I get distracted by Jordan’s handsome face that’s so peaceful in sleep. His hair is flopping across his forehead, and I reach out to push it back because some foreign being has taken over my body. But then his eyes snap open, and I let out this loud, startled squeak and grab the nearest thing to cover up with.
And that just so happens to be the shirt he was wearing last night.
I button it up, and when I look over, Jordan’s propped himself up in the bed, looking over at me.
Our clothes are scattered everywhere. My poor dress is in a heap on the floor. Jordan’s tie is flung across a chair over on the other side of the room. His pants are draped across the dresser, and his jacket is over here near my side of the bed.
What in the hell happened last night?
“You look good,” he says, all sleep rumpled and deep. It’s sexy, and that’s something I should definitely not be thinking about right now. He gives me this cute grin that seems to be all instinct. It takes a few seconds for his brain to come online, to recognize the fact that we’re both practically naked and were obviously in the same bed together.
“Did we…?”
“I don’t think so,” I say, breathless. “I still have undies and a bra on, and…uh, so do you.” I wave my hand in the direction of his groin, and that’s when something shiny catches my eye.
It’s a platinum wedding band. On my finger.
I look down at it like my own arm is a foreign body. Untrustworthy.
Jordan catches sight of it too. He looks down at his hand, where there’s a matching band.
My already insane pulse ramps up about twenty notches. I plop back down on the bed, stunned and panicking, but not quite able to put the pieces of this puzzle together.
“Did we get married?”
He lets out a short laugh. “No way.”
“Do you remember anything that we did last night?”
He scratches his head and pushes his hair back. “I remember dinner. Dancing.” He looks over, eyes on my lips. “I remember wanting to kiss you.”
Okay, that’s a revelation I can’t think about right now. “We got in the car and popped the champagne, and we drank it as we went down the strip.”
“You told me you needed something to do to keep you from jumping my bones,” he says, smiling at the memory.
“I said that out loud?”
He laughs again. “Yes, very much.”
“Oh god,” I say, hanging my head in my hands.
He reaches over, his big warm hand covering mine, right over that damned ring. “Don’t be embarrassed, the feeling was mutual.”
“Oh god,” I whisper, but it’s entirely different this time. “What did we do instead?”
“Instead of jumping each other’s bones?” he asks, just to tease me. His mental faculties are in a much better situation than mine currently are. “I could probably remember better if I had some coffee. And breakfast.”
“You want breakfast right now?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
I sigh, and admit that coffee and some food might help me figure this thing out. I reach over to the phone on the bedside and dial down for room service. The woman tells me that there’s already an order in for us and that it’ll be up shortly.
When I hang up the receiver, he arches a brow. “What happened?”
“Apparently we’re people who rush into marriage and preorder breakfast. It’ll be up soon.”
He nods.
“So…what else do you remember?”
He focuses on my dress in a puddle on the floor. “I remember how good you looked in that dress.”
“Jordan,” I sigh. No wonder he was such a ladies’ man; he’s pretty smooth. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”
“Sure I can,” he replies, holding up his ring. “As your husband, I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to tell you how beautiful you are every chance that I get.”
“You can’t just call yourself my husband,” I say, on the verge of a panic attack. “You can’t just say that word like it means something, like we haven’t skipped, like, all the steps people take to get to this place. I haven’t even kissed you yet. That I know of.”
“Yet?”
“Jordan,” I sigh.
“It means something,” he tells me seriously. “It means everything. Why are you freaking out about this?”
I think my eyes practically bulge out of my head. “Why aren’t you?” I’m just about to reach over and throttle him when there’s a knock on the door. I stand up to get it, because I’m the only one out of the two of us who isn’t still in their underwear.
“You are not answering the door like that,” he says, motioning toward my legs, which he looks at appreciatively before growing serious again. “Not everyone gets to see that.”
“See what?”
He doesn’t answer as he pulls his pants off the dresser and heads for the door.
The place is big enough that it takes him a while to bring the tray back here. Thankfully it’s him and not one of the hotel workers. I’m about to tell him that we should probably eat this somewhere other than the bedroom so that we can both think clearly when he holds up a note that’s nestled between the coffee and creamer.
To the newlyweds. You’ll need this to keep up your energy.
Congratulations!
-Love, Skye
I don’t even bother to doctor up my coffee, just take a swig of it black—yuck—then get up and search around my room for my phone. There’s a sober person in this country who knows exactly what we got up to last night and she’s going to spill her guts.
I finally locate my clutch. It was thrown on the floor by the door for some reason, and fish my phone out. Luckily it still has a charge.
I debate going back into the bedroom and taking this call in front of Jordan, but I figure it’s best if she explains what went on last night to both of us at the same time. That’ll save me the embarrassment of having to relay the story back to him.
Back in my bedroom, Jordan’s happily digging into his omelet. I plop down next to him and call Skye.
