I woke up on the bathroom floor. Everything hurt. My mouth felt like garbage and tasted worse. What the hell had happened last night? The last thing I remembered was the countdown to midnight and the thrill of turning twenty-one, legal at last. I'd been dancing with Rosé and talking to some guy. Then BANG!
Tequila.
A whole line of shot glasses with lemon and salt on the side.
Everything I'd heard about Vegas was true. Bad things happened here, terrible things. I just wanted to crawl into a ball and die. Sweet baby Jesus, what had I been thinking to drink so much? I groaned and even that made my head pound. This pain had not been part of the plan.
"You okay?" a voice enquired, female, deep, and nice. Really nice. A shiver went through me despite my pain. My poor broken body stirred in the strangest of places.
"Are you going to be sick again?" she asked.
Oh, no.
I opened my eyes and sat up, pushing my greasy brown hair aside. Her blurry face loomed closer. I slapped a hand over my mouth because my breath had to be hideous.
"Hi," I mumbled.
Slowly, she swam into focus. She was tall and beautiful and strangely familiar. Impossible. I'd never met anyone like her.
She looked to be in her mid-to-late twenties—a woman, not a girl. She had long, dark hair falling past her shoulders and sideburns. Her eyes were the darkest blue. They couldn't be real. Frankly, those eyes were overkill. I'd have swooned perfectly fine without them. Even with the tired red tinge they were a thing of beauty. Tattoos covered the entirety of one arm and half her bare chest. A black bird had been inked into the side of her neck, the tip of its wing reaching up behind her ear. I still had on the pretty, dirty white dress Rosé had talked me into. It had been a daring choice for me on account of the way it barely contained my abundance of boobage. But this beautiful woman easily had me beat for skin on show. She wore just a pair of jeans, some scuffed black boots, a couple of small silver earrings, and a loose white bandage on her forearm.
Those jeans … she wore them well. They sat invitingly low on her hips and fit in all the right ways. Even my monster hangover couldn't detract from the view.
"Aspirin?" she asked.
And I was ogling her. My gaze darted to her face and she gave me a sly, knowing smile. Wonderful. "Yes. Please."
She grabbed a battered black leather jacket off the floor, the one I'd apparently been using as a pillow. Thank God I hadn't puked on it. Clearly, this beautiful half naked woman had seen me in all my glory, hurling multiple times. I could have drowned in the shame.
One by one she emptied the contents of her pockets out onto the cold white tiles. A credit card, guitar picks, a phone and a string of condoms. The condoms gave me pause but I was soon distracted by what emerged next. A multitude of paper scraps tumbled out onto the floor. All had names and numbers scrawled across them. This girl was Ms Popularity. Hey, I could definitely see why. But what on earth was she doing here with me?
Finally, she produced a small bottle of pain-killers. Sweet relief. I loved her, whoever she was and whatever she'd seen.
"You need water," she said, and got busy filling a glass from the sink behind her.
The bathroom was tiny. We both barely fit. Given Rosé's and my money situation, the hotel had been the best we could afford. She'd been determined to celebrate my birthday in style. My goal had been a bit different. Despite the presence of my hot new friend, I was pretty sure I'd failed. The pertinent parts of my anatomy felt fine. I'd heard things hurt after the first couple of times. They sure as hell had after the first. But my vagina might have been the only part of my body not giving me grief.
Still, I took a quick peek down the front of my dress. The corner of a foil package could still be seen, tucked into the side of my bra. Because if it was sitting there, strapped to me, no way would I be caught unprepared. The condom remained whole and hearty. How disappointing. Or maybe not. Finally plucking up the courage to get back on the horse, so to speak, and then not remembering it would have been horrible.
The woman handed me the glass of water and placed two pills into my hand. She then sat back on her haunches to watch me. She had an intensity to her that I was in no condition to deal with.
"Thanks," I said, then swallowed the aspirin. Noisy rumbles rose from my belly. Nice, very ladylike.
"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked. Her glorious mouth twitched into a smile as if we shared a private joke between us.
The joke being me.
All I could do was stare. Given my current condition, she was just too much. The hair, face, body, ink, all of it. Someone needed to invent a word superlative enough to describe her.
After a long moment it dawned on me that she expected an answer to her question. I nodded, still unwilling to unleash my morning breath, and gave her a grim smile. The best I could do.
"Okay. That's good," she said.
She was certainly attentive. I didn't know what I'd done to deserve such kindness. If I'd picked up the poor girl with promises of sex and then proceeded to spend the night with my head in the toilet, by rights she should be a bit disgruntled. Maybe she hoped I'd make good on the offer this morning. It seemed the only plausible explanation for why she'd linger.
