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He helps me untangle our bodies; he takes care of the condom with a cloth napkin, and he helps me into my dress.
Then we lie there, tangled together, soaking in the warmth of the night and the perfect feeling of the city being ours.
One weekend in Vegas.
And so much I want to do to him.
After we catch our breath,we finish our drinks and order another round at the bar.
A couple in wedding gear strolls through the doors, drunk and delirious, from happiness or alcohol, I can't tell.
The bride, a short redhead in a full-on ivory princess gown, tosses the bouquet she's holding in the air.
I catch it without thinking.
She smiles and wraps her arms around her groom, a tall Asian guy in a tuxedo. "Congrats. You're next. The chapel is right around the corner." She winks and skips to the elevator.
The groom skips with her.
Jackson and I share a look. What a strange, drunk couple.
We order another round.
We climb back into the limo.
We pop another bottle of cheap champagne.
And then one kiss blurs into another. A pop song from the nineties blurs into a pop song from the two thousands.
A touch blurs into a fuck.
And all of a sudden, I'm in bed in the hotel room, and we're kissing and touching and fucking.
And I'm sound asleep, dreaming next to him.
I wake up with a pounding headache and dry mouth and absolutely no clothes.
In fact, I'm not wearing anything except for the ring on my left hand.
No, the rings.
A wedding ring. An engagement ring.
And there's a matching band on Jackson's left hand.
Last night was more than a blur of sex and alcohol.
Last night, we got married.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jackson
Sun streams through the window, casting the room in a yellow glow.
The sights of Las Vegas greet me. The black pyramid of the Luxor. The white walls of the Excalibur. The buildings of the New York, New York and the Strip beyond it.
All beneath beautiful blue skies. There isn't a cloud in sight.
