“Are you … crying?” Dex asks.
Well, fuck. I wipe at my face. “I always cry at weddings.”
“Because they’re so beautiful?”
“No, because every time a couple gets married, a manwhore fairy dies. We just killed someone, and you don’t even care.” I finally risk looking at his face, because I know he’ll be smiling and not so concerned that my eyes are involuntarily leaking.
“A … manwhore fairy.” His brow furrows. “Umm, what exactly is a manwhore fairy?”
“Whenever you have a random hookup, a gay manwhore fairy gets its wings. It’s legend, passed on to all of the baby gays.”
The officiant clears his throat. “Congratulations. Uh, I don’t mean to rush you out, but we do have a 4:30 ceremony, and you still need to sign the certificate.”
We quickly get that out of the way, and then he hands me the piece of paper we’re never going to file. I hand it off to Dex, because the last thing I need is a reminder that today happened.
Then Dex holds out his hand. “Ready, husband?”
I link my arm with his. “Ready.”
“So,” Dex says. “Are you going to take my last name? Or should I take yours?”
I laugh. “We’ve been over this. My spelling is correct, and yours is an abomination. Why do you think everyone uses my spelling when they call us the Mitchell brothers? You should be so lucky to be Mr. Dex Mitchell.”
“No arguments from me.”
Dear God.
We exit the small chapel, where another couple is waiting. They do a double take at Dex in his suit, and me in my … uh, wedding attire. I just act like I’m drunk.
Like I want to be.
It was only a short ceremony, but I’d like to erase the memory with as much alcohol as my body can possibly handle.
I wake with a groan. Back-to-back nights of drinking was not a good idea. Neither was getting wasted to try to forget everything about that ceremony. I still remember every detail.
Every word.
Every vow.
And that stupid kiss that took my breath away.
TV shows and movies lie! When you get married in Vegas, you’re supposed to wake up with no recollection of how it happened.
Dex is sprawled across my bed, still in his suit. His buttons and tie are undone, showing off his impressive and smooth chest, so at least his inability to even undress on his wedding night is on par with the drunken marriage in Vegas shtick.
Maybe that was our problem. We did this all wrong. We were supposed to get drunk before the ceremony, not after. The wedding is clear as day, but the night is a bit of a blur.
I remember laughing. A lot. And then when we came back to my apartment on unsteady feet, Dex climbed into bed next to me and asked me to spoon him like he always does, and I went with it.
Because I’m used to it now.
I’m used to him asking me for affection without realizing the consequences of his request. And why would he question it? It’s not like I’ve ever told him to stop.
I crave his attention, and I like cuddling with him. Even to the detriment of my own heart.
The guys from the Collective keep telling me to set boundaries, and I know I should, but what can I say? I’m a sucker for punishment, apparently.
Dex isn’t the one to blame here—I am.
Dex stirs and stretches sleepily, then turns his head toward me with a wide smile on his face. “Hey, hubby.”
I groan again. “Why did we drink so much?”
“It’s not a wedding if someone isn’t getting shitfaced.”
“I don’t think it’s supposed to be the grooms though,” I point out.
“Remember when Noszka married … what was her name? I dunno. The one he divorced not long later. And he got so wasted that he threw up on her wedding dress?”
“And he wonders why that marriage failed.”
“At least we didn’t puke on each other.”
I close my eyes because I want to go back to sleep. “Mm, marriage goals right there.”
“You made breakfast yesterday, so I’m going to run out to bring us back some food, seeing as you’d probably prefer the vomiting to eating anything I can cook.”
“Can we please stop talking about vomit?”
“Fine. I’ll be back soon.” Dex jumps out of bed, and I stay, trying to go back to sleep, but I can’t.
Flashes of yesterday keep running through my mind.
Drinking, joking around … Dex dragging me out to the dance floor in some random bar and declaring whatever song came on next would be our wedding song. Then he facepalmed because it was “Baby Got Back.”
Didn’t stop him from serenading me with it though.
Considering how much he hated the idea of marriage and weddings, last night was a fuck ton of fun. I shouldn’t be surprised though. Everything is with Dex.
And now it’s over.
He gets back from picking up some coffee and bagels, and just like last night when he climbed into bed with me, him bringing me breakfast feels too … domestic. The honey, I’m home that he calls out doesn’t help.