Page 57 of Married to Number 22
And then he barges right past me.
Twenty-Two
Luna
Why arepeople always bursting into the bedroom when I’m naked?
I clutch the blankets to my chin as a huge, bearded man barrels his way into the room. Then stops, mouth dropping open.
“Christ,” Aiden says, shoving past him then standing in front of the bigger man, doing his best to block me from view. “You being at a loss for words would be funny,” he mutters, “if only you weren’t in my fucking hotel room.”
The door to said room slams closed, making me jump and seeming to jar the big man.
He looks around Aiden and waves at me, a boyish smile curving his mouth. “Um…sorry to intrude,” he says, his voice just as big as his body—and beard. “I’ll just hit the door and let you two get back to…yourfuntime.” He hitches a thumb over his shoulder and starts to turn, spinning away from the bed, rotating toward the dresser.
Then stopping, shock ricocheting through his form.
“A marriage license?” he asks, turning back toward us, his mouth falling open a second time.
Which is when Aiden’s had enough.
He plunks a hand onto the big man’s chest, shoves him toward the door, sending him staggering back several steps. “Really, Smitty. It’s time for you to get the fuck out.”
The aforementioned Smitty brushes Aiden’s hand off like it’s a feather then lurches forward, grabbing the signed and notarized paper. “Itisa fucking marriage license! Holy shit, dude!” His grin is nearly as big as the rest of him. “You’re fucking married? To the hottie from the pictures your mom sent? Do your parents know?” He leans in, lowers his voice—which is to say, the volume of his words decreases, but he’s still loud as hell. “Are you sure this is wise? Vegas, buddy, it can be the land of magic…but also of regrets.” A beat. “Do you…like…really”—his eyes slide toward me, chagrin in the deep brown depths, and voice drops further, as if he’s just realizing I can hear every word—“knowher?”
I bite my lip, stifling a giggle.
If Smitty only knew.
But Aiden isn’t amused. He groans, eyes closing, and I can practically see him counting to ten—then twenty when patience doesn’t come after the first interval.
“Um,” I say, drawing the big man’s focus again. “Aiden and I grew up together. So yeah,” I finish. “We know each other pretty well.”
His brown eyes come to mine, and he takes a step toward me, though I don’t miss that he stops immediately when I clutch the blankets a little tighter to my chest. “I’m Smitty,” he says, voice going gentle.
“Luna,” I reply softly. “Maybelle.”
“Nice to meet you, Luna Maybelle,” he says, still in that gentle voice, then looks away, giving me at least a blip of privacy.
“Great,” Aiden mutters. “Now that introductions have been made all around, you”—he glares at Smitty—“can get the fuck out.”
“Hell no, man!” Smitty says. “We’re in Vegas. You’re married to a beautiful woman who seems nice”—another slanting glance of deep brown eyes and the mischief in them has me wanting to giggle again—“we’ve got to celebrate!”
“There is absolutely nowewhere you’re involved, Smitty,” Aiden grits out, every word sounding like he’s gargling broken glass. “Luna and Iare going to celebrate. You’re going to go back the fuck to your hotel room and leave us alone.”
Smitty pouts.
It’s a ridiculous expression on a grown man, not the least of which one of Smitty’s size.
But it’s also somehow…cute?
I like him.
“But you didn’t even tell us so we could throw you a party,” he grumbles. “And you know I throw a great party.”
Aiden shoves a hand through his hair. “WeelopedSmitty. That means we kept it a secret from everyone so we could enjoy things likeour wedding nightin private.”
Smitty’s pout deepens.
