Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“For the Renegades,” Hunter supplies.
I bump my shoulder against his. “Show-off.”
“Well, I had to take a crash course on the rosters in the last few days to get up to speed,” he says, then returns to the subject. “Anyway, so you and Beck like this author…”
“Yeah, he writes these wild thrillers that take place across Europe. But he’s also kind of become known for his bonkers sex scenes.”
“In a thriller? You don’t encounter that often.”
“Right? Much more common for something like—” I hunt through my pop culture files for a comp, then snap my fingers. “Sweet Nothings.” Hunter sits up straighter, flinching at the mention of the popular racy soap. “That’s my favorite show,” I explain. “It’s based on a book series that’s mega popular. Ian Granger is the show creator. My sister hooked me on it.”
Maybe he hasn’t heard of it? “It’s on LGO if you ever want to watch it,” I say, trying to be helpful.
“I’m familiar with it,” he says, in that same clipped tone he used back at the hotel.
Okayyyy. Maybe Hunter just doesn’t like the show? Or…shit. Is he a snob? I’m blabbing about thrillers and soaps, but maybe he’s all highbrow and reads Foucault and watches Masterpiece.
“Anyway, his books are good. Huxley, that is,” I say, ending the convo.
Hunter’s hand comes down on my arm. “Play the Huxley for me. The bonkers sex scene.”
I grin. “Yeah?”
“Sure,” he says, and whatever irked him seems to have passed.
Guess he’s not a snob after all. I cue up the last sex scene, then give him one of my earbuds. Together, we listen as the hero puts the heroine on all fours, then bangs her on a hotel rug. In a performance worthy of an Olympic medal in sex gymnastics, the hero moves through five sex positions in thirty minutes.
The best part?
When the hero and heroine go out to dinner after at a bistro in Madrid and discover they’re covered in rug burn. Her knees, his back, and somehow, his elbows too.
Hunter cracks up at the payoff, then takes out his earbud. “Be careful what you wish for,” he says.
The loudspeaker crackles, and the pilot announces it’s time to prepare for landing. Then Grace says we need to shut off electronics.
I turn off my phone, catching another glimpse of my ring. My gaze strays to Hunter’s, and my stomach churns. We’re about to deplane, and soon he’ll be sliding back into his life here in London with friends and colleagues. I’ll be joining my teammates and talking to the press.
Probably time to jettison these. I draw a fueling breath, then speak in a low voice. “We should probably ditch these rings. No need to draw attention to them, right?”
He nods immediately. “Brilliant idea. Best that no one knows.”
As surreptitiously as we can, we both remove our rings, then tuck them into our pockets. There. The evidence of our one wild night is gone.
When we land, I turn my phone back on, but there’s no signal on the tarmac. I’ll deal with messages soon enough.
As we shuffle off the plane, I thank Grace. “Appreciate you doing that upgrade,” I say.
“Yes, that was lovely,” Hunter says, equally heartfelt. “Thank you again.”
“My pleasure,” she says, lifting her hand to her heart. “Hope you two gentlemen enjoy your honeymoon in London.”
I stop.
Blink.
Honeymoon?
19
HERE COME THE GROOMS
Nate
Why can’t I get a fucking cell phone signal? I need to find out what went down while we were flying and how bad it is.
But the customs area is made of concrete. “Keep trying,” I grit out before Hunter and I split up by nationality.
“Absolutely,” he agrees, then he heads to the UK line, and I turn to the all other citizens one.
I tap open a browser, then all my social feeds to try to figure out what’s going on. But all I get is a page loading.
When I’ve trudged halfway down the line, my phone connects, and my text notifications rain down on me.
Finally!
But the preview panes are freaking me the fuck out. My stomach twists as I read the notes.
Amy: OMG!!!! What happens in Vegas does not stay in Vegas. When were you going to tell me?
Jason: Dude. Dude. Dude. Congrats?
Next, I click open the group chat with my parents, wincing as I read damning note after damning note.
Mom: He looks so cute! You look so happy! When can we meet him?
Dad: Did you sign a prenup?
Mom: Sweetheart, you’re such a lawyer.
Dad: And I always look out for my kids. Prenups are smart.
Mom: Yes, Nate knows. But focus on the good news first, dear.
Dad: Right. Sorry, kid! Congrats! You look pretty stinking happy in the pic we saw!
Yeah, and pretty stinking drunk.
My parents are the best, and they’re stoked for me no matter what. But no one is supposed to know I got married. Fine, my friends were there last night, and they know. But my guys live and die by the guy code—we don’t reveal shit to anyone else. Plus, I told Bryan I was getting an annulment, so I’d bet my life he told the other guys to keep it quiet I got hitched.