Down and Dirty Read online

  But after that, things start to get a little foggy between midnight and now, when there’s a naked man in my bed and an enormous diamond ring on my left hand. You do the math.

  I peel back the covers and tiptoe as softly as humanly possible to grab a sleep shirt from my suitcase. I don’t need Landon waking up to the sight of me wearing only a thong, scouring the room for proof that we used a condom last night.

  But that’s exactly what I do.

  I check the trash cans for a torn silver wrapper, a mysterious bundle of toilet paper, anything to give me peace of mind that we used protection last night. But no. The only remnants of our drunken evening together are our clothes, lying in heaps on the floor, and a certificate from Happily Ever After Chapel that I spot on the dresser.

  With quivering fingers, I hold it up, scanning the fine print for something that says this is just a souvenir we picked up. Instead, I find the scrawled signatures of our witnesses and the cold hard truth. Landon Covington and Aubree Derrick are certifiably joined in wedlock.

  Panic rises, tightening my throat and squeezing my chest until I can hardly breathe. It’s like my lungs can’t expand all the way, and my heart is beating so fast, I think it might explode.

  I’m not sure if the sound I make qualifies as a shout, a sob, or somewhere in between, but whatever it is, it wakes Landon up. He jolts upright in bed, fumbling for the sheet to keep his lower half covered.

  “Holy shit, Bree. Are you okay?”

  My mouth opens to reply, but no words come out. Just shaky breaths and a throaty moaning sound as I drop the marriage certificate, letting it float to the carpet. I can feel my cheeks go pale as the blood rushes out of my face, and I crumple onto the edge of the bed, resting my head in my hands. Shallow, uneven breaths push past my lips, and I feel so light-headed, I could faint.

  “Fuck.” The bed shifts as Landon scrambles out of it, tugs on some article of clothing from the floor—pants, I think—and rushes to my side. “You’re okay, Aubree. Take a breath.”

  He strokes my back until I’m brave enough to pull my face from my hands and look him in the eye, which only gets my heart racing again.

  “You’re doing great. Can you breathe with me?” He inhales through his nose, urging me to do the same, then releases the air slowly through pursed lips.

  As I come down from my panic, he keeps his arms tight around me like a security blanket, holding me flush against his chest until my heart rate slows to match his. A few minutes of deep breathing later, I’m in enough of a normal state to pose the question demanding to be asked.

  “Did we . . .” I fumble for the right words, gesturing to the sparkling rock on my finger. “Is this real? Did we get married?”

  He nods slowly, pushing a strand of hair out of my eyes and tucking it behind my ear. “Yes, to both. The ring is real and, according to that piece of paper you were holding, the marriage is too.”

  “I . . . I don’t remember any of it,” I whisper, dropping my gaze to my feet.

  “Really? I didn’t know you were that drunk. You seemed pretty with it last night.”

  “Well, I wasn’t,” I mumble. “If I were with it, I would’ve suggested we use a condom.”

  Landon flinches. “Hold on. What?”

  I repeat myself, drawing out the words. “A condom. We should have used one.”

  But this time, instead of a look of confusion, he looks back at me with a smirk. “You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

  “No!” I huff, folding my arms over my chest. “Can you please clue me in?”

  “We didn’t have sex,” he says, his voice equal parts blunt and soothing.

  My brow crinkles as I try to read his expression for signs of sarcasm. “Are . . . are you sure?”

  “I wouldn’t lie about that.”

  “But what about the marks on your back?” When Landon’s face twists in confusion, I gesture toward the mirror. “See for yourself.”

  He pushes off the bed and stalks toward the mirror, his eyebrows lifting as he gets a look at his back, sizing up the marks running from his shoulder blades to the small of his back. “I guess you got a little rough when we were making out.”

  Rough? Me?

  Maybe I was really into it?

  Slowly, the fog covering my memory starts to lift . . .

