“Because I’m me.” I pop a blueberry in my mouth. “We can’t all be this good at drinking.”
Jack laughs and nods as he tries to put the straw into his mouth with a sucker still between his lips. So drunk. So cute.
The straw escapes him every time he tries. I can’t stop laughing. “Here.” I grab his glass, hold the straw steady for him, and he leans in to take a small slurp.
He swallows, pops the sucker out, and smacks his lips. “Nutty with a little aftertaste of citrus from the hills of Napa. Stellar. Five golden stars. A truly revolutionary taste.” He grins. “And that would be my review for your cum.”
Motherfuck. My smile hurts my face. “Get the fuck out of here.” I point towards the door.
“Only if you come with me.” He’s tugging a fistful of my shirt, and I follow him out of the sports bar. We hook arms around each other, walking down the sidewalk and singing songs loud enough that people in their apartments yell at us to shut up.
We end up at a club where no one will scream at us, and we sing until our voices grow hoarse. We drink until we’re holding each other up.
And still, I never want this night to end.
I wake to a pounding in my head that feels like someone is auditioning to become Tom Cobalt’s drummer in my brain. “Fuck,” I groan groggily and rub the sleep from my eyes.
Where am I?
I blink awake. Hell’s Kitchen. My studio apartment, I realize.
Jack sits on the edge of the pullout like he’s been waiting for me to wake up. At the ready with a glass of water and a bottle of Advil. He gives me a tight smile that doesn’t seem right. And then he passes me the water, but I’m not looking at the glass.
“Highland.” I stare at the shiny silver ring on his finger. That was definitely not there last night.
His eyes grow and he points upwards. Shit. My sister is here. Sleeping in the king-sized bed in the loft.
I scoot up the pullout, leather couch, avoiding looking at my own hand. No. No fucking way. I try to think back to last night, but it’s all a messy blur after we reached the club. Quickly, I climb off the bed and grab his wrist, dragging him to the bathroom.
As soon as the door shuts, I take the plunge and look at my hand. Motherfucker! There’s a ring on my finger.
A ring!
“Do you remember what happened?” I ask Jack, his dark hair is tousled from a hard, drunken sleep. My boyfriend leans a hip against the marble sink counter, arms threaded loosely over his chest.
“A little bit,” he says, stiffly. “I was hoping we could talk it out and piece it together.”
I place two hands on my head, chest rising and falling heavily. “Alright, so we were at the club.”
“And then we left,” Jack says.
“Okay…I vaguely remember stopping at a jewelry store?” I shake my head. “But that doesn’t make sense because it was too late—everything would’ve been closed.”
“No, that’s right,” Jack snaps his fingers. “You stopped at the store, and you called someone…”
I groan and sink onto the edge of the tub. “Had to have been Maggie. She’s a friend from college. She works at Cobalt Diamonds.”
Jack questions, “If you asked her to let you in after-hours, you think she’d open the store for you?”
I nod strongly. “She’s done it before, mostly when I’m with Charlie.” I swipe a hand through my bed-head hair. “But maybe this is a good thing? We just bought rings. We didn’t actually get married.”
Jack reaches into his back pocket. The same pants he was wearing last night. He passes me a crumpled piece of paper.
I’m staring at my motherfucking marriage license.
We both signed it.
“No one’s talking about it on the internet,” Jack tells me. “Which means we somehow did this without paparazzi or people noticing.”
“Of course we fucking did.” I fold the piece of paper. “I’m a strategic genius, Highland. I can get married without it being on the news the next day. Apparently, I’m so fucking good, I even hid it from myself.” I start laughing, but it’s a stressed, panicked sound.
Jack points to the paper in my hands. “The name of the officiant and the two witnesses are all fraternity brothers.” He sucks in a breath. “So I’m just as much to blame. We must have run into them or something. I, honestly, don’t remember.”
I frown, the fuzzy parts starting to clear a little. “I think I do recall stumbling into some guy named Edgar. He wore an ugly plaid shirt that looked like vomit.”
Jack laughs. “Yeah, he’s a lawyer.” He shakes his head. “The crazy thing, Oscar, is none of this would have happened if we both weren’t so well-connected.”
“Look at us,” I say. “So popular we accidentally got hitched.”
Silence finally seeps in, and it strains something between us.
He’s my husband.
And I didn’t even know his middle-effing name until seeing it on the marriage license. Until right now. “Your full name is Jack Arizona Highland?” I question. “Arizona?”
He makes a pained face. “I was conceived in Arizona, apparently.”
I laugh, one that dies, but damn did I need that right now. The air sobers again. We stare at one another as the reality sinks and sinks.
Do I regret this? I’m a smart guy. Even drunk, I’m not going to do something I don’t want. Deep down, I love Jack, and I can’t imagine running to the courthouse to get it annulled. The thought causes my stomach to twist in tight, unthreadable knots.
But I also can’t imagine this being okay for him. Too soon are words that ring in my head. Maybe he thinks I drunkenly married him for his money. God, I
