Tough Luck Hero

“Of course I don’t,” she said, smoothing her hair.

“I think your hair is a lost cause.” He reached out and brushed a strand from her face. Too late, he realized that was a damned mistake.

Lightning shot from where his fingertips brushed against her, straight down to his cock. His unrest around Lydia had always been a vague, unsettling thing. Like static just beneath his skin. But all at once it was like the veil had been torn away and he saw it for what it was.

Attraction. Desire.

Hell no.

He pulled his hand away.

She turned, looking into a mirror that hung on the far wall, her eyes round, her hand shaking as she brushed her hair away from her face. She was just as affected by this. By him. “I need...probably to be dipped in a vat of mousse.”

“No time for that.” He needed to get out of this hotel room. Away from her.

He was going to leave these strange feelings in Vegas and never look back. The marriage might not be something they could leave behind, but this insanity was staying in Nevada, where it belonged.

She looked around. “I’m wearing last night’s dress.”

“And that’s another thing we can take care of. Unless you want to wear it on the plane ride back.”

She cringed. “No thank you.”

“Then come on.”

She made a low whining sound, but ultimately followed him out of the room. “Please slow down. The room is spinning and I’m wearing high heels.”

He continued to stride down the hall, paying as little attention as possible to the tacky decor. Natalie would be appalled. She had planned for them to honeymoon in New York and spend some time in a posh hotel in Manhattan. He’d just been along for the ride, because he failed to see the appeal in the rush of a city that size.

But then, he’d ended up in Vegas when drunk and left to his own devices, so he supposed he had no room to judge.

“You’re so mean.” She stepped into the elevator with him.

“I’m efficient,” he said, hitting the button that would take them to the lobby.

“Is that the positive spin that assholes put on their inconsiderate behavior?”

“Yes,” he said, not really feeling the need to defend himself. What would be the point? Lydia didn’t like him anyway. He had never liked her. He didn’t have to explain himself to her.

She let out a long, slow sigh, no doubt designed to demonstrate just how deeply she disapproved of him. Finally, the doors to the elevator slid open and he walked out ahead of her. He could hear her clicking along behind him, her steps unsteady on the high-gloss marble in the lobby.

He paused, turning to face her. “First coffee. Then we’ll do something about that.”

“About what?”

“That,” he said, indicating her attire.

“You’re going to make me hobble to get coffee first?”

“We can fix your head or your feet first. Choose.”

She grumbled. “Coffee. Fix my head. Please fix my head.”

There was a coffee shop down at the other end of the lobby, and fortunately, since it was getting to be the middle of the day, it wasn’t all that crowded. He quickly procured them two very strong Americanos.

“Do you need sugar or anything?” he asked, pointing to the stand in the corner that held half-and-half, cinnamon and any other items you could possibly want to doctor up a coffee.

“I just need you to stop talking. And some sunglasses.” She squinted, looking a little bit like a pathetic rodent that had been prematurely rooted out of her burrow.

“One of those I can get you.”

“I can buy my own sunglasses, thank you, Colton.”

“It’s our honeymoon, dear. The least I can do is buy you a new outfit.”

Color washed over her face. “It is not our honeymoon.”

“Yes,” he said, “it is. Especially since you’re insisting that we stay married.”

“It’s the only thing we can do.”

“I guess I see your point,” he said, turning toward the gift shop that was located across from the café.

He didn’t want to see her point, but he did. His mother was already on the verge of a breakdown, and he was going to be the primary topic of town gossip for months. Adding to it all with this weird marriage and a quick divorce seemed...well, it seemed like the path of most resistance.

Lydia clicked after him. “You do?”

“I have a reputation in the community that I need to maintain.”

“I suppose drunkenly marrying your former fiancée’s bridesmaid doesn’t really jibe with that.”

“Less so quickly divorcing her. I’m not sure if Natalie told you about my father.”

Lydia blinked. “It may have escaped your notice that Natalie and I weren’t exactly on fantastic terms there in the end.”

“Oh, it did not escape my notice.” He began to rifle through the clothing racks. There wasn’t anything normal in this place. It all had dice and glitter on it. Lydia didn’t seem like the sort of woman who would wear either. “What size do you wear?” he asked. He was happy enough to change the subject away from his family.

“I can find my own clothes,” she said, grabbing hold of a large pair of sunglasses that had small glittery dice on the earpieces and putting them on quickly. She turned around, grabbing a fuzzy black zip-up hoodie off a rack, followed by a matching pair of pants. “These will do fine.”

He turned around, snagging a white T-shirt from a nearby rack and holding it out. It just so happened to say Bride across the chest in rhinestones. “You might want something short-sleeved,” he said.

She frowned. “That’s tacky.”

“But true,” he said.

Lydia scowled, taking a pair of black shoes with gold dice on them that looked an awful lot like men’s smoking slippers. Then she took everything over to the counter, where a young woman was waiting to check them out.

“So,” the girl said, taking the sunglasses from Lydia and scanning them. “You just got married?”