Under normal conditions, she was light years out of my league and (for the sake of my pride) worlds away from my type. I liked clean-cut. Clean-cut was nice. Bad guys were highly overrated. God knows, I'd watched enough girls throw themselves at my brother over the years. He'd taken what they'd offered if it suited him, and then moved on. Bad guys weren't the stuff serious relationships were made of. Not that I'd been chasing forever last night, just a positive sexual experience. Something not involving Kai Jongin being mad at me for getting a smear of blood on the back seat of his parents' car. God, what a horrible memory. The next day the douche had dumped me for a girl on the track team half my size. He then added insult to injury by spreading rumors about me. I hadn't been made bitter or twisted by this event at all.
What had happened last night? My head remained a tangled, throbbing mess, the details hazy, incomplete.
"We should get something into you," she said. "You want me to order some dry toast or something?"
"No." The thought of food was not fun. Not even coffee appealed and coffee always appealed. I was half tempted to check myself for a pulse, just in case. Instead, I pushed my hand through my crappy hair, getting it out of my eyes. "No, I … ow!" Strands caught on something, tugging hard at my scalp. "Crap."
"Hang on." She reached out and carefully disentangled my messy do from whatever was causing the trouble. "There we go."
"Thanks." Something winked at me from my left hand, snagging my attention. A ring, but not just any ring. An amazing ring, a stupendous one.
"Holy shit," I whispered.
It couldn't be real. It was so big it bordered on obscene. A stone that size would cost a fortune. I stared, bemused, turning my hand to catch the light. The band beneath was thick, solid, and the rock sure shone and sparkled like the real deal.
As if.
"Ah, yeah. About that …" she said, dark brows drawn down. She looked vaguely embarrassed by the ice rink on my finger. "If you still wanna change it for something smaller, that's okay with me. It is kinda big. I do get your point about that."
I couldn't shake the feeling I knew her from somewhere. Somewhere that wasn't last night or this morning or anything to do with the ridiculous beautiful ring on my finger.
"You bought me this?" I asked.
She nodded. "Last night at Cartier."
"Cartier?" My voice dropped to a whisper. "Huh."
For a long moment she just stared at me. "You don't remember?"
I really didn't want to answer that. "What is that even? Two, three carats?"
"Five."
"Five? Wow."
"What do you remember?" she asked, voice hardening just a little.
"Well … it's hazy."
"No." Her frown increased until it owned her handsome face. "You have got to be fucking kidding me. You seriously don't know?"
What to say? My mouth hung open, useless. There was a lot I didn't know. To my knowledge, however, Cartier didn't do costume jewelry. My head swam. Bad feelings unfurled within my stomach and bile burnt the back of my throat. Worse even than before.
I was not puking in front of this girl.
Not again.
She took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. "I didn't realize you'd had that much to drink. I mean, I knew you'd had a bit, but … shit. Seriously? You don't remember us going on the gondolas at The Venetian?"
"We went on gondolas?"
"Fuck. Ah, how about when you bought me a burger? Do you remember that?"
"Sorry."
"Wait a minute," she said, watching me through narrowed eyes. "You're just messing with me, aren't you?"
"I'm so sorry."
She physically recoiled from me. "Let me get this straight, you don't remember anything?"
"No," I said, swallowing hard. "What did we do last night?"
"We got fucking married," she growled.
This time, I didn't make it to the toilet.
I decided on divorce while I brushed my teeth, practiced what I would say to her as I washed my hair. But you couldn't rush these things. Unlike last night when I'd apparently rushed into marriage. Rushing again would be wrong, foolish. That, or I was a coward taking the world's longest shower. Odds were on the latter.
Holy, holy hell. What a mess. I couldn't even begin to get my head wrapped around it. Married. Me. My lungs wouldn't work. Panic waited right around the corner.
No way could my desire for this disaster to go away come as a surprise to her. Puking on the floor had to have been a huge hint. I groaned and covered my face with my hands at the memory. Her look of disgust would haunt me all my days.
My parents would kill me if they ever found out. I had plans, priorities. I was studying to be an architect like my father. Marriage to anyone at this stage didn't fit into those plans. In another ten, fifteen years maybe. But marriage at twenty-one? Hell no. I hadn't even been on a second date in years and now I had a ring on my finger. No way did that make sense. I was doomed. This crazy wedding caper wasn't something I could hide from.
Or could I?
Unless my parents couldnotfind out. Ever. Over the years I had made something of a habit of not involving them in things that might be seen as unsavory, unnecessary, or just plain stupid. This marriage quite possibly fell under all three categories.
