Page 7 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

Bar number four: Oh no.

I try to slip out from under his arm, but he just pulls me closer, all sleep-warm skin and...

Oh.

OH.

He's naked.

Like, completely, thoroughly, not-a-stitch-of-clothing naked.

"Stop squirming," he mumbles against my hair. "Too early."

His voice vibrates through me, deep and gravelly with sleep, and something about it triggers another memory. Him singing "Can't Help Falling in Love" while I... while we...

"Oh my god." I bolt upright, immediately regretting every life choice that led to this moment as the room tilts dangerously.

"Jesus." He groans, rolling onto his back. "Volume."

"Don't move!" I slap a hand over my eyes. "You're naked!"

"What?" He sounds more awake now. "I'm not... oh. Yeah, I am."

"Why are you naked?"

"I always sleep naked." A pause. "Usually not with company though."

I peek through my fingers, then immediately regret it because holy hell, this man was clearly carved by whatever deity is in charge of torturing women who haven’t had good sex in years.

The dark blond hair with silver strands sprinkled throughout, the sharp jawline, the stormy gray-blue eyes framed by unfairly thick lashes. And the body—muscled in a way that says he either spends hours in the gym or was born to make women reconsider their life choices.

My life choices, specifically.

And god, has it been a long time.

Will—my ex-fiancé—hadn’t exactly been a five-alarm fire in the bedroom. More like a candle struggling against a breeze. Especially in the later years. But this man? My pulse trips just looking at him.

"Could you maybe..." I wave my free hand. "Cover up?"

"Right. Sorry." I hear rustling, then: "Okay, I'm decent. Well, covered at least. Decent might be a stretch given... wait, is that a marriage certificate?"

I drop my hand to find him sitting up, holding a piece of paper and wearing nothing but a sheet wrapped around his hips. His hair is deliciously messy, his lips a little swollen, and there’s a mark on his neck that looks suspiciously like...

"Did I give you a hickey?"

"What?" His hand flies to his neck. "You don't remember?"

"I remember the first two bars. After that it gets... Fuzzy."

"Same." He frowns at the paper. "Though this seems pretty clear."

"What seems clear?"

"Well..." He clears his throat. "Apparently sometime around midnight, we decided getting married by Elvis was a good idea."

The room tilts again. "We what?"

"Got married. By Elvis. There's a photo."

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