  • • •

  We were outside the door to my room, laughing and kissing while I dug through my purse for my room key. Landon shushed me playfully, pressing kiss after kiss into my neck until I finally got the door open, making a big fuss of hanging the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the handle.

  The second it clicked closed behind us, our mouths collided, his tongue greedily exploring mine as my hand cupped the bulge growing behind his zipper. He moaned into my mouth, a deep, lustful sound that triggered something primal inside me that I couldn’t quite explain. His hands moved up my thighs, slipping under my dress to touch the front of my panties, and he groaned when he felt the damp fabric. I leaned into his touch, my knees parting to accommodate his fingers.

  “C’mon, Mrs. Covington,” he growled into my ear. “Let’s take this to bed.”

  And we did, falling into the center of the huge king-size bed together.

  Fumbling with the buttons on his dress shirt, Landon finally got it off. His chest was broad and smooth with wide pecs, and I stroked the firm muscles, unable to stop touching him. When I reached his abs—dear God, they were amazing—I made a happy sound, and Landon chuckled.

  Panting, I said, “God bless hockey players.”

  “Amen.” His lips moved against my throat.

  My dress was rucked up around my waist, and his eyes darkened with hunger as he looked at the scrap of black lace between my legs.

  “Damn, you’re sexy,” he murmured, trailing one large palm over my hip, sending little sparks of heat racing down my spine.

  While he leaned closer, kissing my neck, I arched into him and trailed my hand down his back, enjoying the feel of warm, sculpted muscle beneath my fingertips.

  With one more sweet kiss, he pulled back so he was kneeling between my parted thighs. I worked my dress off over my head, which was no small feat. Landon groaned at the sight of me, his gaze locked on my bare breasts.

  “Jesus, Aubree.” His voice was little more than a harsh pant.

  He tested the weight of my breast in his hand, his thumb skating across my nipple, and I sucked in a shaky breath.

  “I really like these,” he murmured.

  “Yeah?” I could hardly get the word out, I was breathing so hard.

  “So much.”

  He watched me with a dark, hooded stare, seeming unsure, like he was hesitating. But I knew he wanted me, as evidenced by the enormous erection tenting the front of his dress pants.

  I worked my hand under his waistband and ran my palm along his impressive length. Wow. There’s a lot of him. His eyes sank closed and his mouth dropped open as he moved his hips, seeking more friction against my palm. Holy hell, that’s hot.

  His face was flushed, and when he opened his eyes, they were bluer than I’d ever seen them.

  He expelled a breath, and his pelvis lifted.

  “Holy fucking—” He didn’t finish, just groaned loudly as my palm wrapped around him.

  • • •

  And then the memory fades.

  I blink at the softer, sleepier-looking version of Landon sitting on the bed beside me. His hair is a mess. It’s kind of adorable, if I were in a state to notice such things, anyway.

  “I sort of remember that,” I say, blinking the memory away as I reemerge into reality. “But I could use some clearing up on what happened after we made it to the bed.”

  “Well, we kissed,” he says, his voice steady but measured.

  “I remember the kissing.”

  He nods. “And you took off your dress.”

  I draw in a breath, feeling my face turn warm at the memory of shoving my hand in the front of his underwear. “And then?”
/>   “And then?” His thumb touches his bottom lip. “Then you, um, fell asleep. So I covered you up and placed a glass of water on the nightstand for you.”

  Landon’s expression is calm, his tone matter-of-fact. I have no idea why he’s not freaking the heck out right now like I am.

  My gaze wanders to the full glass of water still on the nightstand. “You’re shockingly casual about this whole thing, you know that?” I hurl the accusation at him, my frustration rising.

  He shrugs. When he runs a hand along the stubble at his jaw, I notice something else.

  “Why don’t you have a ring?”

  He looks down at his naked left hand, his brows pushed together as though he’s working to recall the hazy details. “When I bought your ring, we looked at some for me too, but you said you’d get mine after your next payday.”

