“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