She slides her feet into her shoes and grabs her purse. “Then let’s go make it legal.”

I grab her hand and pull her toward the door before she can change her mind. Before the night is over, this woman will be my wife, and I will forever be the only one who gets to save her.

Carly

The sound of the shower running wakes me up, and immediately I know I’ll be paying for whatever I drank last night. I attempt to open my eyes, but my body revolts against the sensory overload of my surroundings. The sunlight peeking through the curtains forces my eyes closed again and makes my pounding head throb even worse. My throat burns as if I’ve swallowed sandpaper and my stomach rumbles in protest.

Slightly cracking open one eye, I find my savior…a bottle of water. I slowly wiggle to the edge of the bed and reach for the plastic bottle. The liquid hits my lips, and it’s warm and stale, but at this moment, it is the best damn water on the planet. Guzzling until I finish the last drop, I then lightly place the empty bottle back on the nightstand and wait for the dehydration to ease. Already I feel better, still hungover, but better.

I want nothing more than to go back to sleep and make this morning start over again a few hours from now, but then I see a pair of jeans on the floor beside the bed. Those aren’t my jeans; those aren’t any of the girls’ jeans. Oh, my God, they are men’s jeans. I take a better look around the room and realize this isn’t even my hotel room. I lift the covers and take a mental appraisal of my apparel. Panties…check, collared button-up shirt that doesn’t belong to me and smells like men’s cologne…check.

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus, I’m a ho,” I whisper to myself as I clamp the duvet back down around my body. The water turns off in the bathroom and I scramble out of bed to find my clothes and get the hell out of the hotel room before my host makes his appearance and I have to endure an awkward morning-after that no one over the age of twenty-five should have to endure.

I dash around the room, finding piece after piece of clothing and shoes. I just need to locate my purse and I can skulk out of here, committing myself to the walk of shame. The handles are poking out from under the armchair in the corner of the room. I bend down to grab it, so I can make a run for it.

“Wow, that’s a view I wouldn’t mind seeing every morning,” a smooth voice drawls. My body stills, wishing like hell I had the magic power of invisibility. I quickly try to think of what to say…what to do. Maybe I could make a run for it and hope I’m at least in the correct hotel. That would be horrible walking the strip or hailing a taxi in a man’s shirt and black lacy boy shorts.

Oh, my God. I’m giving this guy a full peek at my ass right now. I whip around and reach for the hem of the shirt to pull it down as far as it will go to cover my ass. As mortifying as this situation is, the sensation of throwing up kicks in as soon as I lay eyes on the man on the other side of the room. He smells like heaven, and looks like a tempting Greek god. His hair is a wet mess and a towel is tightly wrapped around his waist, revealing a buffet of tattoos that I probably explored in detail last night. “Jen is going to kill me,” I stammer as I nervously shift around to cover my legs.

“No worries, baby doll. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” Royce says with a wicked grin.

“Except herpes, that shit follows you home,” I sarcastically spit out.

The gorgeous lead singer plops himself down on the bed, completely unconcerned with flashing me his manhood. “You weren’t too concerned about that last night,” he says, running his fingers through his wet hair.

My eyes wander around the room, desperately trying to look anywhere but at the impressive piece of maleness before me. “Can you please cover that thing up, and turn around so I can get dressed?” I ask him nervously.

“Seriously?” he scowls.

“Yes!” I screech. “I am so humiliated right now. My ex-husband didn’t even see me naked; I’m certainly not going to let some random one-night stand see me.”

“Well that explains a lot,” he says, rolling his eyes and turning around.

As soon as I know he’s not looking, I strip out of his shirt and hastily put on my clothes from last night. “What is that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“Why you came looking for me.” His eyes slide to mine and his stare makes me want to melt. I resist that enticement and instead try to gather some shred of my dignity.

“Look, I don’t know for sure what happened last night. Judging from my appearance this morning, I have a pretty good guess. Nonetheless, I would appreciate it if we could forget about it and never mention it to anyone.” I throw my handbag over my shoulder and reach out to shake his hand.

“You’re fucking with me, right?” he asks with a chuckle.

I look down at my outstretched hand. “I don’t really know what’s customary after sleeping with a stranger. I’m just trying to be polite.” I retract my hand and let it rest at my side, slightly offended by his demeanor and foul language.

“Do you really not remember what we did last night?” he asks. “You only had two drinks at the bar.” He has a somewhat whimsical grin on his face like he’s amused by seeing me squirm.

“Yeah, well, I don’t drink often,” I sigh, getting frustrated with him, myself, and the entire encounter. “I get that this is a regular occurrence for you, but this morning-after chitchat is really uncomfortable for me. I’d really like to just leave and forget this ever happened, and I really don’t want anyone else to know who I spent the evening with either. This is very embarrassing.”

His smile fades and he gives me a curt nod. “Because I’m the immature man-slut, right. That’s what you think of me, too.” He’s not asking; he’s simply stating. I can see I’ve noticeably hurt his feelings.

He stands and readjusts his towel to cover himself up and moves past me toward the door.

“Royce, I didn’t mean for that to come out the way it did,” I say, hustling to catch up to him.

“I think that’s exactly what you meant, but don’t worry about it. I’ve been a lot of people’s one night mistake.” He opens the door and motions for me to leave. “Your secret is safe with me.” His voice is monotone and flat, his eyes fixed straight ahead, not acknowledging me.

I stand, just looking at him, trying to gauge his true feelings about everything, but I can read absolutely nothing. He’s completely turned off his emotions toward me. That playful Royce I saw just five minutes ago is long gone. I exhale loudly and step into the hallway.

“Well, thank you I guess,” I tell him. I catch him off guard and the surprise is evident on his face.

“What are you thanking me for?” he asks, his brow scrunched. “For agreeing to forget we hung out last night so your friends won’t know.”

I open my mouth to explain, but he speaks and I immediately stifle my words. He moves into the hallway, with no regard for his lack of clothing. “Or maybe you’re thanking me for holding your hair for you when you threw up in front of a group of tourists on the strip last night after those nasty nachos.”

I shake my head in disbelief, and he nods that I did, in fact, make a spectacle of myself, in public no less. “You could even thank me for buying you a lap dance at the strip club we went to last night. Oh yeah, it happened.”

He has continued to walk toward me and I’m now pinned between his massive arms and the wall behind me. My heart is pounding and I can hear myself breathing. He leans into me, placing his lips close to my ear, and all I can think is how great sleeping with him would have been and it’s a shame I can’t remember it.

“Whatever you want to thank me for, Carly,” he whispers, “don’t worry about thanking me for fucking you. As much as I would love to, and as much as you begged for it, I’m not the type of guy to take advantage of someone.”