Waking Up Wed
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Christy Jeffries
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16,4K
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12
Chapter One
Every morning for the first thirty years of her life, Kylie Chatterson had woken up alone.
Until today.
She’d barely rolled over on the hotel’s plush mattress when her sleepy eyes did a double take at the fair-haired, angelic-looking man snuggled up beside her.
Who in the world was he—and how in the world had he gotten here?
His muscular body was chiseled like the marble statue of a Greek god, but this work of art was warmer and much more real. The brutal morning sun intruded through the wide-open curtains she’d obviously neglected to close, shedding unnecessary light on her growing sense of shame.
Kylie held her breath, commanding her body to stay still so her spinning head could add up all the facts.
Fact one. She’d flown to Reno for her friend’s coed bachelor/ette party yesterday. This was definitely the room she’d checked into because her fuchsia cheetah-print suitcase was haphazardly propped on the luggage rack at the foot of the bed. So at least she was where she was supposed to be. That was good.
Fact two. She remembered meeting up with some of the wedding party and having one or two cocktails in the casino bar. She normally didn’t drink much, so it couldn’t have been more than a couple. Could it? She spotted three plastic oversize souvenir cups by the TV stand. That wasn’t so good, but it explained the throbbing at the base of her scalp, her queasy stomach and her lack of memory.
Don’t feel, she commanded herself. Just think and solve the problem.
Fact three. There was a dyed-blue carnation bouquet next to an instant photo in a cheesy cardboard frame from the Silver Rush Wedding Chapel that read Hitched in Reno on the bedside table next to her. The image was too grainy—or maybe her eyes were too fuzzy to see—but she was definitely the one holding up the ugly flowers in the picture. She carefully stretched out her arm, trying to bring the photograph closer and into focus without waking the sleeping Adonis beside her. She squinted at the photo. Had they gone to some sort of Wild West–themed bar last night? Maybe that was where she’d met the guy next to her, because he was in the picture, too.
She let out a quiet breath while she carefully studied the shot for more clues. She and Mr. Adonis looked as if they were sitting in a covered pioneer wagon. Next to them sat two people wearing costumes reflecting Nevada’s silver mining heritage. At least she hoped those were costumes. This was really weird, unless...
She glanced over her bare shoulder. The perfectly formed male snored softly away in her bed, and, as she let her gaze drift past the golden features of his face, she rethought her earlier angel appraisal. There was nothing cherubic about the man from the neck down. Had some of the bachelorettes ended up at an all-male revue show?
Oh, no. What if this guy next to her was a male stripper and she’d hooked up with him? Her parents would be mortified. They’d raised her to be a strong woman with an even stronger sense of self-worth—one who would never get taken advantage of by a man.
She dropped the photo and wiped her damp palm on the sheet. Kylie was a certified public accountant and she needed an explanation for this situation that would add up, one that would make sense. She had to stop jumping to conclusions and get back to her usual analytical approach to problem solving.
Besides, his body might look as though it could grace the cover of one of her historical romance novels, but his relaxed face looked too innocent to work for tips.
She rubbed her eyes before scrutinizing the picture again. Regardless of where they were or who else was in the photo with them, they’d both looked pretty darned pleased with themselves last night. Obviously, they’d had a fun time. She didn’t know if that was good or not.
Fact four. She was still dressed in her matching blue lace panty and bra set—but nothing else. What did that mean? Had they or hadn’t they...?
Again, she looked at her bedmate. She had no idea what he had on underneath the covers, but on top, he was wearing nothing but an impressive array of bronzed muscles and a smile. The heat of embarrassment shot up her cheeks.
Even though most people thought Kylie dressed too flashy and went out on more than her fair share of dates, the reality was that in all of her thirty years, she’d never let a man get past second base. And now she couldn’t remember who the batter was or whether he’d hit a home run last night! She didn’t need to be sober to come to the conclusion that winding up half naked and in bed with a stranger couldn’t be good at all.
Before she could move on to fact five, the blond Adonis snuggled closer and wrapped his overdeveloped biceps around her waist. His warm strength sizzled against her taut skin, and it took every fiber of her normally calm demeanor to not leap off the bed and run away from him. She no longer had time to be analytical. If she tried to appraise the situation any more, she’d end up waking him. Maybe she could just sneak out quietly.
Wait. This was her room.
