Luckily he was making out with Maxxi at the time, so he missed my little performance. Zane, on the other hand, didn’t miss a thing. He even tipped me afterward. Also kinda fun.
But standing there in a private room in some strip club with my dad while Zane stuffed cash into my lace panties, I decided it was well past time to call it a night. This night was already fucking weird enough. Didn’t think I could handle it getting any weirder.
I’d spent the ride back to the hotel quietly sipping a bottle of water and wondering why I’d let myself drink so much.
Maybe I’d been more nervous about this whole crazy thing than I’d let on… even to myself.
Still, I’d somehow managed to rationalize the booze, just like everything else, as harmless enough fun—until I stepped back out of the kitchen with my bouquet and looked up to see the weird-ass expression on Zane’s face.
We stood there, awkwardly, on opposite sides of the room, staring in at the giant bed all decked out for a night of matrimonial bliss.
“If you want the big bed with the satin sheets you can take it,” he said. He’d turned to look at me, and I could not for the life of me read the look in his blue eyes. “I’ll take the other one. Whatever you want.”
I blinked at him and set the flowers on a table, wobbling a little in my high heels. Whatever I wanted?
What the fuck?
“We aren’t sleeping together?”
The words came spilling out of my mouth before I could think them through.
Zane’s eyes twitched like he might smile, but then he didn’t.
“I’m gonna go wash up. Take whichever bed you want and I’ll take the other one. Cool?”
I stared at him, totally speechless.
No.
Not cool.
Maybe he was ready to call it a night—why??—but I’d spent the better part of the last four hours, pretty much from the second we said “I do” and he kissed me like he was devouring a bottle of particularly expensive bourbon, mentally preparing myself to spend the rest of the night, from the moment we walked back in here, fending him off.
Well, that, or fucking his brains out. If I was being honest. Hadn’t quite decided which way things were gonna go yet. Blamed the champagne for that. Definitely.
But this? This was bullshit.
I watched him stroll up the stairs, through the master bedroom to the en suite bathroom, turn up the lights, and disappear inside. He closed the door behind himself. Not all the way, but still. A civilized person knew what a closed bathroom door meant.
But fuck that.
I heard the water running in the sink as I approached, and tossed the door open to find him brushing his teeth. I stalked over and turned off the faucet.
“This is my wedding night,” I told him icily. “You have to at least try to bang me, so I can turn you down.”
He pointed at the sink, which I was standing in front of. Never mind that there was another one two feet over.
I crossed my arms, staring him down.
He pulled the toothbrush out of his mouth. “May I shpit?” he asked, his mouth full of toothpaste foam.
“Fine.” I shoved away from the sink to let him at it. Then I grumbled, “Like you didn’t do enough of that already tonight,” as he spat and rinsed.
“And like I told you,” he said, eying me as he dabbed his mouth with a towel. “I don’t fuck chicks who’ve been drinking.”
“I’m not even drunk!”
He gave me a level look. “Babe.”
“I’m not!” Pretty sure I was. Didn’t keep me from protesting the fact. Hard. “Look, I’ll brush my teeth. You won’t taste a thing.” With that, I seized his toothbrush and brushed my teeth.
He stood back, watching.
“See?” I spat in the sink and rinsed, then gave him a winning smile. “Minty fresh.”
“You used my toothbrush,” he said, eying me with mock concern. “You know that has cooties on it, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m your wife,” I shot back as sarcastically as possible. “I can’t use your toothbrush?”
I strutted back out into the bedroom, still trying to prove my case. Zane followed at a distance. I wasn’t sure why it was so important to me that I prove I wasn’t wasted. In the bar it really hadn’t seemed like a big deal, especially when he kept feeding me drinks.
Now it felt wrong.
“What do you want me to do? Walk a straight line? Touch my finger to my nose?” I did that, and thank God I actually hit the target. “What if I sing ‘Schoolgirl’? Bet I can remember all the words.”
Then I started singing my dad’s shitty song. Not terribly, either. I could hold a tune. Couldn’t hold a candle to Zane’s voice, but at least I wouldn’t totally embarrass myself. The booze loosened me up, so I figured I sounded even better than usual. Though my judgment was probably impaired on that.
Zane just stood there, leaning on the wall by the bathroom, silently observing as I tried to take off my strappy high heels while singing the chorus, and fell over on the bed.
“See?” I kicked the shoes off and did my best to make it look like I’d meant to sit down. “Every word.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So?” I stared at him expectantly. “Don’t you think if I was wasted, that would be the very, very first thing to go?”
His lips quirked. “That doesn’t make much sense, Maggie.”
“Yes it does!” I jumped to my feet. “Come on! Sing along. It won’t sound as terrible if you sing it.”
“Can’t do it.” He shook his head slowly. “Promised you I’d never sing that song.”
Shit. That was true.
“Fine. But we’re not just calling it a night! I’m all amped up, and it’s your fault.”
“My fault?”
“Uh, yeah. You’re the one who dragged me out of bed and took me out on the town, married me, poured booze down my throat, bought me lap dance
