Page 7 of The Quirky Vet

I take in my surroundings.

Shit. Let me rephrase that. Why am I inhisroom? In his bed?

I lift the sheet and glance down at my body.

And why the fuck am I stark bloody naked?

And what on earth is that thing pressing into my flesh? I lower my hand to my dick and touch it.

Is that a…cock ring? I've only ever seen them in porn—they're cheesy as fuck, if you ask me—and I sure as heck have never worn one before.

Pulling my hand back sharply, I spot another silver band. This one on my left hand.

Why am I wearing a ring on my wedding fing?—?

Oh no.

I glance at Muir.

Oh no, no,no.

A memory from last night breaks through the hangover fog.

The pop-up Vegas wedding chapel.

We passed it on the way to the beach, but Muir wasn't up for checking it out.

But on the way back, I have a distinct recollection of grabbing his arm and yanking him inside.

But what did we do in there?

And what the fuck is a pop-up wedding chapel anyway? That's not even a thing.

Is it?

Ugh. Too many questions way too early in the day. I need to piss, take a shower, and get some coffee in me before I'm ready to tackle whatever mess we slash I may have gotten ourselves into.

Before I get up, I take a moment to take a proper look at Muir, gently snoring under his arm.

Funny to think that the awkward, gangly, gap-toothed kid Mr. Harris introduced to the class on the first day of grade five would grow up to be quite the looker, with his chiselled physique, striking dark-blue eyes, and blond curls that have the old ladies back home in Scuttlebutt stopping him in the street to admire. It's cute how he pretends it annoys him.

But more important than his looks, though, is that he's become the person I'm closest to in this world.

Don't get me wrong, I love my folks and my brother and sister with all my heart, even though they're all batshit crazy.

And I do—did?—love Erin. I was down on my knee asking ifshe wanted to spend the rest of her life with me not less than twenty-four hours ago for chrissakes.

But even with her, it was different.

Muir is the only person I can truly be myself with. I don't have to be the switched-on, larger-than-life doofus who wears silly outfits or comes up with viral koala dances. I can just be me, not the person I've tried to become ever since?—

"I can smell your stinky breath from here."

I grin. "Nah, mate. That's your own shitty breath mingling with the stench of your sweaty armpit coming back at ya." Muir moves his arm away from his face, smirking as he rotates his wrist, and flicks his middle finger in the air. "Yeah. I'd stick to sign language if I were in your shoes, too."

He chuckles, but my eyes drift to the fingernextto the one he's giving me. He must clock it, too, because his chuckle trails off, and he brings his hand to his face for closer inspection.

"Why am I wearing this?"

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