"You said, and I quote, 'You leave without giving me at least three orgasms tonight, and I'll make sure the claw marks down your back are permanent.' I know a threat when I hear one, so I decided it'd be best to … exceed expectations. Several times."
When I gaped at him, Dawson's lips turned up into a crooked grin.
"You're welcome, by the way," he said.
With a whimper, I thrust my cup into his hand and then burrowed under the covers. "This is not happening."
"Come on, love, it was bound to. Even your girls placed bets on us."
Ugh. I knew that part to be true. I'd been on the receiving end of relentless teasing and harassment from Quinn, Shayne, and Ryleigh for years. They were all convinced that one day I'd end up with Dirty Dick Dawson, and nothing I said could persuade them otherwise. At least they'd never find out about this-
Shiiiiiit. Ryleigh had heard him coming into my room, and no doubt she would tell the girls, and then they would know we-
"Damn you, Dick," I yelled, covering my head with a pillow so that I could somehow drown out the reality of what had happened, but the stupid thing smelled just like him. I sat up and threw it at his head.
"Oh, I'm back to Dick this morning?"
"What do you think?"
"Most women wouldn't think that was so terrible. In fact, they'd probably demand an encore."
"Not in a million fucking years."
He responded by tugging the sheet down so it fell to my hips. "You think sleeping with me is the worst thing you could do?"
"I can't imagine anything worse," I said, yanking the cover back over me.
"There's always something worse."
I propped myself up on my elbow and my eyes turned to slits. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"
Dawson opened his mouth, shut it, and then shook his head. "Nothing. You should drink your coffee, Paige."
"No. What did you mean by that? Did I do something worse?"
"Like … ?"
"Did I go back to my parents' party and hog-tie everyone?"
"You know how to do that?"
"Oh, for Christ's sake. We obviously didn't pull a Hangover moment and steal a tiger or vandalize our hotel room, and nobody got hitched, so I can't imagine what could possibly be worse."
Dawson hesitated. "That's not … exactly … true."
"You're telling me there's a tiger hiding in my bathtub?"
"Ehhh, not that one."
I glanced around the immaculate room and pursed my lips. "Dawson."
"Yes, Paige?"
"Are you trying to tell me you married a prostitute last night?"
He gave me a funny look. "I don't think she'd call herself that."
"Did we run into someone who needed a green card or something?"
"Christ, Pita-"
"Oh my God, is that it? Was I the best man or the maid of honor?"
Dawson gripped the back of his neck and threw a hand out in my direction. "It's you, you pain in the ass."
I lurched back like I'd been slapped, and then sat there, blinking. The laughter I expected to accompany his joke never came, but as the ridiculousness of what he'd just said sank in, I started to giggle, softly at first, and then full-blown laughter that had me doubling over.
"You think this is funny?" he said, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.
I couldn't wipe the tears that fell from laughing so hard fast enough from my face as I struggled to catch my breath, but still I couldn't stop the fit. And the whole time, Dawson just kept watching me, his stance wide and arms crossed over his chest. He looked at me like he was waiting for some hint that I remembered what had really happened last night, and when his expression didn't change, when he didn't yell out "Gotcha!" or "Yes, there's really a tiger in the bathroom," my giggles slowed to a stop.
He tilted his head to the side ever so slightly. "You finished?"
No. What he'd said couldn't be true. He's lying, I thought, even as that small asshole of an inner voice whispered, Dawson's not a liar.
I swallowed. "That's … impossible," I managed.
"Can't be impossible if it's true. And Paige … I'm not lying. Not even close."
The silence between us lay thick, almost suffocating, as my brain worked a mile a minute trying to come up with a rational explanation for what happened last night that didn't include me ending up with a ring on my finger.
Oh God. A ring.
I whipped out my left hand from under the sheet and blew out a relieved sigh when there wasn't a piece of jewelry anywhere to be seen.