“Congratulations you two,” she says in this sweet, sing-song voice that makes me want to give her a long-distance smack. “Actually, I think I’m supposed to say congratulations to the groom and best wishes to the bride. I’ll have to look that up.”
She’s enjoying this too much. “Do you know what happened last night?”
“Oh yeah.”
I look over at Jordan. “Okay, Spill.”
Chapter Six
“What do you want to know first?”
“Skye!” I shout, not sure if she’s messing with me or if she’s being sincere. Jordan’s unusually quiet, just sitting there with the covers pooled around his lap, twirling his wedding ring around his finger. Seeing it on him, knowing that I’m the one who slid it on his finger…it does something to me.
But it shouldn’t do something to me, because even under the most charitable reading of our relationship, if my feelings are mutual, then we went about this entirely backwards. We have no business having these rings on.
“Okay, okay,” she laughs. “You guys started sending me pictures around eleven or so, and…I have to say they were pretty cute. You were at a club for a little while and took a couple of pictures of yourselves dancing. Then for some reason you ended up at one of those air tunnel places where you can simulate skydiving.”
I rub my head as if the action will somehow slide the memories back into place. Jordan looks confused by that particular choice of ours as well.
“Do you remember that?” I ask him.
His brows are knit together, eyes narrow and focused like he’s trying to look back in the past. “Not at all.”
“Some third party who was never identified filmed Jordan trying to help you get into one of the jumpers that they make you wear. He had one on in the video, and you had your skirt wrapped high up on your thighs so that you could get your legs in. You didn’t seem too far gone in that video,
otherwise I’d have to question the integrity of a place that would let you do such a thing when you were impaired,” she teases. “You just seemed like you were having the time of your lives.”
I look over at Jordan, who’s staring back at me. There’s the slightest hint of a smile on his lips, like he’s trying to imagine the sight. Obviously one of us has video of this, but I’m too mortified to want to look at it.
“The guy helping you guys suggested that Kendall buy a sweatsuit to make things easier, but you both insisted she keep the dress on,” she continues.
Not that this is remotely important, but I’m kind of invested in this jumpsuit saga. “Did I ever manage to get it on?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t get any other pictures, but half an hour later Jordan texted me that you guys were getting a marriage license and heading to a chapel. I called several times to try and stop you, but neither one of you answered your phone. When you were at the chapel, Kendall Facetimed me, and one of the women who works there took your phone and said, direct quote, that she “deals with drunk asses all the time,” and was gonna put you back in the car so you could sleep it off.”
Relief rushes through me, but it’s tinged with this weird regret that I don’t want to examine right now.
“You were pretty stubborn and didn’t want to leave without the ceremony,” she tells me. I make out Jordan looking in my direction, but I can’t bear to look back. Heat floods my cheeks.
“She recognized me and in exchange for offering to stop by the chapel and take a pic with her the next time I’m in town, she actually humored you guys for a few minutes and performed a little fake ceremony that seemed to placate you.”
“Where did we get the rings?” I ask, because obviously that’s an important question.
“No idea. If you bought them there, she didn’t mention it. She let me watch, and you two were very cute but also total messes.”
“So we’re not married?” I ask.
“Good lord, no. She asked you if you would take Jordan, she didn’t even clarify what you’d be taking him as. You said, ‘I’ll take him all right,’ and then you about died laughing.’”
“I want to die,” I tell her.
“Yeah, it wasn’t your finest moment, Ken, but I do thank you for taking me along on your journey.”
“I guess I’m relieved that they don’t let you get drunk married in Vegas,” I say, wanting to fill the awkward air in this room with something.
“This chapel didn’t, at least. If you crazy kids want to tie the knot, you’re gonna have to do it another day. Rest easy, you’re still single.”
I look over at Jordan, who doesn’t seem like he’s resting all that easy.
“Is Jordan there?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” he says, voice rough.
“Oh.” She sounds surprised. “You’re uncharacteristically quiet.”
“Just hungover,” he replies, although I’m not sure if that’s it.
“Thanks for breakfast,” I say.
“You’re welcome. I wouldn’t be a good friend if I let you wake up hungover with no food, and I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t mess with you a little about last night.”
I manage a fake laugh. “Yeah, that’s true.”
“I put some Advil in your bag, Ken. Please use it.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “I will.”
“Love you guys. If you’re gonna try and get married again, do it sober.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” I tell her, at which point Jordan stands up, walks into the bathroom, and closes the door behind him.
We say our goodbyes and hang up. A text comes in a few second later.
I click on the thread and see a few videos that I must’ve sent her. I want to delete them, and I want to hide in a dark room somewhere and watch them in equal measure.
Don’t let the most significant relationship you have in your life be the one with your laptop. This is your chance, Ken. Take. it.
I look down at the ring on my finger; it takes my breath away. It’s something that I’ve wanted deep down since the moment that I realized I was in love with him, but I got it in the completely wrong way.