Actually, maybe no one need know. If I didn't tell, how would they find out? They wouldn't. The answer was awe-inspiring in its simplicity.
"Yes!" I hissed and punched the air, clipping the shower head with the side of my fist. Water sprayed everywhere including straight in my eyes, blinding me. Never mind, I had the answer.
Denial. I'd take the secret to my grave. No one would ever know of my extreme drunken idiocy.
I smiled with relief, my panic attack receding enough so that I could breathe. Oh, thank goodness. Everything would be okay. I had a new plan to get me back on track with the old one. Brilliant. I'd brave up, go and face her, and set things straight. Twenty-one-year-olds with grand life plans didn't marry complete strangers in Vegas, no matter how beautiful those strangers happened to be. It would be fine. She'd understand. In all likelihood, she sat out there right now, working out the most efficient method to dump and run.
The diamond still glittered on my hand. I couldn't bring myself to take it off just yet. It was like Christmas on my finger, so big, bright, and shiny. Though, upon reflection, my temporary wife didn't exactly appear to be rich. Her jacket and jeans were both well worn. The woman was a mystery.
Wait. What if she was into something illegal? Maybe I'd married a criminal. Panic rushed back in with a vengeance. My stomach churned and my head throbbed. I knew nothing about the person waiting in the next room. Absolutely not a damn thing. I'd shoved her out the bathroom door without even getting her name.
A knock on the door sent my shoulders sky high.
"Jennie?" she called out, proving she at least knew my name.
"Just a second."
I turned off the taps and stepped out, wrapping a towel around myself. The width of it was barely sufficient to cover my curves, but my dress had puke on it. Putting it back on was out of the question.
"Hi," I said, opening the bathroom door a hand's length. She stood almost half a head taller than me and I wasn't short by any means. Dressed in only a towel, I found her rather intimidating. However much she'd had to drink the previous night she still looked gorgeous as opposed to my pale, pasty and sopping wet. The aspirin hadn't done nearly as much as it should have.
Of course, I'd thrown it up.
"Hey." She didn't meet my eyes. "Look, I'm going to get this taken care of, okay?"
"Taken care of?"
"Yeah," she said, still avoiding all eye contact. Apparently the hideous green motel carpeting was beyond enticing. "My lawyers will deal with all this."
"You have lawyers?" Criminals had lawyers. Shit. I had to get myself divorced from this girl now.
"Yeah, I have lawyers. You don't need to worry about anything. They'll send you the paperwork or whatever. However this works." She gave me an irritated glance, lips a tight line, and pulled on her leather jacket over her chest. Her T-shirt still hung drying over the edge of the tub. Sometime during the night I must have puked on it too. How gruesome. If I were her, I'd divorce me and never look back.
"This was a mistake," she said, echoing my thoughts.
"Oh."
"What?" Her gaze jumped to my face. "You disagree?"
"No," I said quickly.
"Didn't think so. Pity it made sense last night, yeah?" She shoved a hand through her hair and made for the door. "Take care."
"Wait!" The stupid, amazing ring wouldn't come off my finger. I tugged and turned it, trying to wrestle it into submission. Finally it budged, grazing my knuckle raw in the process. Blood welled to the surface. One more stain in this whole sordid affair. "Here."
"For fuck's sake." She scowled at the rock sparkling in the palm of my hand as if it had personally offended her. "Keep it."
"I can't. It must have cost a fortune."
She shrugged.
"Please." I held it out, hand jiggling, impatient to be rid of the evidence of my drunken stupidity. "It belongs to you. You have to take it."
"No. I don't."
"But—"
Without another word the woman stormed out, slamming the door shut behind her. The thin walls vibrated with the force of it.
Whoa. My hand fell back to my side. She sure had a temper. Not that I hadn't given her provocation, but still. I wish I remembered what had gone on between us. Any inkling would be good.
Meanwhile my left butt cheek felt sore. I winced, carefully rubbing the area. My dignity wasn't the only casualty, it seemed. I must have scratched my behind at some stage, bumped into some furniture or taken a dive in my fancy new heels. The pricey ones Rosé had insisted went with the dress, the ones whose current whereabouts were a mystery. I hoped I hadn't lost them. Given my recent nuptials, nothing would surprise me.
I wandered back into the bathroom with a vague memory of a buzzing noise and laughter ringing in my ear, of her whispering to me. It made no sense.
I turned and raised the edge of my towel, going up on tippy-toe to inspect my ample ass in the mirror. Black ink and hot pink skin.
All the air left my body in a rush.
There was a word on my left butt cheek, a name.
Lisa
I spun and dry-heaved into the sink.