Page 20 of Pucked In Vegas

"Stop it," I mutter, dropping a fry. "Jackson Holt is a complication you don't need."

I haven't Googled him yet. Ican't.

If I Google him and find out he's some underwear model or, god forbid, a professional TikToker, I might never recover.

I'm better off to pretend it never happened. Focus on the comeback. Find a job. Any job.

My phone buzzes from somewhere in my purse. I dig it out, wincing when I see Mia's name and picture on the screen.

I take a deep breath and answer. Time to face the shame.

"Knew it. You look like roadkill." Mia's face fills my phone screen, her skin covered in a green clay mask that cracks when she smiles. "Glittery roadkill."

I burrow deeper under my blanket, phone propped against a pillow. "Thanks. Love you too."

"So..." Mia sips from an oversized mug, eyebrows wiggling. "Tell me about Mr. Tall, Tanned, and Too-Hot-to-Be-Straight.”

I squint at her. “Who?”

“Don’t ‘who’ me. The guy from last night. The one with the abs and the jawline and the arms. You know... Thehuman thirst trap.”

I try to play it cool. “It was just a mild flirtation. Some club dancing. That’s it.”

"Girl, you sent us PICTURES." She taps at the screen, sending through a series of blurry snapshots that I've sent last night. “You sent them to the group chat. Along with GIFs, Cassie.GIFs.”

My stomach drops as I swipe through the pictures. I've sent selfies of me in the club, dancing with Jackson. Another of us kissing outside the chapel. One with Elvis.

Oh god.

"Oh." My voice sounds tiny. "So... I may have gotten married."

Mia makes a sound like a goose being strangled, then collapses sideways onto her couch in a fit of laughter. The screen bounces as she wheezes into a throw pillow.

"It's not funny," I groan, pulling the blanket over my head completely.

"You're right." Her voice is muffled by the pillow. She lifts her face, tears streaming down her cheeks, creating rivulets in her cracking face mask. "It'shysterical."

"There's a certificate. Which, by the way, also has glitter on it."

“Jesus Christ.” She’s still wheezing. “Is it weird that I’m more impressed than concerned?”

“I married a man I don’t even know.” My voice rises, cracking. “I didn’t Google him, Mia. What if he’s a magician? Or a bitcoin bro? Oh my God… what if he’s aflat-earther?”

“Girl, if that man’s a flat-earther, I’ll personally eat a globe.”

“Shit… I let him touch my thighs.” I clutch my forehead.

Mia wipes her eyes, smudging green clay across her cheekbone. "God, I love Vegas."

I laugh too. Or cry. Or both. It’s hard to tell with the emotional whiplash I'm experiencing right now.

Mia wipes her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie. “Okay, okay. Breathe. You’ll fix this. You always do. You’re like a glitter-covered cockroach. Totally unkillable.”

“Thanks,” I say flatly.

“I mean that with love.”

A giggle escapes, then another, until I'm laughing through tears.

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