I should probably have a great comeback to this. Normally I’m capable of it. But right now, my head is still foggy from last night, and my focus slides back to the fact that the woman who really is my wife has never had sex with me. If we had, the suite would’ve been trashed. I have a list of things I want to do to her, and even a quarter of them would’ve absolutely ruined the room. Plus neither of us would be walking normally.
“Well, none of them are my wife,” I say eventually. “And since I’m married now, they’ll never get a chance to fantasize about it again.”
“You know what? It’s unjust that you didn’t ask me to be your best man, even if you were eloping.”
Yes. Let’s focus on the most important point of my Vegas “wedding.” “You don’t need a best man for an elopement.”
“Could’ve been a witness.”
“Could have, but it was kind of spur of the moment. Besides, you were too busy with Skittles. Proposing to her, apparently. I am going to be your best man, right?”
“I don’t know,” he says with a touch of asperity. “Maybe I’ll ask Edgar or Tony.”
“Your brothers? Come on. Edgar’s about as much fun as a wet towel. And Tony…” I try to come up with something, but it’s hard because the man owns one of the hottest clubs in L.A. “Tony’s already married and will probably be stodgy and boring by the time your wedding comes around.”
Court scoffs. “You’re so full of it. Anyway, are you going to introduce me to your wife or what?”
“Yeah, of course. But she’s not here right now.”
“Where’d she go?”
I sigh because there’s no avoiding an answer. “Her apartment.”
Court frowns. “She hasn’t moved in with you?”
“Not yet.” No real way to hide the fact that there’s no trace of her living here. I should’ve tried to find the damned thong she was harping about in Vegas. Then I could’ve pretended like she was living here by leaving it draped on the edge of the kitchen counter. Or on the head of the statue dude. “I told you, we’re civilized.”
“That’s separated, not civilized.”
“Semantics.” I close my eyes, hoping he gets the hint that I don’t want to talk about it.
But Court is about as perceptive as a charging rhino. “Come on, man. This is weird. What really happened?”
That’s the billion-dollar question, isn’t it? Much to my endless frustration, I have no freakin’ idea. Then I wonder if Court might be able to help me piece it together. His parents are pretty fucked up, especially his mom. So maybe he’ll be better than me at thinking of ways things can go south.
I try to gather my thoughts and tell him what I can recall, winding up with my conversation with Tiny Tim as Evie and I were leaving the hotel. “You know him, right?”
“Sure. Big security guy, always smiling?”
“Yeah. He was done with his shift, and he asked me if I was all right.”
Court leans forward. “So he saw something wrong?”
“He said Evie and I were looking pretty trashed the night before, so he made sure we stopped playing because he didn’t want to take advantage. Then he said he had one of his guys keep an eye on us until we went to our suite. Apparently we actually went to the chapel across the street to get married. His guy witnessed the whole thing.” I stick a hand into my hair. “The problem is, I don’t remember anything. For all I know, I could’ve run down the street naked.”
“I’m pretty sure you didn’t. If you had, that would’ve made the front page of the all the tabloids.” Court tilts his head. “What does Evie remember?”
“Nada. She’s just as freaked out about it as me, and she’s frustrated we can’t just annul the whole thing.”
“Why not?”
“Because of Barron.” I’m frustrated too, but not for the same reason. It’s more to do with the fact that I lost control and that the woman I want is my wife, but seems to have zero interest in having sex with me.
“That’s weird about the memory loss. Evie being a lightweight, okay, fine. But you? After four lousy drinks?”
“I’ve been wondering about that too. There’s no way I had more and forgot about it. Plus, Tiny said they cut us off when we started acting strange. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“You think your drinks were tainted?”