She might bite her tongue when some of the more gossipy women in town mocked her, but having grown up the only girl with four older brothers and an opinionated father, she was used to establishing her independence and her individuality. She was no wallflower. Kylie had learned early on that in life she needed to stand up for herself in order to stand out. She’d also learned how hold her own with men. Even gorgeous, naked ones.
She shoved at his shoulder. “Pssst.”
His only response was to grip her tighter.
“Hey,” she said louder as she tried gracefully to extricate herself from his embrace.
His full pink lips nuzzled against her neck, and a shocking tingle raced down her spine.
The intimate contact both aroused and startled her. She used her bare leg to shove herself away from him. Unfortunately, her heel nailed him in the shin and, just as she was pushing away, he yelped and scrambled backward. The force of his retreat timed perfectly with her launch, and she lost her momentum, collapsing to the patterned carpeted floor in a pile of long limbs and blue lace.
“What in the hell?” she cried out, trying to pull the sheet down to cover herself.
“Where am I?” he asked.
With the sheet finally wrapped around her, Kylie got to her feet so she could confront the equally confused stranger sitting up in her bed. She caught sight of her makeshift toga in the dresser mirror and lifted her chin higher. Her friends always told her that with her tall, curvaceous body, she looked just like an auburn version of Wonder Woman. Yet right now the resemblance was more similar to the superhero’s secret identity, Princess Diana, who needed to defend her Amazon kingdom from unwanted males. “I’ll tell you where you are if you tell me who you are.”
“I’m Andrew.” He rubbed at his close-cropped haircut, and she took comfort in the fact that his head must be pounding just as badly as her own.
Andrew didn’t sound like a stripper name—not that she had any point of reference when it came to exotic male dancers.
“Well, Andrew, you’re in my room at the Legacy Casino in Reno. Don’t ask me how you got here, because I’m still pretty fuzzy on the details.”
The man looked at the disheveled bedding, then back at her, his eyes traveling the length of her body before settling on her heated face. He blinked a couple of times before his hand fumbled on the nightstand and lifted a pair of wire-framed lenses to his eyes.
“You’re Kylie,” he said, recognition apparently dawning on him.
“Well, at least one of us knows...” She faltered as a flashback from last night triggered her own memory bank. “You know, with those glasses on, you kind of look like that military friend of Cooper’s...”
His nod confirmed the sudden fear she couldn’t even bear to say aloud. Oh, no. This was bad. This was very, very bad.
“Oh, my gosh.” She pointed an accusatory finger at him while he looked around the room sheepishly, probably in search of his holy vestments. Or at least his pants. “You’re the minister who’s performing the wedding. You’re Drew Gregson!”
Snippets of yesterday afternoon clicked into place, and she remembered arriving at the cocktail lounge early so she could welcome the rest of the wedding party. Drew, the groom’s best friend, was already there and looking as lost and as confused as a lamb. And she’d apparently led him straight to slaughter. She sank down into the nearest chair. He hadn’t stood up yet, and she wasn’t about to get in bed again with a man of the cloth. “We are so going to hell.”
Yesterday she’d ordered him a drink, telling him it would help him relax. Then she’d cracked a ribald joke to loosen the tension. He’d made a scandalized face before laughing, and they’d toasted the newlyweds. Everything after that was a blur. A horrible, sinful blur.
“Yes, that’s me. But I’m not a minister.”
She studied his face, trying to decide if he was telling the truth or just doing damage control. Maybe he was used to waking up in strange hotel rooms with women he didn’t know, but he didn’t seem too concerned about the fate of their eternal souls. So if he wasn’t a pastor, then what was he? And why was he so unbelievably calm—and not the least bit modest?
She averted her eyes because if she had to look at his rock-hard abs any longer, she would have no hope of keeping her mind focused and figuring out how everything had gone so completely wrong last night. “Can you please put a shirt on or something?”
He pulled the comforter off the floor and dragged it around his body as he scanned the room. Any article of male clothing would do at this point, but Kylie had no idea where he’d left his. From her vantage point, she tried to look around the room, too, but her search kept returning to his bare torso and the fabric secured around his waist with his left hand. After years of being single, she resorted to her default training and zoned in on the shiny gold ring.
“What the hell is that?” She pointed to the offending object. “You’re married! I just spent the night with a drunk, married man.”
She pulled her white four-hundred-thread-count shroud tighter around her body, as if she could make herself vanish from the shame and his anonymous wife’s impending wrath.
