The sun is barely starting to peek over the horizon when my full bladder screams out for relief.
You’ll just have to wait, I think to myself, mentally addressing the irksome organ. Determined to see this through, I adjust my position, where Lyle’s got the grip of a boa constrictor around my abdomen, hoping to ease the discomfort even just the teensiest bit.
Nothing short of a five-alarm fire’s gonna make me miss this sunrise.
Just as I’m settling back in for the show, a loud bang coming from what sounds like directly below us proves me a liar.
“Lyle!” I say, holding the blanket to my chest to conceal my still-nude body from whoever’s clomping up the stairs. My pulse begins to race, and fear has me feeling like I might actually pass out. “Wake up!”
I give his shoulders a firm shake, seriously contemplating shoving him to the floor if he doesn’t come out of this sleep coma of his with a quickness. I’d likely smile over the realization that he still sleeps like the freaking dead if I wasn’t on the verge of a panic attack.
“I think—” I grip the blanket tighter. “I think someone broke in,” I say when he peeps a lazy eye at me.
“Huh?” Half-conscious at best, he smooths one hand over my back and brings the other to his face to scrub the sleep from his eyes. “Do what now?”
“I heard a loud noi—”
The door flies open and bounces off the wall. “Oh good,” a tiny hellcat in heels and a pantsuit says as she bursts into the room. “You’re up.”
“Who’s that?” I murmur under my breath, and apparently to no one, because that’s who answers.
“Actually,” Lyle says, addressing her with a relaxed drawl. He’s as cool as a cucumber, leading me to the assumption that this type of intrusion is a regular occurrence around here. “I was right in the middle of a really great dream, starring this little hottie.” He plants a kiss on my shoulder before making a shooing motion toward the high-strung brunette who’s now pacing no more than a foot from his side of the bed. “Can we do…whatever this is later? I’d like to get back to it.”
“No,” she clips. “We can’t.”
“Had a feeling you’d say that.” With a loud groan, he drags himself up to rest against the headboard. He smooths a hand up and down my calf in an attempt to pacify me. “What brings you all the way back to California in such a chipper mood this morning, boss?”
Boss?
“Oh, this visit will be anything but pleasurable, I assure you.”
“Who is this woman?” I ask, already over her shitty attitude. I refuse to sit around like some prop caught in the middle of whatever the hell’s going on.
“This is our manager, Anik—” my husband starts before the bitchy brunette cuts him off.
“Funny,” she interjects in a tone that is anything but, “I was about to ask the same question with regard to you.”
Her apparent air of superiority isn’t sitting well with me. Manager or not, she’s out of line. “His wife,” I deadpan, quirking a lone brow in a silent challenge.
“So, it’s true?” Her eyes damn near bug out of her head, and that little vein between her brows doubles in size. The tips of her pointy ears turn fire engine red as she levels my husband with a murderous glare. “You said you were attending a wedding, Livingston!”
“Well,” he offers with a smirk, as he pulls me close and drapes an arm around my shoulders, “technically…”
“Oh, don’t technically me.” A string of muffled curses spills from her pursed lips.
“Wait,” Lyle says, holding out a finger as if he’s just processed what she said. His entire body stiffens over all that it implies. “You already knew?”
Her eyes narrow to slits. “The whole goddamn world knows, dumbass. There are no such thing as secrets when you’re a member of one of the most famous bands on the planet!” Some of her anger dissolves as a look of pure defeat shrouds her features with disappointment. “You know that.”
An understanding passes between them, and his cocky demeanor instantly morphs into one of sincere apology. His brow lines with what looks like regret and it’s one hell of a pill for me to swallow.
My arrogance evaporates as shame takes center stage. Because I never, not for one second, considered what a shotgun wedding might do to his reputation. How it might affect his career. Or the band.
“Is it—is it bad?” Repentance blisters as it scales the walls of my throat.
“You tell me,” Anika says, retrieving an iPad from her leather messenger bag and dropping it on the mattress in front of us, already open to the shameless gossip site, TMD.