Well, I guess ultimately I didn’t get it, but I came close. And now it’s out there, the possibility of marriage is in the picture and I don’t even know how he feels about me yet.
I’m glad it’s not real, because it would’ve been legally messy and a drunken night in Vegas is the absolute worst way to start a marriage. It’s not even a particularly fun story that you can tell people at parties. Hey, we woke up married one day and figured why the hell not?
No romance. No love involved, just a mutually dumb decision that would just happen to work itself out.
That’s not what I want.
But there is this other part of me that’s kinda sad about nothing coming out of drunk me reaching out and taking a step for me that I’ve been too afraid of taking myself.
In all the times I imagined taking this step with Jordan, there was a confession of feelings followed by a toe-curling first kiss, followed by a long night together, skin-on-skin, that would ruin me for anyone else but Jordan.
But what I got is a handful of videos of me trying to cram myself into a flight suit.
I reach into my bag, which thankfully is just on the side of the bed, and fish around for the Advil. With shaking hands, I open the bottle and pour a couple into my palm, then down it with a glass of water on the room service tray.
How did a night that started out so wonderful take such an awful turn?
The door to the bathroom opens up and Jordan walks out. He looks slightly less awful, and I can’t help but zoom in on the ring that’s still on his ring finger. Admittedly the sight of it—of knowing that I put it there and that he wanted me to do it—sets this rush of butterflies free in my belly.
“You want some Advil?” I ask, holding out the bottle. He takes a couple and I pass him my water to wash them down with.
“Are you gonna say anything at all?” The longer he’s quiet, the more I feel like something broke between us that isn’t going to be very easy to fix. The thought of it makes my chest ache.
“I’m not sure what there is to say,” he tells me. “You’re relieved to not be married to me, so I think that’s about it?”
Wow, that’s what he took away from that whole conversation?
“I never said I was relieved to not be married to you,” I say, feeling kinda pissed off about the whole thing. “I’m just relieved that we didn’t make what is supposed to be a lifelong commitment made out of love after one amazing dinner where you kinda confused the hell out of me!”
“I confused the hell out of you?”
“Yes!”
His brows knit together in that way he gets sometimes when we argue about something big. It doesn’t happen very often, but I know him like the back of my hand and there’s a lot swirling around in that gorgeous head of his.
He takes a deep breath and scrubs his hand across his face. He takes the ring off and places it on the sheets in front of me, then walks out of the room.
It looks all wrong sitting here on these linens when it was on the right place just a second ago. It’s just that the events that put it there were at the wrong time and in the wrong order.
I sigh and pick it up, twisting it around the end of my index finger. It’s still warm from his skin. I slide mine off too, then reach into my bag and put them both into the side pocket.
The coffee is tepid at this point, but my body and my head are screaming out for caffeine. I pick at the omelet that Skye had sent up, because I know I need to eat something, but I just can’t manage it. I settle for a couple of pieces of bacon that I’m able to get down without a problem.
I lie down and stare at the ceiling, trying to figure a way out of this mess. It figures that I’ve been so scared that telling Jordan how I feel about him would mess things up and somehow that happens anyway.
Ma
ybe if I’d just done that, we would’ve come back to the hotel after dinner and had an entirely different kind of night. I would’ve still woken up next to him, but it would’ve been warmer, nicer, and less filled with regret.
“I’m gonna go for a run,” Jordan yells out from the hallway. It’s something he’s always done when he needs to clear his head, so I’m not exactly surprised. It’s probably for the best that we take some time to get our thoughts in order before we both go full scorched earth on this thing between us.
“Okay.”
Knowing him, he could be gone for hours, even in this unrelenting desert heat.
I trudge into the bathroom and get a look at myself, smeared mascara and eyeshadow making me look like a sad raccoon. I get in the shower and wash the night off, and when I get out, I do my hair. I put on a little bit of makeup just to make myself feel human again.
I get dressed in a pair of jeans and a casual shirt, then pull on my favorite pair of sandals.
I get to work on erasing all semblance of anything weird happening last night. I gather Jordan’s shirt, tie and jacket together and put them on his bed. I take my beautiful dress and put it back in its bag, then drape it on a chair by the door so that I don’t forget to take it with me when we leave. I want to give that beautiful thing a second chance, a do-over of last night.
I wander around the penthouse, watching the fountains from the living room window for a bit until I spot Jordan’s camera sitting on the dining room table. On a whim, I turn it on to play back the footage he shot from the helicopter last night. The screen is way too small to do it any kind of justice, so I head back into my room and dig my laptop out of my bag.
Once I get the footage loaded onto my external drive, I import it into my editing software and watch it a few times. The contrast he managed to pick up is breathtaking. He also has an amazingly steady hand. I only have to make a few tweaks to correct the shaking. Once I’ve spliced some of the clips together into something usable, I remember that I have a sample of parts of the score that a musician friend of Jordan’s had sent over. I sync the two together so that Jordan can get a good feel for what he has here.
The Lucky Ones Page 4