“What are you talking about?” Drew asked as he picked up a plain white undershirt and pulled it on over his head. “I’m not married.”
“You’re wearing a wedding ring.”
He squinted his baby-blue eyes at his finger, looking truly puzzled by the gleaming jewelry. Then he turned his bespectacled gaze to her as if waiting for her to explain the whole situation to him.
Well, she certainly had no idea what was going on. Still, his appraising look was patient and intense, and Kylie had the feeling that Drew had probably won his fair share of staring contests. His continuing focus unnerved her, and her trembling fingers slipped on the sheet. She struggled to get her improvised garment back into position, and her breath hitched when she saw what had caught his attention.
“You have one, too.” His tone was casual, lacking any judgment or accusation.
She stared at the matching band on her own ring finger.
For the first time in history, Kylie Chatterson, former pep leader of the Boise State Cheer Team, second runner-up for Miss Idaho USA and current CPA whiz, was at a loss for words.
Her sheet slipped to the floor unnoticed as she ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.
Maybe she wasn’t being very mature and rational about this situation—whatever this situation was—but she felt as though she couldn’t breathe, and her palms were sticky with sweat.
This must be what a panic attack felt like. Or a hangover. Ugh, how much had she had to drink last night?
Don’t freak out. Where was her inner voice of reason when she needed it most? Probably back in the hotel lounge where she must’ve accidentally dumped it out of her designer gold clutch, along with the rest of her morals, when she’d pulled out her credit card to pay for that first round.
She took a sip of water from the sink, then held one hand under the cool flow while she forced herself to inhale and exhale through her nose and slow her breathing. When it finally felt as if her lungs weren’t going to explode, she shut off the faucet and dried her hands.
She needed to think. Why was she wearing this stupid wedding ring, and why had Drew Gregson spent the night in her room? The answer was obvious to her methodical and organized brain, even if she was completely unclear on how they’d gotten to this point.
She stared at her sloppy reflection in the mirror, as if the hot mess looking back at her could provide any explanation. Her long auburn curls were a tangled disaster and her once carefully applied makeup had probably been left behind on one of the ten pillows out there with the Angel of Lust.
Thankfully, she’d unpacked yesterday afternoon and had left her toiletry kit on the bathroom counter. She pulled the fluffy white hotel robe off the hook and double-knotted it around her waist. After running a brush through her hair and securing it into a tight ponytail, she scrubbed her face clean. She brushed her teeth much longer than the American Dental Association recommended, knowing she was stalling for time.
Just as she rinsed out the last of the toothpaste, a knock sounded at the bathroom door. “Uh, Kylie?”
Great. He was still out there. She needed to get rid of him ASAP so she could get down to the business of figuring out just what in the world was going on around here.
“I just found some papers on the dresser,” he said through the locked barrier between them. “I think we may have a little situation.”
* * *
Drew’s head felt as if mortar rounds were ricocheting inside his skull. The marriage license trembling in his normally steady hands looked real enough, but his hazy eyes could barely make out the words. He looked at his watch. Oh nine hundred. He needed to pick up his nephews in less than twenty-four hours. His twin brother’s eight-year-olds were waiting for him at his parents’ house in Boise.
At least he was now dressed and could face the unexpected crisis that had barricaded herself in the bathroom with a little decorum—unlike the behavior he must’ve exhibited last night. He’d found the last of his clothes strewn about as if a bomb had detonated in the hotel room. He was usually so neat and took care with his clothing. Of course, he also took care not to overindulge in alcohol or marry women after knowing them for all of five hours.
Clearly, he wasn’t himself.
For the past ten minutes, he’d been trying to remain cool and controlled while simultaneously racking his foggy brain for details on how he’d ended up in bed with the beautiful woman. Thankfully, she’d run into the bathroom. He hoped she would get dressed because, even for a man who’d sworn off women, there was only so much temptation he could handle.
Yesterday afternoon, the building anxiety and uncertainty about becoming his nephews’ legal guardian while his brother deployed on a top secret mission this summer had swelled to an all-time high. It didn’t help that Drew was suffering from jet lag, having arrived fresh off the cargo plane from a military base in the Middle East. To top it all off, he was about to embark on a new assignment as the staff psychologist at the naval hospital near his hometown. It was a trifecta of pressure he hadn’t been expecting.