See? There was the proof. I'd never get married in the first place, but even on the 0.0000000001 percent chance I did, I certainly would not be saying any vows without a big-ass rock on my finger.
Holding up my hand, I said, "Nice try, Dick, but no dice. Thanks for letting me do some bodily damage to your back last night, but you can kindly see yourself out now."
"You wouldn't let me buy a ring because, and this is another direct quote, 'If it's not from Tiffany's, it's not going on my finger,' and since they were closed last night, you settled for an IOU."
"I said Tiffany's specifically?"
He nodded. "You did."
"And I settled for an IOU? Honey, I don't settle, and certainly not when we're talking jewelry."
He cupped his hands like a megaphone and leaned forward. "You. Did. Last. Night."
"Gee, I guess we'd better go shopping, then," I said.
Dawson gave a curt nod, as if to say thanks for finally seeing things my way, and then he pulled a bottle of water and a packet of ibuprofen out of the bakery bag and handed them to me. "Tiffany's opened at ten, so as soon as you're ready, we can go. There's a couple nearby, one at the-"
"Stop," I said, waving my hand in white-flag surrender. "Just stop. I don't want to hear any more about some fake-"
He turned back to the desk, grabbed a sheet of paper from next to the bag, and then tossed it in my direction.
I barely glanced at it after reading the words "Marriage Certificate," and turned it around to face him. "All this tells me is that you're psychotic and woke up early this morning to go buy a fake certificate of marriage to convince me that I made an incredibly dumb decision while under the influence."
"Well, I'd show you the video, but I'm afraid it needs a bit of editing before we'll get our copy."
I huffed out a laugh. "Riiiight. Of course. Because it takes so much time to Photoshop my head onto some Vegas bride's body as proof."
Dawson shook his head. "I knew you'd be a hard sell, but it was easier to talk you into getting married than to remind you that you are."
"I'm beginning to think you roofied me last night."
"Not funny."
"Lighten up, Dick."
When he continued to frown, I decided to humor him-but I needed some damn clothes on first.
Throwing off the sheet, I scooted to the end of the bed and pushed myself to a standing position, and when the woozy hangover didn't cause me to fall over, I went over to get my suitcase.
"Okay," I said. "So, say we did get married. Give me all the juicy details."
When Dawson didn't immediately respond, I glanced over my shoulder to see his jaw slack and his gaze directly on my bare derriere. Well, then.
"Dawson," I said again, and his eyes snapped up to mine. "Details."
"Huh? Oh … " He cleared his throat while I threw my suitcase on the bed and unzipped it. "Well, uh … Sorry, what did you want to know?"
I took out my favorite pair of ripped jeans and an oversized off-the-shoulder sweater, and reached for my red pumps before my aching feet had me grabbing my combat boots instead.
"You can start by telling me where this supposed wedding took place."
"It's on the marriage certificate. The Little White Wedding Chapel a few blocks down," he said, as he watched me get dressed. A few minutes ago I might've felt a little powerful that he hadn't taken his eyes off me yet, but now? All I could think of was that I wanted to drown him in a vat of Goldschläger.
"Yes, but that doesn't tell me anything. Was it a glamorous suite with a built-in waterfall, or some staid, churchlike setting, or, heaven forbid, one of those over-the-top Elvis rooms-"
"It was a drive-thru."
My hand stilled on the button of my pants. "What did you say?"
"You couldn't be bothered with getting out of the car, and you thought a drive-thru sounded like fun, so we decided to go through the Tunnel of Love instead."
Surely I was hearing things, because it sounded like he said- "The Tunnel of Love? It sounds like we got fake-married at a fucking amusement park."
He shrugged. "It's world famous. And we didn't get fake anything."
"That's the best you can come up with? That we got fake-married in a car … a car. Like that thing you drive. An automobile. A motor vehicle. A rust bucket with wheels." I had to still be sleeping. That was the only plausible explanation for this. "Let me guess. This 'car' was actually a taxi."