Why is she in a nightshirt? Especially one made with boring white cotton?
Damn it, everything’s so hard to process. “Did you get me drunk to take advantage of me?” I demand, feeling dirty somehow. Which is ridiculous, because I definitely have a rep with ladies. And it’s the kind that would make any father want to hide his daughters.
“No.” She’s looking at me curiously.
There’s something weird about the way she’s staring, but I can’t put my finger on it. My brain doesn’t work as efficiently without caffeine in the morning. I should’ve called room service for coffee before starting this confrontation.
“I paid you,” she adds. “There was no advantage taken.”
Paid me? “My ass,” I say when I can breathe again. “I don’t charge for sex. Although, you know, technically I could…”
She raises a skeptical eyebrow.
She doesn’t think I’m that good? Even after experiencing Devlin Dementia firsthand?
“It’s true. Supply and demand. There are millions of women who want me”—including you—“but only one me. But I don’t do that, because sex is supposed to be fun, and I don’t want to cheapen myself that way because I’m not for sale, and…” I shut my mouth because I have no fucking idea why I’m saying all this. I’m probably more hungover than I thought.
I really need coffee.
“But you took the money,” she says. “Ten thousand up front.”
“Ten thou…” My jaw nearly hits the damn floor. “As in dollars?” Just how drunk was I last night?
“Obviously. I used PayPal. And don’t worry, I’ll pay the rest as scheduled. It was just a deposit.”
This is like a trip into the Twilight Zone. I start to put a hand across my mouth, unsure what the hell is happening. It passes through the sliver of light and something glints.
What. The. Fuck.
There’s a ring on my finger, too. And the damned thing looks just like the one she has on hers. With three little diamonds!
I feel sucker-punched. I stare at the wedding band like it’s a scorpion, then look at her. This must be how people feel when a roller coaster breaks and their car’s about to jump the rails.
“Are we…?” I try clearing my throat, but still can’t choke the word out. “Are we…?”
“Are we what? Married? Yes.”
“How is that even possible?” I demand. “I don’t remember anything.”
“Well, you were pretty drunk.”
“It has to be illegal to rope a drunk guy into marriage!”
“Actually, it isn’t. It’s all legal and proper.”
“Bullshit. I don’t even know your name.”
She gives me a look. “It’s Becca. I can’t believe you forgot already.” The look is saying, I can’t believe you’re senile already.
“Fine. Becca. I’m getting this whole thing annulled, Becca.”
She looks as unshakable as a mountain. “No, you’re not.”
“What?”
“I said no. I’m not annulling anything.”
“Why the hell not? I didn’t agree to this farce!”