“Okay. Now you’re kinda scaring me ’cause I think you’re serious.”
“I am serious.”
She squirmed again, putting her hands on my chest and pushing lightly, like she was testing the likelihood of being able to push me off.
Not fucking likely at all.
I let my hips take more of my weight, looking for a comfy place to put my hard dick… like between her legs. Maggie’s eyelashes fluttered as she struggled to hold my gaze. “Is this… ah… some crazy thing about getting in my pants?” she gasped out as I got comfortable.
“It’s not about getting in your pants. We don’t even have to have sex. We’re just gonna get married. One thing at a time, babe.”
She laughed, but the sound was forced. “Right. Because married people never have sex.”
“I’m sure some don’t.”
“Get off, Zane.” She shoved at my chest.
“Would love to,” I told her. “Not getting up, though. Not until you say yes.”
“To marrying you?” She laughed again. “Come on. What the hell kind of grass did you just smoke?”
“I think you’re failing to see the genius in this plan.”
She went still and her eyebrows pinched together. “What plan?”
Yeah. I knew the p-word would get her attention.
Maggie never could resist a good plan.
“The one where you marry me, tonight, in Vegas, and Dizzy shuts his fucking mouth and keeps it that way for the rest of his life.”
She blinked, processing this. “Right. Until the second we get ‘divorced’ and he tells me he always knew it would happen because I’m nothing but a groupie slut.”
“Fuck that. Who says we’re getting divorced?”
She gaped at me. “You mean we wouldn’t tell him?”
“We’re not gonna tell him jack shit. Far as he knows, he came to witness our union and that’s all the fuck he has to know. Beyond that, it’s between a man and his wife. He’s got a problem with you from that moment on, I’ve got a problem with him. He calls my wife a slut again and I break his face.”
“Zane,” she said softly, shaking her head. “That’s not gonna work…”
“He never got married, never married your mom, right? So I marry you, he sees what I really think of you, he knocks off the disparaging comments, or I make him knock them off.” I lay my hand on the side of her face, resting my thumb, lightly, on her soft bottom lip. “I fucking mean it, Maggs.”
She shook her head, slowly, in disbelief. “You’re fucking crazy.”
“I’m a fucking great friend. And I’d make a great husband.”
She laughed, hard, which cut me in a way I didn’t care to acknowledge. “And how’s that, do you imagine?”
“Let’s see. I’ve got a great cock, I’m giving as fuck in bed, I’m loyal to a fucking fault, and I’d kill for you.” Her expression got serious, quick. “Pretty sure I’d kill Dizzy if you asked me to. Pretty sure Jude would help me do it, no questions asked. Instead, I thought I’d marry you, which seems less complicated.”
“It’s really fucking complicated, Zane. If you think it’s not, you’ve got no business asking me to do it. And where do you get off using the word ‘loyal’ when you go through women like toilet paper?”
“It’s fucking simple, Maggie,” I said, tugging gently on that juicy bottom lip with my thumb. “You’re the one who always has to complicate things with your overthinking and shit. I told you, I’ve never given a fuck about another woman.”
She rolled her eyes in extreme disbelief. “It’s not that simple,” she protested.
“It’s simple as fuck. All you have to do is say yes.”
She scoffed. “I say yes, and we get married? Tonight?”
“Tonight.”
“Such bullshit. You don’t even have a ring.”
I ripped the big skull ring with devil horns off my index finger and shoved it on her thumb.
She rolled her eyes again. “An engagement ring, jackass. It usually has a sparkly thing called a diamond?” She pulled the ring off and stuck it back on my finger.
I locked on her gray eyes, daring her to look away or bullshit me. “I get a ring, you saying you’ll marry me?”
“God… it sounds so fucking weird when you just say it like that…”
Yeah. I knew she was stalling. I could see her mind at work as she calculated the odds that I could find a diamond ring at this time of night, in Vegas… and then she got really scared.
“Weird or not,” I said, “I’ll marry you.”
She stared at me, looking totally fucking bewildered. “Why would you wanna do that?” she whispered.
“To see the fucking look on Dizzy’s face,” I said.
Because I want you, I could have said. Because I’ve always wanted you and I’d do fucking anything to have you.
Probably should’ve said it, since it was true.
But she was still giving me that look that said she didn’t trust my ass, and I didn’t fucking like it.
It’s not like I actually believed she didn’t want me back. As much as Maggie pretended the fuck out of that being a fact, it was a bunch of bullshit. Straight up, I’d been with enough women to know when a woman was into me. Deep into me. Physically, at least.
More than that, I really couldn’t say how deep things went between us. Not like we’d ever had a chance to explore it, since what Maggie wanted and what she was willing to do were two vastly fucking different things. I’d had six long, frustrating-as-fuck years to learn that much about the woman.
“We can’t,” she said.
“This is Vegas,” I told her. “We sure as fuck can.”
She just stared at me. We’d both gone still. My dick was still throbbing between us, her heart pounding against mine. But she wasn’t shoving me away.
I wasn’t getting up, either.
In my defense, it was Maggie.
Underneath me.
And she wasn’t wearing any pants.
Shit like this didn’t happen everyday. Shit like this never happened, actually.
Not too fucking sure why it was happening now, but as long as she was letting me get away with it, I
