Page 20 of Oops! I Married a Rock Star
Subject: Re: re: About the job
Hi Bruce,
Black’s fine. It’s Vegas. You can get married dressed like Dracula. I just think it’ll be cool to marry Batman. Anyway, see you next week!
Becca
Chapter Nine
Devlin
–present
Back in my Vegas hotel, I grab the largest coffee the café in the lobby has to offer—with an extra shot of espresso—before stepping into a waiting elevator. When I get up to my suite, I bang the door shut to vent my frustration. How the hell could I have let myself get tangled up with such a crazy woman?
I’m still pissed off at my dick for having been hard while Ms. Bad—Becca—said all that nonsense about our being married and how she’d pay me to be her husband. There has to be a way to dissolve the marriage, but the erection put me at disadvantage. Women can always sense it.
And she thought I’d buy her “I dunno who you are” act. Just how stupid does she think I am?
I start pacing, guzzling the coffee. I need caffeine to think more clearly.
She knows exactly who I am. I’m a fucking rock star, and our band’s been plastered all over magazines and the internet for years. She’s somehow trapped me into an unholy matrimony that I don’t want, and she isn’t the first woman to try to get me to be her sugar daddy. But she’s more likely to propel herself to Mars by farting than squeeze a penny out of me! I have an extremely mean, very expensive lawyer to keep me safe from the likes of her.
I clench my hand around the empty coffee cup, crushing it. I hurl it into the trash can and strip out of my clothes. The Batman shirt lands on the floor, and I glower at it. I bought it because it reminded me of the fun time I had in New York, plus Batman’s just generally awesome. It was supposed to be my lucky shirt. Instead, I’ve been roped into some Las Vegas marriage bullshit. But I tamp down my annoyance and decide that the best course of action for the moment is a quick shower.
Afterward, I feel more human. A married human, unfortunately, but that’ll be rectified soon.
One black Axelrod T-shirt and pair of shorts later, I start to twist the ring off my finger. But I’m distracted when my phone starts buzzing on the counter. I pick it up and see a bunch of group texts from the guys. Although texting can feel impersonal, it’s the best way to communicate because Max will actually type words.
–Cole: Dev, you alive?
–Max: He’s dead. Or got himself a girl.
–Killian: Nix on the girl. He can’t get it up anymore, remember?
I roll my eyes and sigh. Son of a bitch.
–Cole: He could’ve found a cure.
–Max: That’d be like being struck by lightning.
–Killian: No shit. What are the odds that Ms. Bad from New York followed him to Vegas?
Oh, wouldn’t you be surprised, Killian. Now shut the hell up. The asshole’s having way too much fun at my expense. Probably still sore about my bringing the Sextet over right after he sealed the deal with Emily.
–Cole: His dick could’ve recovered by now. It’s probably been a while since he did it.
–Max: He probably just got lost.
–Killian: Vegas is a big city.
Then the texts from yesterday stop. New texts from today follow.
–Cole: Dev, seriously, you okay? Now I’m getting worried.
–Max: He’s a big boy.