BREAKING NEWS!
Ladies, hold on to your tits because we’re coming to you today with shocking news you won’t want to miss.
Lyle Livingston—bassist of The Rhett Taylor Band—has tied the knot! Yes, the man we all know to entertain his female company strictly on one-night standards has taken the plunge, reportedly to his best friend’s little sister!
Our exclusive source tells us he was to be a guest at Sammi Deluca’s wedding and somehow ended up at the altar himself.
How long can this perpetual playboy remain monogamous? Only time will tell. Stay tuned right here to TMD for more details as we set to unravel the makings of this shotgun wedding.
“Oh God,” I groan, as a hollow feeling takes root in the pit of my stomach. “I’m gonna be sick.”
“This is nothing,” Lyle insists, pinning his manager with a severe look while giving my thigh a reassuring squeeze. “This kinda stuff happens all the time. We just need to issue a statement to the public introducing you as my wife, with enough background information to feed their appetites, and they’ll lose interest quick. No big deal, right Annie?”
Her drawn-out sigh is a direct contradiction to her words. Not to mention the eyeroll she makes no attempt to hide. “Sure. Easy peasy.”
“See,” he says, planting a kiss to the top of my head. “Relax.”
“Okay,” I begrudgingly agree. “But do we have to do this naked?” I must admit I feel vulnerable as fuck sitting here in my birthday suit while engaged in a silent pissing match with CEO Barbie.
“Please,” Anika says, motioning with a wave toward the bathroom.
I tug the sheet, wrapping it around my body for modesty’s sake, when Anika interrupts with a shout. “Don’t—”
I’m already on my feet before I realize she means for me to keep Lyle’s meat and potatoes covered. But she needn’t worry…I’m sure not about to show them off to her when I haven’t even gotten a look myself.
“Really, Annie? Don’t look so horrified. It’s nothing you haven’t already seen.” His tone is incredulous.
Well, this just took a turn. I narrow my eyes and start to whirl around when her next words hit me.
“Not by choice,” she says tartly, visibly relaxing when she’s greeted with a pair of navy and white striped boxer briefs.
But all I see is the way they cling to his massive morning wood like a second skin and how immune she seems to it.
We’ve been married less than a day and already insecurity is rearing its ugly head. I’m realizing just how much his life has changed during the years we were apart. This woman is clearly a huge part of it, and I don’t know her at all, much less trust her. It’s all making my head spin. I need a damn minute to recalibrate. “I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time,” she coos, clearly itching to have a private conversation with my husband.
Without another word, I dart off to the bathroom, where my overnight bag still sits on the granite counter, untouched.
I flatten an ear to the cool, penny tile wall, trying to make out the hushed conversation on the other side. But it’s no use. Rather than waste more time trying, I give up on the idea and rush through the world’s quickest shower.
With the smell of his manly soap and shampoo clinging to my hair and body, I don a fresh pair of panties, bra, and cut-off shorts with a flowy white top, chosen for obvious reasons.
I brush my teeth—twice—and run a comb through my hair, forgoing makeup altogether, eager to get out there so I don’t miss too much.
“How’s it going, guys?” I ask, breezing back into the room, refreshed and in a slightly better headspace.
“Great.” Lyle’s face lights up at the sight of me, and it’s a huge boost to my bruised ego. Eager for my return, he pats the mattress beside him where he’s still half-naked, having made no attempt to cover up.
With the sheet clutched to my chest, I scamper over to join him, not so casually draping it over his lap as I plop down next to him.
A knowing look crosses Anika’s snooty face—one that makes it clear she thinks I’ve gotten in way over my head with this marriage. She looks all too pleased to have an unobstructed view from which to watch me drown. I can’t wait to see her choke on that high and mighty attitude when we prove her wrong.
The man in the hot seat clears his throat, pulling the sheet all the way up to his neck and tucking it beneath his chin, earning himself a heavy dose of side eye and a grin that won’t be subdued.