  “Oh.” My stomach plummets. “Sorry about that.” Even my drunk self knew that my nonprofit salary couldn’t accommodate an unplanned wedding ring. And definitely not on the same paycheck that paid for this Vegas trip.

  “Don’t be sorry. I offered to pay for both rings, but you insisted. It was kinda . . . sweet.”

  I do my best to smile, but it comes off more as a grimace.

  What’s so sweet about a drunken Vegas marriage you can hardly remember? And why is he so cavalier about this whole thing?

  Before I can formulate a question, the sound of both of our phones buzzing in unison drags me away. It’s a group text to both of us from Becca.

  Good morning, lovebirds! Come down to breakfast in the lobby! We’ve got two seats calling your name. <3

  “I guess we should get ready.” I sigh, tossing my phone onto the duvet with a huff. “We’re wanted at the breakfast table.”

  Landon tugs on last night’s clothes to make the trip down the hall to his own room.

  Meanwhile, I barely make it through my shower routine without throwing up. Between the nausea, the headache, and the life-altering decisions I made last night, it looks like vodka and I won’t be seeing each other for quite some time.

  Landon must take his sweet time getting ready, because even with the time it takes for me to dry my hair and put on half a face of makeup to conceal the dark circles under my eyes, we still arrive at the elevator at the same time. Great. Looks like the newlyweds will be walking into breakfast together.

  “You look nice,” he says, nodding toward my navy-blue T-shirt dress.

  “No need to flatter me,” I remind him, biting my cheek to maintain my composure. “We’re already married, remember?”

  Landon’s expression is unreadable, except for the slight tic in his jaw. I wish I knew how to read him better, because I have no idea what he’s thinking.

  When the elevator doors open on the ground level, it doesn’t take long for us to find our friends. Mostly because the second they spot us, the whole table starts whooping and whistling about the newlyweds. A drop of nervous sweat slides down my spine. This is going to be worse than I thought.

  Justin, the hockey team’s star center, who’s normally pretty reserved, is the first to jump to his feet, leading a dramatic slow clap as we walk up to the table. “Look who decided to show up. The mister and missus!”

  I slide into a seat next to my friend Bailey, hiding my red cheeks with a menu, but Landon doesn’t make it that far. Teddy, one of the team veterans, slaps him on the back, and Owen, the team’s fun-loving goalie, pulls him into a side hug that quickly becomes a headlock.

  “Covey’s officially off the market, ladies!” Owen says with a laugh.

  Once he breaks free, Landon chooses the seat directly across from me and pours two glasses of water from the pitcher on the table, then slides the first one to me. I accept it with trembling fingers.

  “So, how does it feel to wake up a married man, Lovey?” Elise asks, a wicked glimmer in her eye.

  “It feels like I’m hung over as fuck.” Landon snickers, and the whole table breaks into laughter.

  Well, the whole table except for me. I must have steam coming out of my ears or something, because after taking a bit more teasing from the guys, Landon leans across the table, his brilliant blue eyes brimming with concern.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No, I’m not fucking okay,” I whisper back. “Why would I be even a little okay with this?”

  “Oooh,” Owen hollers from across the table. “Are the newlyweds having their first lovers’ quarrel already?”

  My throat constricts. Shit. I need to get some air before I start crying in front of all my friends.

  “Excuse me,” I whisper, swallowing the lump in my throat as I push back from the table. I’ll pick up fast food or order room service later or something. But I can’t sit and take any more jokes about the dumbest mistake of my life. Especially not while I’m feeling like total shit.

  “Hey, hey, wait up,” a voice calls from behind me, and before I can make it out the revolving door, Landon catches me by the arm, his long, calloused fingers curling around my wrist. “What’s wrong?”

  I spin to face him. His eyes are now a dangerous shade of blue. A shocking, brilliant blue that makes me feel a little weak as I pull a breath into my lungs.

  “I’m glad your teammates are so amused by our situation,” I manage to say through gritted teeth. “Because I sure as hell am not.”

