Down and Dirty (Hot Jocks #5)(8)

My father has married and then divorced four times. Maybe it’s in my genes, and I’m destined to wind up just like him—with a string of bad decisions, a trail of broken relationships, alone and lonely with no one and nothing to show for it. I guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

Perhaps it’s stubborn male pride, or maybe it’s foolish optimism. I really have no idea what makes me decide to text Aubree. Hell, maybe it’s my competitive spirit, but whatever the reason, I type out a greeting.

Hello, wife.

It gets the desired reaction. She texts me back immediately.

OMG. Don’t call me that!

So, funny story . . . TK had my room switched to the honeymoon suite.

Is this all just some big joke to you? she fires back quickly.

My hand tightens around the phone as I type out a reply. Not at all.

I haven’t seen her since that disastrous brunch this morning, and she’s not participating in the group chat, so I have no idea what her plans are for this evening. Hell, she could have flown back to Seattle early for all I know. Said fuck it to this entire weekend, wanting to get as far away from our nuptials as possible.

Hoping for the best, I reply.

What are you doing tonight?

Her response comes a few seconds later.

Just staying in. I don’t feel like going out.

Same. Do you want to do nothing together?

There’s a pause, and I clutch my phone a little tighter while I wait. I’m pretty sure she’s going to shoot me down, and I’m not sure why the idea of that bothers me so much.

I don’t know if that’s the best idea.

Yeah, but this suite is incredible, and it’s on TK’s credit card. The least you can do is help me get even by running up the mini-bar and room service charges. The bastard deserves it.

Fine. But I’m wearing my pjs.

Perfect. Room 2001. See you soon.

When I hear a soft knock on the door ten minutes later, I don’t expect the tightness I feel in my chest. With a deep breath, I head over to answer the door.

True to her word, Aubree is wearing pink-and-gray striped pajama pants and an oversize T-shirt that says in block letters SORRY I’M LATE, I DIDN’T WANT TO COME. Her dark hair is in loose waves, and her amber eyes look anywhere but directly at mine.

I smirk, nodding toward her shirt. “Seems fitting.”

She rolls her shoulders, feigning a smile. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

As I watch her walk through the suite, pausing to pluck a bottle of water from the kitchenette, then stopping to admire the view out the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, memories of last night come crashing back to me in vivid detail . . .

When we left the club together, we wandered around the Vegas strip for a while, talking and laughing. We stopped briefly to watch the fountains dance in front of the Bellagio, and Aubree rested her head against my shoulder as we stood there. It was nice being there with her—just the two of us.

Afterward, we ducked into the opulent Sky Bar for another cocktail. The sour mood I’d felt earlier in the night had vanished because the girl beside me was fucking incredible. Later, we met back up with the group, where there was dancing and more shots.

Then things start to get a little hazy.

I remember arriving at the neon-pink-themed wedding chapel . . . going over the paperwork with our newly appointed wedding coordinator. Handing her my credit card. Aubree and I opted for the traditional wedding, not wanting some knock-off Elvis impersonator to officiate our vows. It was our first decision as a couple, and I remember being pleased we’d agreed on it together without hesitation.

I remember grinning like an idiot as Aubree walked toward me against the backdrop of traditional wedding music. Teddy was our witness, signing the marriage certificate at the bottom after the officiant. He was so into the whole idea—even calling in a favor to someone he knew who worked in the county clerk’s office, getting them to issue us a marriage license in the middle of the night and drive it over. I have no idea how much that cost him, or why he and all of our friends were so encouraging. Fuckers.

It all took under ten minutes before Aubree and I were giggling through our “I do’s” and then I was kissing her. Really kissing her. Our first kiss, which she returned with as much enthusiasm as if the whole thing had been real and two years in the making.

Afterward, we stumbled back to our hotel. I couldn’t wait to be alone with her. We’d just done the most spontaneous, crazy thing, and all I could think about was continuing that kiss we started at the altar.

Now, as I stare at her, as inappropriate as it is, all I want to do is kiss her again. I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen, though, because Aubree is scowling at me.

Her gaze slips away from mine, and she gives the sofa the same suspicious look I did.

“The bed’s more comfortable,” I say.

She nods once. “Then lead the way.”

I pause beside the bed as Aubree frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s freezing in here,” she says, looking at me like I should have known the answer to that question.

“Is it? Feels fine to me.”

Wrapping her arms around herself, she marches over to the thermostat on the far wall and adjusts the temperature to her liking. Then she peels back the fluffy duvet and makes herself at home.

I pause, watching her.