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Pshh. What happens in Vegas definitely didn’t stay in Vegas.
Ugh, blasted hangovers crossing state lines.
As soon as the seatbelt noise dings, I get out of my seat quickly and make it to the front of the plane as they open the doors, and immediately claim a seat.
I’m sitting down with my head in my hands as Quinn and Hanna emerge a few moments later.
“Hey, are you doing okay?” Hanna asks placing her hand on my shoulder with concern.
“I just want to get home and crawl into bed, this headache isn’t going away.” I explain.
“Oh no, still?” Quinn sits down beside me rubbing my back.
I turn my head to look at her and offer her a small smile.
“Let’s get out of here and make sure you get tucked into your bed, and maybe get you a gallon of water, you just need to get all that booze out of you.” Quinn stands and offers me her hand. “And definitely, something greasy.”
* * *
Slowly, my body wakes up, and I’m home—face-down on my pillow with a puddle of drool underneath me. I push myself up and then wipe the wetness from my cheek. I’m lethargic and feel like Vegas kicked my ass properly.
Now to figure out, what the heck do I do about this damn marriage?
Do Vegas weddings count as real weddings? Especially if one doesn’t remember it? Even though, we likely celebrated the marriage?
I mean, I don’t think we shared phone numbers, otherwise I’m sure he would have called me by now, right?
Who was he?
Does he remember the night?
And seriously what happened last night?
I swing my legs out of bed, plant my feet on the floor and pull my hair up into a pony tail before making my way to the kitchen. I dig into the fridge and pull out a bottle of ginger ale that I have hiding in the back and open it.
“Feeling any better?” Quinn bounces into the kitchen while I’m taking a long sip.
I shake my head slightly to see if the headache is still there. “I think I’m good now.” I say with a smile.
“Good. So, tell me about your husband, what’s he like?” she crosses her arms over her chest and leans her shoulder on the fridge with a smirk and a roll of my eyes.
“I wish I could tell you, but last night is a blur and I am kind of fuzzy on the details. All I know is that I woke up next to him.” I reply.
“Do you remember what he looks like?” she questions.
“He was hot, that I remember kind of.”
“Well, I may have been two sheets to the wind, but I do remember the whole group of guys were pretty damn hot. I think one of them was getting married or something, so he was taken, but I don’t remember which guy that was.”
I nod, as if I can picture the group of guys.
I can’t.
But I don’t want to look like a complete fool and a lush. It’s been awhile since I’ve blacked out.
“Hey, what was I drinking that night?” I ask.
“Well, there was a lot of vodka on their table, you know in fancy ice buckets.” Quinn says nodding.