He shook his head. Regardless, all the compounding mental and physical effects weren’t an excuse for what he’d done—if only he knew what exactly that was. He’d counseled numerous soldiers and sailors about the healthy and effective ways of handling stress stateside after returning from war. He was pretty sure that getting drunk and marrying the first woman he met wasn’t one of his usual recommendations.
Drew remembered introducing himself to Kylie at the cocktail lounge in the casino yesterday before the rest of the wedding party arrived. He’d been eager to see his buddy Matt Cooper, who was marrying Kylie’s best friend, Maxine Walker. In fact, Drew had indirectly introduced the bride and groom when he’d coerced Cooper to participate in a military pen pal program with Maxine’s son.
Yesterday, emotions had been running high for everyone. For Drew they’d been coupled with the unknown anxiety of what awaited him at home.
Kylie had been so friendly and so easy to talk to. As a psychologist, Drew was accustomed to listening to other people’s problems and giving guidance or counsel whenever necessary. But he’d never been the one on the couch, so to speak, and wasn’t used to venting his own feelings. She’d made a joke about him needing a drink to loosen up, and he’d thought, What could one glass hurt?
He eyed the neon-green oversize souvenir cups shaped like slot machines and then ran a hand over his aching head. What could it hurt, indeed? Those deceiving fruity concoctions packed a punch he wouldn’t soon forget.
He stared at the Hitched in Reno photo tossed on the nightstand and wondered how many souvenir cups it had taken for him to get so loopy that he’d thought saying wedding vows before God and a couple of character actors dressed in silver miners’ garb was a good plan.
But he looked beyond the Boomtown theme of the photo of him in his starched jeans and Kylie in her miniskirt, noting the matching smiles on their faces. They may have been three sheets to the wind, but they looked genuinely happy. Almost blissful.
He’d attended his share of weddings and, while many were joyful events, some had been clad in scandal or anger or forced circumstances. In this picture, though, he and Kylie were looking at each other with such unadulterated elation, he went through his catalog of memories to recall if he’d ever seen a couple look as happy on their wedding day as he and Kylie had.
He’d always had an idea of marriage in the back of his mind and knew he’d tie the knot someday. His father was a minister and often preached about honoring the vows of marriage. Maybe because he was old-fashioned or maybe because of his religious upbringing, Drew knew that when he finally settled down, it would be only once. In fact, right after graduate school, he’d thought Jessica could have potentially be the one. He’d wanted to take his time, draw out their courtship, because he needed to be positive that they were perfect for each other. Turned out Jessica hadn’t liked waiting for his decision.
After that, he’d vowed not to enter into any relationship—even a sexual one—with a woman without ensuring she was marriage material. He’d thought taking a break from women would be a simple test of mind over matter.
But now his self-imposed rule was being seriously tested as it never had been before. He looked down at the wedding photo and the attractive redhead in the too-tight outfit and too-high heels. Not that Drew believed in stereotypes of any kind, but Kylie didn’t look anything like the spouses of some of his esteemed colleagues. He remembered thinking she was stunning when he’d met her yesterday, even if her attire was not what one would describe as conventional. Then, this morning, when she’d dropped her sheet and he’d seen her in all her womanly glory, he’d had a difficult time looking away.
Despite his promise to himself, he struggled with the same carnal feelings that most people did. But up until now, he’d been able to control his emotions. Besides, living in battle-ready military installations around the world for the past few years had limited the potential for temptation, as his social interactions with single women who weren’t wearing unisex camouflage had been few and far between.
Yet Kylie’s style and personality were so animated and so colorful, he couldn’t help but be drawn to her.
The water in the bathroom shut off again and he braced himself for her to exit. They would have to come to terms with what they’d done.
The door opened and she held her freshly scrubbed face high, but even the oversize bathrobe couldn’t do much to diminish the endowments she’d been blessed with.
She leaned against the door frame, her green, makeup-free eyes squeezed tightly closed. “Please don’t tell me what I think you’re going to tell me.”
“If you think I’m going to tell you that this wedding picture was just a joke, then I won’t tell you that.”
“How do you know?” She squinted one lid open, and he handed over the very official-looking marriage license. Sign, sealed and delivered.
She was a smart woman. Drew couldn’t recall how he knew this, but he remembered thinking it at some point last night. So he remained quiet and let her come to the inevitable conclusion.