  “Come on, Aubree. They’re just joking around.” He reaches for my hand again, but I pull it out of his reach.

  “It’s not a joke. It’s my life. And once I have a functioning, non-alcohol-poisoned brain again, I’ll be getting legal advice from Sara, and we’re going to look into how to get this annulled.”

  Landon’s eyes meet mine, his gaze determined. “Just take a breath.”

  I do, releasing it slowly as my heart pounds. “Last night was a mistake,” I whisper, looking down at my sandals.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” He swallows the words.

  When I look up again, he’s staring directly at me, his face expressionless.

  I breathe out a shaky breath. He can’t be serious. “Okay, I thought I was the one with a nonfunctioning brain. You saw that certificate, right? That was a real ceremony. We’re legally husband and wife right now.”

  “I know we are,” he says, his voice strained. “Which is why I’m taking this seriously.”

  My mouth falls open and I blink at him, dumbfounded, waiting for him to laugh and tell me he’s joking. Or, better yet, that this whole thing is one big prank, that the ring and the certificate are fake, and this is some elaborate joke that he and the rest of the group concocted.

  But when he stares back at me, the look of determination in his eyes sends a shiver trampling down my spine. All I can do is laugh in disbelief. It was either laugh, or sob loudly.

  “Landon, if you’re suggesting that we stay married . . .” I pause, trying not to scoff at the thought while giving him another second to say gotcha. But he doesn’t. “Well, then you’re even more immature than I thought.”

  His face falls for a second, then steels into a stern expression, his angular jaw ticking in a way I can’t quite read. “We’ll talk about it later. This weekend isn’t about us; it’s about Owen and Becca.”

  I make an aggravated sound. “Then why is everyone talking about us instead of Becca and Owen?”

  Since when is there an us?

  He closes his eyes briefly, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows whatever emotion he’s choosing not to show. “I’ll handle it. Just come back to the table. You’ll be in a better mood once you have some coffee.”

  My eyes narrow at him, but he doesn’t back down.

  “And possibly some eggs,” he adds, and I straighten my shoulders.

  “I don’t like eggs.” When he frowns at me, I say, “Make it pancakes, and you have a deal.”

  “Done and done. Pancakes on me.”

  I follow him back into the restaurant like a runaway puppy returning home with its tail between its legs.

  “A
w, did we kiss and make up?” Becca coos, riling the table up again.

  “Enough.” Landon’s barked order, coupled with his dagger-sharp look, quiets everyone down, at least long enough for us to place our orders.

  After that, every time I look up, Landon is staring at me. His scrutiny makes my stomach tighten in a way I haven’t felt before.

  When our food arrives, the conversation dies down as people dig in. Once we start talking again, the subject switches to Becca and Owen’s honeymoon in Greece.

  “Everyone always raves about Mykonos, but Santorini is really more our style,” Becca says, squeezing her fiancé’s hand as he chomps down on a piece of bacon. “Right, O?”

  Owen shrugs. “As long as I have my angel by my side, I don’t care where we go. We could go to freaking Cleveland, for all I care.”

  “We are not going to Cleveland,” Becca says sternly, giving him a pointed look.

  Owen just chuckles and steals a piece of bacon from Becca’s plate while she smiles at him like he hung the moon.

  I snicker along with the rest of the table, and Owen takes my smile as a free pass to sneak back into dangerous territory. A devilish look comes over his face as he folds his hands on the table, faking the most serious expression he can manage.

  “So, Covey and Aubree. Where are you two going for your honeymoon?”

  Before I can even process my anger, Landon has the situation under control. “Guys, can we let my wife eat her pancakes without any more comments, please?”

  The table goes quiet again. Although it’s a little awkward, I can’t say my throbbing headache and I really mind the silence.

  What I do mind is the fact that Landon just called me his wife. But I’ll deal with that later. With a hangover like this, you take your wins where you can get them.

  3

  * * *

  Honeymoon for One