made the fool.
“Wait a minute,” I started again. “If we’re married, where’s my ring?” I held up my left hand to show the conspicuously bare finger.
“Being sized,” my alleged husband said, not missing a beat. He stepped closer and took the hand I was still holding up, bringing it to his lips and kissing my fingertips. “You have adorably tiny fingers, dear. Tiffany’s didn’t carry your size in store.”
“And where’s your ring?” I asked, tugging my hand back, despite the tingle of pleasure that seemed to blossom out from where his lips had touched my skin, and the flash of a memory: my fingers in his mouth, the heat of his tongue curling around them.
“You refused to let me wear one until you could,” he said with a shrug. “I’m going to shower. Would you like to join me?” He reached a hand out toward me.
“I would not,” I said, instinctively offended by the suggestion, though the pleasant ache between my legs told me there wasn’t any part of me he hadn’t seen. Or touched. I felt a blush rising again, my blood warming at his attention and the mental image of him hot and naked, water cascading along each hard contour of his muscled body.
“Suit yourself.” He smiled and shrugged as he started to walk away, giving me another really nice view. His ass was perfect. All I wanted to do was reach my hand out and grab it, but the shock I was in helped stop me from following my body’s desire. I had to know more about this man.
“Hey,” I said, one last question in my mind. The question I’d always had someone else to answer for me. He turned slightly to look at me, raising an eyebrow in acknowledgment. “What do we do now?”
His expression shifted slightly. There was something in it that looked like… I don’t know. Remorse? “We go on our honeymoon, of course,” he said, coming back to stand in front of me. “Look, I….” His voice trailed off, and he looked like he was trying to make a decision. “You wanted to get away, right? That’s what you said last night? So let’s get away. I have a ranch near Fresno. Nobody will bother us there. Come and spend a week with me. We can decide what happens after that when we have to.” He walked closer, near enough that I could smell the sex on him. I could smell myself on him. My breath quickened.
I pondered him for a long moment. I used to think I was good at reading people. I thought I could tell if someone was trustworthy just by looking into their eyes, listening to their voice. Yet I’d been so wrong with Ken….
But the fact was, I did want to get away. That was why I’d come to Vegas in the first place. It hadn’t helped, though, not really. Not when, any time I saw recognition in someone’s eyes, I had to wonder if they’d seen me naked on the Internet. If they knew me so intimately.
“Okay,” I said, nodding slowly. “Okay, let’s honeymoon in Fresno.” I laughed, bizarrely amused by the idea. It would never have been my first choice, but then, a lot had changed in the past few days. I was a whole new Ava. Maybe that wasn’t the worst thing?
“Okay,” he answered, and he smiled sweetly as he turned and wandered back toward the bathroom.
I made sure I could hear the water running before I started snooping around the room. I had my underwear and bra, and my shirt, but I still couldn’t find my skirt. It didn’t matter. I had limited time to figure out whatever I could about my maybe-husband. I didn’t even know his name, and he’d seemed genuinely hurt by that.
The first closet I peeked into was empty. The second held two blazers and a pair of trousers. Well-made. Probably tailored. You get to recognize a cheap suit pretty quickly in my work, and these were not cheap. Well, at least I knew he wasn’t playing me for my money.
I was just about to admit defeat when I saw a flash of blue out of the corner of my eye. A suitcase. Maybe he had a passport or something in it.
Closer examination revealed it to be empty, but there was a set of initials monogrammed neatly on the front: BDC. It felt familiar, but I couldn’t get anything more than that feeling from it.
I glanced around the room for any other clues, and my eyes settled on the phone. The suite we were in was obviously expensive. Maybe it was expensive enough for a personal concierge. Layla and I had gone without on this trip, since it was so last minute, but I usually had one.
I picked up the phone and waited for an answer. It wasn’t long before a cheerful, competent-sounding voice asked, “How can I help you today, Mr. Campbell?”
“Sorry, wrong number,” I mumbled, quickly placing the receiver back in its cradle. Campbell. B.D. Campbell.
It was more than I’d had fifteen minutes ago, at least.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something shimmering, half-hidden by the duvet. “Aha!” I said, leaping for it and extracting my purse from the sheets. I had my phone out in seconds, and I ignored the barrage of texts I’d missed from Layla in favor of googling “B.D. Campbell.” I felt like the middle initial was somehow connected to a city, so I tried a few variations of that as well.
Bob Denver Campbell.
Bruce Davenport Campbell.
Barry DesMoines Campbell.
Nothing. At least nothing that I could connect to my mysterious spouse. I was still deep in a search for “Brent Dayton Campbell” when I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of my name.
“Whoa, sorry.” I turned to see him standing with his hands held up in surrender. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, hanging seductively on his perfect pelvic bones, around his ass, barely hiding his cock, and I was grateful for it. Seeing that again would be too distracting. “Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said with a smirk. He had caught me staring at the towel.
“You didn’t,” I answered automatically, recalling one of my first lessons from Ken: Be accommodating. Nobody likes a diva.
“Right,” he said, shrugging and moving toward the dresser. “Anyway, I’m starving. You want me to call room service and get brunch or something?”
I felt a rumble in my stomach that sent it lurching now that it had my focus, and nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, that’d be great. Only, I’m a—.“ He cut me off before I could finish.
“Vegetarian,” he said, smirking. “I know.”
I frowned down at my phone. Either this guy was a mind-reader, or we had actually really talked last night. Most of my fuzzy memories did not seem to involve many... words, but one seemed to stick out. I looked up with a smile. “You got it, Cowboy.”
Chapter 4
Bennett
Ava jumped in the shower almost as soon as I’d vacated it, but I felt something like triumph when she called me Cowboy. It was... nice. As nice as it had been when she’d first called me Cowboy. Effortless. Everything she did was effortless.
No, that wasn’t the right word for it, exactly.
Natural. Everything she did was natural. She didn’t have to fake anything. Ironic, considering her profession.
Former profession, I supposed, since she’d been fired yesterday. And how shitty was that? Some asshole takes naked pictures of her in the shower, and she loses her job over it. She could probably use a laugh. I could hear her in the shower, and I thought that maybe I should tell her the truth when she finished, but it seemed like a shame not to really go for it now that I’d started. You had to really commit to a prank to pull it off, and timing was everything. Plus, how could I quit now, just when it was becoming so comfortable? So effortless? So natural to be with her.
So instead, I called my concierge and had him arrange a vegetarian brunch for honeymooners. I’d always believed that it wasn’t fair that only married people got to be honeymooners. I wanted to try it on for a while, and Ava could certainly stand to be pampered. I could come clean before we left for the ranch. Maybe she’d still want to come. The least I could do was offer her a retreat after the time she’d been having.
Of course, there were still a few details needed if I was going to really continue this hoax. I called the concierge back and asked him to pick up two wedding bands from Tiffany’s. Ava did have tiny finger
s, but I knew Tiffany’s would have something in her size. It wasn’t quite the most money I’d spent on a prank, but it was close. At the very least, the rings would make good souvenirs.
She was still in the shower but I thought I heard her swearing through the door. I wasn’t sure, given that the water and closed door had muffled her voice, but she might have said “Shitfingers”, and it made me laugh, remembering something from the night before.
We’d ordered room service because it was late, and we were drunk and hungry—ordering everything that sounded good from the menu. I let her hide in the bedroom while the bellhop set it up. She couldn’t bear to interrupt the perfect evening (or perhaps, technically, it was actually this morning) with someone recognizing her. And then we snacked on everything we had ordered.
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