How to Marry Your Frenemy - London Casey Page 0,33
sweetie,” I said to her. “We all know three times means you want me to fuck you.”
Callie swallowed hard.
I could play this game all night. For the rest of my life even.
“Well, congrats to you both!” Chucky yelled. “Another successful marriage!”
And just like that, Chucky was done with us.
He took out his cellphone and walked away.
Callie and I walked down the aisle together.
One of the women who threw flowers earlier had a camera and took pictures.
All the way down the fucking aisle.
We each kept a smile on our face until we got outside.
We faced each other.
Before either of us could speak, Vince cut in.
“I’m going back to the strip club,” he said. “I’m not done with Vixxy tonight. I assume you two will head home and enjoy your new marriage. Remember what’s at stake. One million dollars. I’m sure you two can figure this out.”
He laughed and walked to a car that drove him off.
There was only one car left.
Meaning Vince had sent the third one away.
On purpose.
“Shall we go home, wife?” I asked.
Callie slammed the bouquet of flowers to my chest.
Half of them broke. Pedals flew all around.
She then moved to her toes and got in my face.
“Don’t fuck this up for me, Jackson. Okay? Keep it in your pants and pretend you love me.”
Callie got into the backseat of the car.
I stepped forward and purposely stepped on the flowers and twisted my foot.
This was going to be one happy marriage, wasn’t it?
Chapter Sixteen
Callie
The sunlight slapped me across the face harder than Sarah Brensman did in the ninth grade when I called her a slut for kissing my boyfriend. (For the record, the slap I gave her back was twice as hard and made her cry so hard, she peed herself, which then gave her the nickname Sarah Peeman.)
My eyes were crusted shut and I peeled them open with my fingers.
I stared up at the ceiling and tried to lick my lips but they were desert dry.
I groaned and shut my eyes.
My mind was blank.
Dark and blank.
My head was already throbbing as a reminder of all the drinks from the night before.
That was one hell of a…
My eyes popped open again.
I sat up.
My hands grabbed the bedsheets as the migraine-style pain whirred through my head like a mixer to cookie dough.
I sucked in a breath and held it for a few seconds.
I released it nice and slow, which was enough to dull the pain so I could think.
More than think, I needed my eyes.
Because I wasn’t in my bed.
I wasn’t in my room.
I wasn’t in my apartment.
“Oh, fuck,” I whispered.
I looked around for a picture of someone.
There were none.
The room did have a smell though.
Expensive cologne with a hint of asshole.
“No,” I said.
I looked down at myself and saw I was in an oversized t-shirt.
“No,” I said again.
Carefully, I leaned to my left to look off the bed.
My hands gripped the sheets extra tight.
The hangover had the room shaking and I had the sensation that I was going to fall out of the bed.
There on the floor… my clothes.
My jeans.
My favorite jeans.
The ones that hugged my ass and hips perfectly.
My shirt. Just balled up and left there.
My flannel over shirt.
My damn bra.
Instantly, my right hand moved from the sheets to my chest.
I squeezed my breasts… yeah, no bra here.
There was only one piece of clothing in question then.
I lifted the heavy comforter off my body and looked down at my bare legs.
I wasn’t even sure if I had shaved yesterday or not.
I did though. Right? No way I would have went out without shaving my legs, right? But I did wear jeans. And I wasn’t going out looking for sex. I had gone to the strip club with…
I shook my head and groaned.
Waking up in a stranger’s bed was one thing. But knowing I probably had sex feeling like a wooly mammoth was a whole other bag to carry during my walk of shame.
I grabbed the end of the t-shirt that clothed my body and I lifted it up.
When I saw I was wearing panties, I nodded.
I even smiled.
That was a victory.
Now I just needed to…
“Wait,” I whispered.
The night started to creep through my memory.
I looked at my left hand.
There was a ring on my finger.
A thin, cheap looking silver ring.
I crashed back down to the pillow.
“Fuck,” I whispered again.
I turned my head and groaned as I did something super cliché.
I reached for the pillow next to me and pulled it over my face.