“Wow.” She sank down to the floor, her long, shapely legs exposed as her knees poked through the gap in the white terry cloth.
He’d learned early on that to have effective communication with people, he needed to reach them on their level. So despite the queasiness in his own stomach, he gingerly lowered himself to floor beside her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, wanting to comfort her. “I don’t know how it happened or why we did it, but it looks as though we’re married.”
She cupped her head in her hand while holding the license in the other. Her eyes traveled over the paper repeatedly, probably looking for some loophole or some hint that it wasn’t legitimate. Unfortunately, Drew knew they were staring at the real deal.
“But how can we be married when it says our only witnesses were two people who signed their names as Pistole Pepe and Maddog Molly?”
Drew handed over the wedding photo. “I think that guy with the long beard and miner’s hat is Pistole. This snarling woman holding the blue flowers like yours must be Molly.”
“God, my maid of honor was an overweight saloon girl with a missing tooth.”
“Maybe we should try to focus on the more important facts,” he suggested.
“Seriously? How can you not be worried about this?” The arched red brow made him think she didn’t like his suggestion. “You got totally wasted last night and forced a complete stranger to marry you. Who the hell knows what kind of fornication we committed in that bed right over there? Yet now you have the nerve to tell me that none of that is important?”
“Okay, let’s recap. One, I’m a doctor. A clinical psychologist, to be exact. My job is to look at the big picture.”
“But you’re performing the wedding. Don’t you have to be a preacher to do that?”
“Uh, no. Anyone can get certified online to do that. I owed Cooper a favor and he knows I hate public speaking.”
“Well, that explains that mystery.” She let out a sigh, then leaned her head back so quickly, it thunked against the wall.
“Can we get back to the current situation?” He waited for her to nod before continuing, “Two, I don’t think it’s in anybody’s best interests to keep a running tab of potential sins. Three, I might have been somewhat intoxicated, but judging by the smile on your face in that picture, I think we can safely say that nobody forced anybody to do anything last night. Four, I’m pretty sure that whatever might or might not have happened in that bed last night wouldn’t be considered fornication if we were technically married.”
Drew was a patient man, but he didn’t know if the woman collapsed in front of him was willing to listen to reasonable logic. How would he? He didn’t know her from Adam. Or Eve. But he did know that if Eve had looked anything like Kylie Chatterson, Drew didn’t blame Adam one bit for taking a bite of that cursed apple.
“I’ll concede points one through three,” she finally said. “But since you’re not a minister, then you’re clearly no expert on what might or might not constitute fornication.”
Wait, now she was annoyed that he wasn’t a minister? The lady needed to make up her mind, because he couldn’t win this game. “Are you an attorney?”
“No, I’m a CPA. When you talk in numbers to me, things make better sense.”
Drew would have to store that knowledge away for future use. “Listen, I’m just as confused and overwhelmed by this whole thing as you are. But I know that we have to keep our heads clear and our words civil if we’re going to get through this.”
She nodded, but her confused eyes still sought answers. “How can you be so calm? This can’t be great news for you, either, but you’ve yet to freak out.”
“Job hazard. I’m in the business of keeping calm when everything around me is blowing up. Literally.”
“Well, this would certainly qualify as an explosion in my life.” The back of her head thumped against the wall again as she lifted her face to the ceiling.
“There’s a coffeemaker in here. Why don’t I brew some and we can figure out our next course of action?”
He stood and held out his hand to her. He realized his mistake when she stared at his extended fingers before taking several breaths. He was still wearing the gold band. She probably didn’t appreciate the reminder of last night, but he hadn’t been able to get the thing off his oversize knuckle.
At almost six foot four and weighing close to two hundred thirty pounds, Drew was a big man. He was accustomed to things not always being available in his size. Apparently, his selection in wedding rings was no exception.
After a few uncomfortable moments, she finally accepted his extended hand by placing her own in his. He effortlessly pulled her up and, when they were practically face-to-face, he was pleasantly surprised that she was only a few inches shorter than him.
But holding hands made it easier for her to study the his-and-hers duplicate set of jewelry. She dropped his fingers as if the rings were some sort of live grenades and then tugged on her gold band, but it wouldn’t even budge.
“Ugh. It’s stuck. I’m probably swollen up from all the booze.”
Drew’s eyes dipped from her hand to her heaving chest as she labored over the ring, and he noticed her fingers weren’t the only things swollen. The way the lapel of her robe gaped open, he could see that her breasts were about to spill out of their D cups.