I never could stay upset with him, not when he’s this freaking adorable.
“Much better,” I commend, choosing not to harp on his manager’s obvious lack of faith in our union. I can’t let her get inside my head. Lord knows I’ve got more than enough shit to worry about without adding an intrusive Karen to the mix. “What’d I miss?”
“Already got our response typed up. Just needs my bride’s approval,” he says, taking the iPad from Anika and placing it on my lap.
Hello, friends, fans, and family,
Lyle Livingston here, to tell you that this time the rumors are true!
Your favorite member of The Rhett Taylor Band—that’d be me, for those who might be confused—is off the market. But I guess I should start by telling you that I was never on it to begin with.
You see, yesterday I had the honor of marrying the woman who captured my teenaged heart. Sammi Deluca was the girl next door, my best friend’s little sister, and completely off limits.
When I left home years ago to join the band, it was always with the intention of returning for her someday, when our three-year age difference was no longer an issue. After she’d had time to live and love and was certain that a life with me was what she wanted.
As luck would have it, I waited too long, and she moved on with someone else, under the assumption that I’d given up on us.
Fast forward to yesterday—her wedding day.
I found myself pacing outside her bridal suite, kicking my own ass for letting her slip through my fingertips. I was debating whether to go in there and shoot my shot when the groom showed up, and I overheard the man she was set to marry call off the wedding.
It was as if the stars had aligned, and I knew I’d been gifted a second chance.
Call me a lovesick fool, but there was no question in my mind what had to happen next. I was gonna have to locate my balls.
I knocked on that door, dried my girl’s tears, got down on one knee, and asked her to be my wife. By some miracle, she said yes.
I understand your shock. But believe me when I say that this union was a long time coming. Sammi and I are very much in love. And while the path we’ve taken to arrive at our happily ever after was filled with bumps and bruises—and riddled with mistakes, largely on my part—I believe it’s made us stronger, both as individuals and as a couple.
Everyone wants a fairy tale, but that’s seldom real life. Real love is messy and complicated. Our story is no different.
I truly believe we’ve finally gotten it right, and I can’t tell you how much I look forward to spending the rest of my life driving this woman positively insane, both in and out of the bedroom.
So, without further ado, I hope you’ll help me welcome her to the crazy world of country music with a hoot, a holler, and a red solo cup.
Bottoms up, folks!
“Folks? Who are you? Bugs Bunny?” I snort. “That doesn’t sound like you at all.”
“Well, it originally said, bottoms up, bitches, but Anika freaking censored me.”
She scoffs, taking the iPad back from my hands. “Sorry, not everyone considers the word bitch a term of endearment.”
He shrugs his shoulders.
“I love it,” I say, smiling up at my husband with beating hearts in my eyes. “You made it sound so romantic.”
“Yeah,” Anika jeers. “Nothing screams romance like stealing another man’s bride.”
And in one freaking breath she took his warm rendition of our wedding day and shit all over it.
“Are you always so rude?” I snap, my blood simmering.
“It isn’t my job to be nice, sweetheart,” she answers, repacking her bag. “I get paid to keep shit real honest around here. Sorry if your delicate feelings can’t handle it.”
“Enough, Annie.” Lyle rises to his feet, stalking after her toward the door. “As my wife, Sammi now pays a portion of the paycheck you just saw fit to bring up. You’d do well to remember that.”
Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips, which she promptly presses together in a firm line. “Lyle, you and I both know I’m not going anywhere, so cut the shit, huh?” She reaches up to push a tuft of hair back from his eyes, then pats his chest twice. “I’ll be downstairs in my room. Our flight leaves at nine a.m. tomorrow. I’ll see you then if I don’t see you before.”
Tomorrow morning?
I miss the end of their heated conversation, too hung up on the realization that he’s leaving so soon. Of course he is. He only came in to attend my wedding as a guest. Why on earth would he have planned to stay longer than the weekend?
Just when I think my life is coming together, I realize it’s more of a clusterfuck than ever before.
