601 Twilight Ln. by Kat Baxter
Chapter 5
Selina
I wake up and the first thing I notice is the horrific taste in my mouth like I spent the night chewing cardboard. Tequila. Why did I have tequila?
The second thing I notice is the very large, hot, male body pressed against my back and the hand—roughly the size of a bear paw—covering my tit. I can’t even enjoy the manhandling because of the headache and the aforementioned bad taste.
Where the fuck am I?
Gently, I turn my head to see the arm belongs to none other than Austin “Oaktree” Oakley. I can’t help but wonder if that stick poking me in the ass is the reason for his nickname. But my brain is too sluggish to give it any more thought.
I lift the heavy arm off of my body and sit up. The room spins and a wave of nausea rolls through me, bile chasing away the dry, cardboard taste. I close my eyes and breathe in and out of my nose a few times, which helps to settle things.
The sight of his naked torso is awe-inducing, all sculpted abs and golden skin, but it’s all I can do not to puke all over him.
Proof that I can ruin any situation.
We’re clearly in a hotel room. Casino. We’re at the casino. I stand to make my way to the bathroom and realize I’m wearing his t-shirt. The one he’d had on last night.
Fuck! Did we have sex? I reach down and grip myself between my legs—I’m not sure why, but it’s my immediate reaction. I’m still wearing panties, and everything feels the same. Nothing is tender or sticky or anything like that. I’d know if I’d lost my virginity last night, right?
Surely a man with a tree trunk between his legs would have left some distinct reminders of his presence in my relatively untouched nether-region.
Why am I suddenly thinking like a Victorian woman? Virgin, yes, but my sentiments have never been particularly genteel.
I close myself in the bathroom, relieve myself then brush my teeth. Thankfully this is one of those hotels that provides extra toiletries. Or maybe the Boy Scout always travels with extra dental hygiene tools.
I guzzle a couple of glasses of water from the bathroom tap, then pad back out into the bedroom to find my purse. Surely I’ve got some pain reliever of some sort in there. But the minute I step into the bedroom, I’m caught by the sight of Austin standing in the middle of the room, back to me, wearing nothing more than a pair of tight black boxer briefs.
I don’t know that up until this moment I would have considered myself an ass girl. But that’s because I’d never seen Austin’s ass. Even covered in soft cotton, it’s a work of art. Perfectly sculpted, rounded and high…he’s got to do like a thousand squats a day to get buns like that.
I clear my throat and he turns to face me. He’s holding his phone in hand, but that’s all I notice because my eyes are traveling down his chiseled torso down to the bulge in his boxers. He’s not even hard—at least I don’t think he is—but it’s still noticeable. You know how girls on the internet are always talking about men and their junk looking hot in grey sweatpants? Yeah, take that and multiply it be five-hundred and that’s Austin in the boxers.
His massive muscular thighs are nearly stretching those boxers to their limit. Good Lord, this man is beautiful.
“Morning,” he says. The rough sound of his voice feels intimate, like the kind of thing only a lover would know.
I quickly bring my eyes back to his face, embarrassed that he caught me blatantly ogling his body. Though I can’t imagine that’s all that unusual for a man who looks like him.
“We have a bit of an issue. Have you seen your phone?”
I shake my head, then wince—because—fuck, that hurt. “I don’t even know where it is.” I head to my purse, which I found slung onto the built-in desk. I grab pain reliever first, then my phone. I pop two pills, then hand two to Austin.
“Thanks.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I think we got married.”
I choke on the pills and run back to the bathroom for more water. Several minutes pass before I’m no longer wheezing and I find Austin standing at the bathroom door. Another thing that feels too intimate.
“I’m sorry…can you repeat that?”
He turns the screen of his phone to me, showing me in social media accounts. He’s been tagged, as have I, in a picture of us, standing in a chapel looking goofy and happy. There’s another picture of us kissing. And another of him holding me, bride-style in his arms.
My stomach churns and I slap my hand over my mouth.
“You going to be sick?”
I shake my head. “I just need a greasy breakfast and I’ll be fine.” I breathe in through my nose and out my mouth several times. Then I start to pace. “Okay, so we should be able to clear this up. We’ll find the chapel and undo everything. We can do that, right?” I turn to face him and he’s staring at my ass. “Austin! Focus.”
“I’m sorry, but you look so fucking good in my shirt.”
I want to ask him if he really thinks that, but judging from the tenting that’s happening at the front of his boxers, I’m guessing he does. Is he actually attracted to me or is this just some weird side-effect of the tequila, our sorta marriage and me wearing his shirt? I don’t know and it doesn’t matter. The two of us don’t belong together.
“We can go to the chapel, yes,” he says. “But I don’t know if that will be the end of it.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “And why is that?”
“Because it looks like the whole damn town of Cherry Falls has logged in and commented on the pictures, congratulating us.”
I shake my head, trying to make sense of everything. “What does that mean?”
“It means that for the moment, I’m your husband and you’re my wife and all of our friends and family and co-workers know it.”
It’s at that precise moment that his phone rings. I jump at the startling sound, then look over at his screen. MOM, it reads.
“You can’t talk to her until we figure this out.”
He nods, swipes ignore, then pockets his phone.
And for once I’m thankful that my parents are far too busy worrying about important things like keeping my dad alive, and not spending time on social media.
