Irresponsible Puckboy (Puckboys #2)(10)

TV shows and movies lie! When you get married in Vegas, you’re supposed to wake up with no recollection of how it happened.

Dex is sprawled across my bed, still in his suit. His buttons and tie are undone, showing off his impressive and smooth chest, so at least his inability to even undress on his wedding night is on par with the drunken marriage in Vegas shtick.

Maybe that was our problem. We did this all wrong. We were supposed to get drunk before the ceremony, not after. The wedding is clear as day, but the night is a bit of a blur.

I remember laughing. A lot. And then when we came back to my apartment on unsteady feet, Dex climbed into bed next to me and asked me to spoon him like he always does, and I went with it.

Because I’m used to it now.

I’m used to him asking me for affection without realizing the consequences of his request. And why would he question it? It’s not like I’ve ever told him to stop.

I crave his attention, and I like cuddling with him. Even to the detriment of my own heart.

The guys from the Collective keep telling me to set boundaries, and I know I should, but what can I say? I’m a sucker for punishment, apparently.

Dex isn’t the one to blame here—I am.

Dex stirs and stretches sleepily, then turns his head toward me with a wide smile on his face. “Hey, hubby.”

I groan again. “Why did we drink so much?”

“It’s not a wedding if someone isn’t getting shitfaced.”

“I don’t think it’s supposed to be the grooms though,” I point out.

“Remember when Noszka married … what was her name? I dunno. The one he divorced not long later. And he got so wasted that he threw up on her wedding dress?”

“And he wonders why that marriage failed.”

“At least we didn’t puke on each other.”

I close my eyes because I want to go back to sleep. “Mm, marriage goals right there.”

“You made breakfast yesterday, so I’m going to run out to bring us back some food, seeing as you’d probably prefer the vomiting to eating anything I can cook.”

“Can we please stop talking about vomit?”

“Fine. I’ll be back soon.” Dex jumps out of bed, and I stay, trying to go back to sleep, but I can’t.

Flashes of yesterday keep running through my mind.

Drinking, joking around … Dex dragging me out to the dance floor in some random bar and declaring whatever song came on next would be our wedding song. Then he facepalmed because it was “Baby Got Back.”

Didn’t stop him from serenading me with it though.

Considering how much he hated the idea of marriage and weddings, last night was a fuck ton of fun. I shouldn’t be surprised though. Everything is with Dex.

And now it’s over.

He gets back from picking up some coffee and bagels, and just like last night when he climbed into bed with me, him bringing me breakfast feels too … domestic. The honey, I’m home that he calls out doesn’t help.

It’s like a real marriage. Minus the sex.

Although, from all the countless jokes there are about marriage meaning sex stops, maybe this is the real deal.

I drag my ass out of bed and sit at my kitchen counter. The coffee disappears down my throat almost as fast as the food, but it doesn’t make me feel less hungover and gross.

“Well, I did it,” Dex says.

“What, you want me to grovel at your feet for getting me breakfast?”

“I mean I got married. I did it. And it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a big deal because you knew it wasn’t real.” Of all the details I do remember from last night, one is hazy. “Fuck, where’s the certificate thing we signed?”

“Calm down. It’s in my jacket pocket.”

“Good. The last thing we’d want is for it to be lost in a random Vegas bar. Could you imagine if someone found it? The media would be all over us.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be a fun PR day.” Dex slowly sips his coffee, and I get the sense he wants to say something else.

And I don’t know if I’m ready to hear it. But I need to. “You going to call Jessica, then?”

“I … uh …”

Time to put on a brave face. “I know you hate that Jessica and I don’t like each other, but if you want to marry her, I’m not going to stand in your way.”

Dex slides over his phone. “I’m not going to marry her. She finally replied to my text.”

What do you think, genius? Why do you always need everything spelled out for you?

I grit my teeth. This is what makes me so angry when it comes to her.

“All I asked for was clarification.” He sounds so dejected.

I rub his shoulder. “I know.”

“Eh, it’s better this way anyway. Now I can spend all summer with you and not have to deal with her whining about you being my first priority.”

My stomach flip-flops, and I know what I should do—tell him I’m busy. Tell him I need some time away from him for a while. But what kind of asshole would do that to him when his girlfriend has just broken up with him? “Want to come on the Collective vacation to Lake Tahoe?”

His face lights up. “Can I?”

“I mean, I’ll have to ask the guys, but I’m sure they’ll be okay with it.” And they will be. Right after they call me an idiot and mention again how I won’t get over Dex if I don’t put some distance between us. But I know what I’m doing.