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She presses her chest to my still tuxedo-clad body, and I wrap my arms around her as my mouth crashes to hers. I kiss her like my life depends on it, and how have we only done this once before? It’s like our mouths were made for each other. I can only imagine our bodies will feel that way, too.
She pulls back. “Give me one sec, okay?”
I nod, and she rushes toward the bathroom. She emerges a beat later, the veil that was in her hair no longer there.
“I’ll take a second in there, too,” I say, and she nods as I head toward the bathroom.
I strip out of the tux and my boxers down to nothing, and when I return to the bedroom, the lights are off and my bride is wearing one of my San Diego Storm T-shirts…and she’s fast asleep. Or passed out. Either way, sex is off the table.
I climb into bed beside her, not discounting the possibility of morning sex with my wife, and pass out beside her.
Chapter 15: Grace Nash
My Already Misfiring Brain Completely Malfunctions
The Morning After the Wedding
I open my eyes and feel my stomach as it rolls.
I’m definitely going to throw up.
“Oh shit!” I say, and I jump out of bed and run to the bathroom. I make it just in time before I heave up whatever I ate last night.
Where the hell am I right now?
I can’t seem to think clearly as the heaving stops and the loud thundering of a headache steps into its place.
I spot clothes on the floor. Black pants, a black jacket, a white shirt…
Is that…a tuxedo?
I’m wearing a T-shirt that’s about four sizes too big, and when I glance in the mirror, I see makeup smudged all over my face.
I can’t remember the last time I got so drunk that I didn’t wash my face before bed. I don’t know if I ever have, and I live at a freaking winery.
I wash my hands, and as I’m scrubbing them under the water, I freeze as I spot a shiny gold band on my left ring finger.
I also see what looks like a veil on the counter, and I can’t quite put the pieces together in a way that makes them make sense.
Is this a joke?
I don’t even see my toothbrush. Is this my room?
I walk out of the bathroom and find Spencer Nash standing next to the bed.
Naked.
He’s naked.
He’s not wearing any clothes at all, and my already misfiring brain completely malfunctions.
My eyes meet his, and he reaches down and pulls whatever’s on the floor beneath him up to cover himself.
“Um,” I say, and my voice is hoarse after losing last night’s dinner a moment ago. I clear my throat as I try to understand what’s happening, but I drank way too much last night for any of this to make sense. “This may be a dumb question, but is that a wedding dress?”
He looks down at the dress in his hands. “I, uh—” He clears his throat, too. “I think it is.”
“Oh, okay,” I say as I try to keep calm. My head continues to thunder. Exactly how much tequila did I drink last night? “That may explain the wedding ring on my finger, then.”
