Page 8 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

I snatch the paper from him, and sure enough, there we are. I'm still in my club dress but someone's added a blue garter and an Elvis cape. He's missing his suit jacket and his shirt is half-unbuttoned, but he's grinning like he just won the lottery.

We both look absolutely wasted.

"Oh god." I press a hand to my mouth. "Did we..."

"Have sex?" He looks around at the scattered clothes. "Don't think so. You have your underwear still on?”

“I—Yes. Why would you even ask?”

“Because. I doubt we’d have sex, and then get really enthusiastic about putting your, uh…undergarments back on afterward."

"Not funny." I try to stand, but my dress is tangled around my legs and I end up stumbling. He catches me, one strong arm around my waist, and suddenly we're chest to chest, his skin warm through the thin fabric of my dress.

"Careful, sunshine." His storm-cloud eyes crinkle at the corners. "This is quickly becoming a habit."

"What is?"

"You falling into my arms."

I push away from him, my cheeks burning. "This isn't happening."

"Pretty sure it already happened." He holds up his left hand, where a poker chip has been turned into a makeshift ring. “I’ve done a lot of things in my lifetime. This is a new one for me. Even for Vegas."

I look down at my own hand. Sure enough, there's amatching chip-ring, this one with "High Roller" written in gold script.

"At least we went high-end with our terrible decisions," he offers.

"Not helping." I start pacing, then remember his state of undress and slap my hand back over my eyes. "This is... this is..."

"A disaster?"

"Yes!"

"A crisis?"

"Absolutely!"

"The kind of thing a PR executive might be uniquely qualified to handle?"

I stop pacing. "Are you... are you making jokes right now?"

"Well," I hear him stand, the sheet rustling, "considering we're apparently married and you still don't know my name..."

"Oh god." I drop my hand again, forgetting about his nakedness in my horror. "I married a stranger. I'm having a panic attack in a strange hotel room with my naked husband who's a stranger."

"Connor."

"What?"

"My name." He steps closer, and I definitely don't notice the way his abs flex as he moves. "Connor Reeves. And you are?"

"Seriously questioning my life choices." But I extend my free hand. "Ariana Bristol."

He shakes it, his grip warm and sure. "Nice to meet you, wife."

"Oh god, stop."

"What? Too soon?"

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