I dried off and took a giant, belly-deep breath.
Maggie.
Holy fucking shit.
What happened when you got everything you’d ever wanted? The one thing that truly mattered?
Did shit like that actually happen?
To someone like me?
No. Because she’s not in love with you, asshole.
Fuck. Whatever.
Even if she was only marrying me because of Dizzy… by the time she woke up tomorrow, I’d make sure she knew she’d done the right thing. Hell, I’d spend the rest of my life convincing her of it.
Damn.
Motherfucking Dizzy.
I stood up tall and got my shit the fuck together.
My shoulders went back, my jaw hardened, I cracked my neck, and just like that, the adrenaline started building again. Just like it did as I forced myself to take the stage. To claim what was mine. To make it mine. My pulse took on the steady, solid thump of the bass drum, the don’t-give-a-fuck self-assurance and the familiar confidence taking over.
No time for amateur hour stage fright bullshit. I had shit to take care of.
I’d found Maggie’s phone on her patio chair and I used it to call her dad. Told him to be ready in ten. Just tried to keep the disgust out of my voice. Not easy. But the man was so eager to talk shop with me, pretty sure he didn’t notice.
Head way too far up his own ass. Probably stoned, too.
How that loser made an angel like Maggie, I’d never know. Met her mom a few times though, so I could kinda see how it played out.
Maggie would be sad she wasn’t here for this. We’d have to mention her during the ceremony.
I put on something marginally respectable, which meant a leather vest and jeans that weren’t as ripped to shit as my other ones. I grabbed a cap to wear later; probably gonna need it. I thought about jacking off again, but I didn’t do it. That one time in the shower would just have to get me through the next few hours. Easier said than done if Maggie turned up in a white dress anything half as slutty as what I’d been picturing her wearing ever since I proposed.
When I knocked on her bedroom door, it took her a few minutes to answer and the adrenaline buzz started to fade. She opened the door looking stunned, and not just a little bit confused.
No slutty white dress either.
“Holy ssshit,” she slurred through her mouth guard. “You were fucking ssherioush.” She had one of those blindfolds people wore to sleep pushed up on her hair, and silk jammies on.
Fucking hell.
“You were fucking sleeping?”
She pulled out the mouth guard, wiping slobber on the back of her hand. “Well, I—”
“Not cool, Maggie,” I said, stalking past her into the room. “We had a deal.”
I looked in the closet. Empty. Guess she didn’t have time to go all neat freak on her clothes yet and hang them up in order of color. I dug through her travel case, ignoring her protests. I found some lingerie, hot pink lace, and tossed it at her. The closest I could find to a white dress was a baby-pink thing in a soft, clingy knit, which would totally fucking do.
When I turned to her she was holding the lingerie out with her fingertips like it was someone else’s dirty laundry. “Zane, I can’t get married in this!”
“Not my problem. You’ve had like twenty minutes to pick something out. We need a marriage license before we hit the chapel and the office closes in fifty minutes.” I tossed the pink dress at her and she stared at me, still looking stunned. “Put this the fuck on and let’s go.”
Chapter Six
Maggie
“We’re going where?”
I stared at Zane, my mouth gaping open. Pretty sure it was a super-hot look, combined with my bed-hair-and-pajamas ensemble. At the moment, I couldn’t give one fuck.
“Wedding chapel,” he said, playing with his phone, completely unconcerned with the fact that we were going to a wedding chapel. “Don’t worry, Vegas is lousy with ’em.”
When I just stood there, his blue eyes flicked up to meet mine, a spark of challenge in their icy depths. It was at that exact moment that the situation really slapped me in the face.
This was happening.
If anyone could pull off a stunt this insane, it was Zane.
The man had zero impulse control. I knew this. So why the hell was I surprised?
Yes, I told him I’d do this if he pulled it off. I just didn’t think he’d actually do it, to the point that I’d brushed and flossed my teeth, put in earplugs and crawled into bed.
Basically, I figured once the high of acting on his impulse started to fade and I was out of sight, out of mind, his ADHD would kick in and he’d be on to something else… like finding himself another orgy.
Apparently, I was wrong.
“Get the fuck moving,” he said, a wicked-crazy gleam in his eyes I didn’t even want to look directly at. What happened when you looked pure evil in the eye anyway?
Nothing good.
“Zane. We are not just going out and… and… getting married,” I sputtered, “you know… without security.” And yes, I was stalling. Desperately. The wheels in my head were turning way too fucking slowly. “I mean… I am not getting trampled in a stampede of drunk chicks on my… Jesus…” I stopped to swallow and work up the will to say it. “On my… fucking wedding night… you know, when they start recognizing you… and…”
I was starting to sweat. My silk pj’s were sticking to my breasts. And leave it to my soon-to-be-husband—holy shit, that sounded weird—to notice it. His gaze raked down over my chest, zeroing in on my nipples, which pricked a little too eagerly at the attention.
I crossed my arms over my chest and looked at him pointedly. “Security, Zane. You take care of that little detail?”
“On it.” He thumbed
