Chapter 2
Ring? Ring? RING?
I close my eyes tightly and feel for Josh's left hand, which is resting against my stomach. Please don't have a ring on… please don't have a ring on…please don't have… he has a ring on.
I pick up my left hand and stare at the ring on my finger. It's hideous. I mean, it's bad. It's gold-plated I think, but the gold color is more of a yellow. It shouldn't be long before my finger starts turning green. It's got a rather large, obviously fake square diamond in it, but the square isn't exactly square. The craftsmanship…well, leaves a little to be desired.
Am I having a nightmare? Wake-up Donna. I pick up Josh's hand and stare at the ring on his finger. It's as tacky as mine, with the same hideous design and yellowy color to it. They must've been a pair. So, this little piece of information would lead me to believe that we did in fact… no, I'm not quite ready to say it.
I'm going to have to wake him up. I've got to see what he remembers. Maybe I'm wrong. I've been wrong before, not often, but occasionally. Maybe there's a logical explanation to this. There must be something I'm missing. Something that the hangover and headache and lack of sleep are prohibiting me from remembering. THERE MUST BE SOMETHING!
"Josh," I whisper. No need to yell, this is not his fault. Oh, who am I kidding, this is most assuredly his fault. He doesn't budge.
"Josh," I whisper a little more harshly. His only response is to pull me closer to him and nudge my neck with his nose. Well...that felt nice.
"Josh, wake-up," I finally say in my normal voice while elbowing him lightly in the side.
"Hmm…" he says, rolling onto his back. I roll over onto my other side so I'm next to him looking down at him. He's yawning and obviously fighting consciousness. It's very cute.
"I need you to wake-up, Josh," I say, putting my hand on his chest and lightly shaking it. That felt nice too.
He cracks one eye open and looks at me, then grins. Not the dimples, not now, I have to concentrate. Such nice dimples. "Morning," he says in a sleepy, low, very sexy voice. Good Lord, Donna. Get a grip.
"Good morning. How ya feelin'?"
"Head hurts," he says, closing his eyes again.
"There's Tylenol on the nightstand."
"You're amazing." I'm what? Amazing? We did have sex? I'm so confused.
"Amazing?" I kind of croak out.
"You brought me Tylenol." Oh, ok. I'm amazing because of the Tylenol, not the sex. Well, I am amazing at sex, but he doesn't know that. I think. Right?
"Josh, sit up and take the Tylenol. We have to talk and I need you to make sense."
"Kay," he says, sitting up a little and taking a few pills. Then he rubs his eyes and looks around the room. This is when it hits him. I know, because the expression on his face matches the way I felt when I realized it. "Donna?"
"Yes?"
"Why are we in bed together?" he asks in his squeaky voice, while holding his head with his hand.
Because we're married. I don't think I'm gonna spring that on him right away. "That's a very good question."
He looks at me through squinted eyes and then picks up the blanket and looks underneath. This is like watching myself just a few minutes before. "You're wearing clothes."
"Yes, so are you."
"You checked?"
"You checked."
"Well, yeah, but I'm a man!"
"Is that supposed to be an excuse?"
Instead of answering, he glares at me. "So, did we…" he asks, waiving his arm between us.
Get married? I think so. "Have sex? I don't think so."
"But we are in bed together?" he asks just to make sure, I guess.
"That we are."
He shakes his head a little. "I'm confused."
Welcome to the club. "What do you remember about last night?"
He shrugs. "Lots of tequila, you?"
I shake my head. "That's about it."
He looks at me and sneaks back down into the bed. "My head hurts. I need sleep. I'll remember more when I've had more sleep." As he says this, he puts his arm around me and pulls me half on top of him. I should resist, yet I don't.
"Do you think this is the best idea?"
"Let's sleep. We'll talk when we get up," he says back in his sleepy voice as his right hand finds its way into my hair and his left hand holds my hand on his chest. I can't help but sigh.
I find myself dozing off on his incredible chest. It's just so strong and warm and… focus Donna, focus. "Josh." Well that sounded more like a moan than a word.
"Shh… we're sleeping," he whispers.
"Ok, but I think you should know that we might have gotten married last night.""Kay…" he drifts off. I start counting the seconds it takes him to comprehend what I just said. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one, "What?" he says calmly.
Well, at least he didn't freak out. I'll give him that. I freaked out a little when I realized it, I admit. I prop my chin up on his chest and look at him. I really don't see any reason to move off his chest. I am married to the man; there should be some perks, right? "Apparently I cancelled my room last night and had all my stuff moved in here."
"Ok?"
"And…" here goes. "We're both wearing wedding rings," I say very quietly.
He immediately pulls his hand out of my hair and looks at it. "I'm not wearing a ring."
"That's your right hand." He looks down at me and then picks up our hands that are linked on his chest.
"You're not wearing a ring."
"That's my right hand."
"What?" Poor thing. He's so hung over. I pull my left hand out from under my pillow and show it to him.
"Where did these come from?"
"I have no idea."
"That's pretty ugly," he says, holding my left hand in his right and studying the ring.
"So I noticed."
"We can do better than that."
"What?"
"Really. I may be a government employee, but I can afford a better ring than that."
"Right. Uh, Josh?"
"Yeah?"
"We may be married. Married. We might have gotten drunk and then married. I think the hideous rings are the least of our problems, don't you?"
"I'm just saying."
"And I'm just saying what are we going to do?"
He shrugs. "We could always consummate…"
"Josh!" I yell, hitting him in the chest.
"It was just an idea," he says, chuckling. This has got to be the most bizarre conversation of my life.
"In the future, try to make those ideas helpful."
"Fine, here's a helpful idea. We're tired, we're hung over, and we're obviously confused. Let's get some sleep and see what we remember when we're actually awake. Then we'll come up with a plan."
And can we stay all comfy like this? "Sleep and then a plan?"
"That's my idea, and I'm very smart. You've married well."
"Oh, have I?"
"Yes." I can't help smiling at him. How does he do this? We're married, which I thought would freak him out. Instead, he wants to sleep and consummate. And why didn't I agree to the consummation thing? I should've thought that through.
"Fine. Sleep and then a plan. But first, go brush your teeth. Your breath… not so good."
"Fine." He crawls out from underneath me, which my body doesn't care for at all, and goes into the bathroom. While he's in there, I call down to room service and ask them to deliver toast and coffee at 7:30, and then I set the alarm. Two hours of sleep, that's all we get.
When he comes back from the bathroom, he goes to the dresser and picks up his watch to check the time, I guess. This is when he finds the next piece of evidence to support the 'got married' theory. This evidence comes in the form of a marriage certificate. He stares at it for a second and then hands it to me before crawling back into bed.
"Well, I guess the 'might have' part's been answered," I say, looking at the document with our illegible handwriting. But as drunk as we were last night, I guess we're lucky to recognize the D, M, J, and L.
"I guess so," he says, taking the certificate from me and putting it on the nightstand. Then he rolls onto his back, pulls me back on top of him, and puts his hand back in my hair. This time, however, he plays with it just a little bit, going between running his fingers through it and massaging my scalp. I can't believe it when I hear myself say, "Mmm…that feels nice," in a seductive voice. Donnatella Moss, that is not helping.
"Yeah," he says in a very husky sexy voice. "It does." That's when I notice that I'm tracing patterns on his chest with my fingers. I should stop that, shouldn't I? I don't.