Heat stole up his neck, and his skin tightened all over his body. He quickly turned away to walk toward the minibrewer tucked into a corner alcove.
With his back to her, he heard her cross behind him to the opposite side of the room. He hoped she wasn’t physically distancing herself in fear that he was some sort of pervert and might attack her. She probably sensed the way his body was responding to her, and he couldn’t blame her for taking precautions.
“We’re supposed to meet the rest of the wedding party for brunch in less than thirty minutes,” she said as he made the first cup. “Do you think they’ll wonder whether something is wrong if neither one of us shows?”
“Why wouldn’t we show up for bunch? I, for one, am starving. Did we even have dinner last night?”
“Don’t ask me,” Kylie said, then thanked him for the mug he offered. She sat in one of the chairs, and he wondered if her legs were as shaky as his. “After we left the cocktail lounge, everything else that happened last night is pretty vague. And what do you mean ‘why wouldn’t we show up for brunch’? We can’t walk in there, in front of all our friends, and act as if nothing’s out of the ordinary.”
“Why can’t we? They obviously weren’t there last night or they would’ve put a stop to...you know.” Drew gestured toward the empty souvenir cups littering the hotel room, leaving any mention of the impromptu wedding unsaid.
“That’s a good point. So you think we should just act as if nothing happened? I mean, I don’t want to lie to my friends, but if we play everything off as though we had a bit too much to drink and don’t remember last night clearly, that would be the truth, right?”
Drew had been raised to believe that an omission was just as serious as a lie. But it wasn’t as though he needed to broadcast their mistake to the world or make it anyone’s business. He didn’t know what to do. Nothing about this situation was sitting well. Including the way Kylie’s sweet green eyes pleaded with him.
He was a problem solver by nature and wished he could just give her some advice and then walk away. But this was one problem he didn’t know how to solve.
“Can I ask you a question?” He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Sure, but I can’t guarantee I’ll know the answer.”
“What are your thoughts on marriage? Not this marriage, per se, but in general. I mean, you’re an attractive woman. You’re smart. And clearly, you know how to have fun. So is there a reason why you’re not married?”
She sank her head back against the chair as if the question exhausted her. But Drew was used to waiting for people to explain things in their own ways. So he stood there, gripping his coffee mug and glasses, waiting for her answer.
“I really have no idea why I’m not married. Heaven knows I’ve dated enough men that you’d think I would’ve found Mr. Right by now.” That wasn’t exactly the answer Drew was hoping to hear. Sure, Kylie was pretty, and he could see why any red-blooded male would want to go out with her, but he could’ve done without the knowledge that had an active dating calendar.
“To me, marriage is a serious commitment,” he said, trying to make a point.
“Which we entered into lightly.” Kylie’s posture, even when seated, was tall and impressive, and Drew doubted she could sit up any straighter.
“But still, we entered into it and everything it entails.”
“Listen, I get it that not everyone believes in divorce. But I’m sure we can get an annulment or something that wouldn’t taint your beliefs or your reputation.”
“Some people might see that as a solution. Yet I have a feeling that we took vows before God.”
Kylie looked ready to bolt and probably would’ve run as far from him as she could if he wasn’t standing in between her and her suitcase full of clothes. “We also took vows before some guy named Pistole Pepe, which I’m sure wasn’t his legal name at birth. Look, you seem like a real straitlaced guy, but there’s an exception to every rule.”
Maybe. Kylie looked like the kind of woman who was used to making her own rules. Yet something about her fighting spirit made him question whether he wanted an exception. “I don’t know much about the legal logistics, but can we get an annulment if we consummated the marriage?”
Her charming face blushed more crimson than he would’ve thought possible, and he wanted to kick himself for embarrassing the poor woman. She was definitely shyer than she let on.
Despite the heat staining her cheekbones, she sat up even straighter. But her voice was a mere whisper when she finally spoke. “Did we...?”
Once again, he wanted to put her fears to rest, but he honestly had no idea. He felt like a complete idiot for not remembering. But the fact remained that they’d gotten married and they’d woken up together nearly naked. And did he mention that since he’d sworn off intimacy with women, he hadn’t had sex in over a year?
“Honestly,” he said, “I don’t know. And if neither one of us knows the answer to that, then I’m guessing we also don’t know whether or not we used...um...protection?”
