Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

PAYTON

LAS VEGAS

A n incessant ringing woke me up. But even half-asleep, I recognized that the noise wasn't coming from my phone. I had a very particular ringtone (thank you, Adele).

What the hell?

I blinked and opened my eyes, but they were so dry that everything in front of me was a blur.

Flashes of last night reverberated in my head. Vegas. The Wayward Lane World Tour announcement. Getting the boys in the band styled for their concert. The party. The after party. The many, many shots. Cocktails. More shots. Something called a Porn Star that was deliciously sweet at first taste and then horribly sickening afterward. Thinking about hard liquor and whipped cream had my stomach doing dangerous somersaults. I hoped like hell that I wouldn't throw up.

Then I realized it wasn't just a phone ringing. It was my ears. My head was throbbing. Like someone had taken my flat iron, turned it to the highest heat setting, and was poking me in the head with it.

"Lord, I'm never having shots again," I groaned and slapped my hands over my face. "Ow, that hurts."

I startled when I felt the cool brush of metal against my skin. That was weird. I never wore jewelry to bed. Unless it was a bedazzled thong. Hey, don't judge. I have a spectacular ass and it deserves to be showcased.

The phone stopped ringing. Thank God.

I sighed and closed my eyes again—until I heard another noise. It sounded like someone snoring. Oh, shit. I hated sleepovers with the men I fucked. Detested them, actually. I'd had too many of them tell me the next day that I was a mistake. Oh, it was fine to fuck me, but if I wanted more, like an actual date, forget it. I was too much. Too loud. Too flirtatious. Too femme. Too everything. I'd heard it all, and I'd grown so tired of that bullshit. Now I hooked up at clubs and that was it.

At twenty-nine, this boy was done looking for love. And the only man I allowed in my home, or my bed, was my cat, Finnigan.

Until today. Turning my head, I blinked again and sure enough, there was a massive man in my bed. He was lying on his stomach, facing away from me, so all I could see was a broad back. And the very large eagle tattoo that covered it.

Fuck, a bear of a man was my total weakness. So, no surprise why I'd invited—whoever this was—back to my hotel.

Last night, despite the party and being surrounded by tons of people, loneliness set in. Watching all the loved-up couples around me at work got me wondering, why them and not me?

Sighing at my silliness, I turned my attention back to the man beside me. Whoever he was, he had nice hair. A rich chestnut color that was all natural. Of course, I noticed. As a hairstylist, it was always the first thing that caught my attention. His hair was thick and short. Nothing fancy style-wise, but long enough to get a good grip. The color and texture reminded me of someone, but with my ass-kicking hangover, I couldn't recall who.

Something else was odd. Even though this ripped guy was in my bed, I couldn't remember having sex with him. And my body didn't have the usual morning-after aches that came with a hard dicking down. I pulled back the white sheet and glanced down. No love bites, nothing. And I still had my fuchsia silk panties on. Maybe we'd both passed out before anything happened? Oh jeez, things were gonna be awkward as fuck when he woke up. Then again, I'd had a lot to drink last night, and I realized that things could have ended up much worse.

I ran my hands up over my face again and gasped when I noticed the ring on my hand. Wearing rings was unusual for me. Given my job, I tended to stick to necklaces and earrings, leaving my hands free from tangling up in my clients' tresses.

Then I noticed that the ring was on my left hand. On my fourth finger. Slowly, I turned my hand around and I jolted when a blush-pink oval gem winked back at me.

Gorgeous was my first thought. Then, it can't be real. I must be dreaming . I closed my eyes again, but when I opened them a second later, the ring was still there. Still stunning. Still on my fourth finger…

Don't panic.

Maybe I went midnight shopping? Plenty of jewelry stores in Vegas were open all night. That had to be it. Pink was my favorite color and I'd wanted to treat myself. That was the logical explanation.

Until the man lying beside me rolled over.

"What the fuck?" I blurted out. " Lennie ?!"

Lennie Rizzoli was the lead bodyguard for Wayward Lane. He was an intense guy with a rare smile and a strong presence that demanded attention. A man I'd flirted with for more than a year, to no avail. He was a private person and totally dedicated to his job. Which I respected, though his reserve had only piqued my curiosity. But after a while, I realized my flirting would go nowhere. Still, it didn't stop me from trying. And the normally stealthy man often fumbled around me. It was charming, and I couldn't resist teasing him.

But this morning—at least, I assumed it was morning—I wasn't in the mood for jokes.

"Lennie!" I hissed, pushing at his shoulder, trying to wake him up.

Suddenly, Lennie's bulky arm wrapped around me like a python, pulling me in tight to his body. Normally, I would have said ‘ fuck yes ' to that kind of move and pounced on the man, but the ring on my finger had me freaked out.

"Go back to sleep, Angel," he muttered and snuggled his face into the crook of my neck, his scruff setting off fireworks along my sensitive skin.

Angel ? My heart took off racing, and that wasn't helping matters at all.

God, not only was this man hot as hell, but he smelled good, too. No fancy cologne. Just a hint of sweat and musk, delicious. The sheet slid away, and I looked down, catching a glimpse of the curve of his taut ass cheek. Lord have mercy, he was finer than I'd imagined. And I had a damn good imagination.

Stop it, Payton. Now's not the time to think with your dick. Ask him about the ring.

"Lennie, wake up!" I pushed at him, and he finally, reluctantly, let go of me.

When his baby blues opened, shock and something headier flashed between us. An intense heat that had me swallowing hard. Either that or it was the effects of my hangover…

I held my hand up.

"What happened last night?" I asked as I pointed to the ring. "What is this ?"

"Uh, I don't…I don't know?" Lennie shook his head and then slowly sat up.

The sheet bunched around his hips, revealing a furry chest and a set of washboard abs that deserved ALL the attention. Despite my raging headache, my morning wood was now in full effect. Oh God.

"How did you end up here? What the hell is going on?" I asked again.

Lennie didn't reply, but slowly lifted his left hand. There was a thick platinum band on his fourth finger.

"Oh, fuck," he whispered, his face turning red. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Did you and me, did we?—"

The phone rang again. Not mine.

"Shit, that could be work," he whispered and turned over, reaching for the nightstand.

He tapped on his phone but didn't take the call. More tapping, typing. When he stood up, the sheet fell away, and I bit back a dirty groan. His round ass was right there in front of me, so tempting, so biteable.

"Payton, what did you do?" He grumbled.

"Me?" I yanked on the top sheet, wrapped it around my hips, and slid off the bed. "What did you do?"

Lennie turned around to face me, all six-foot-three of him, and the full frontal was as delectable as the back view.

"Have mercy," I whispered as I stared at his long cock, half hard.

His raspy ‘ Jesus ' had me looking up at his face. Cheeks flushed, Lennie reached for a pillow and placed it in front of his hips. I stifled a laugh at the picture he made. Still adorably shy for a man who worked with rockstars.

"Seriously, Payton?" His tone was gruff, but I didn't miss the way his eyes gave me a long once-over.

I was slender and pale compared to him, but I was pretty damn fine, if I do say so myself. And the way he was looking at me, I was tempted to say fuck it, and throw the sheet away. But, for once, I reined in my naughty impulse.

Then he held his phone up in front of my face. A welcome distraction.

"Apparently, we got married at the Chapel of Everlasting Love last night."

"What?!"

He sighed. "Then, you got a hold of my phone and texted everyone I know. My family, colleagues, friends. And you posted pictures of our wedding on all your socials."

"No. No, that can't be true," I whispered as he passed me his phone. "I don't remember doing any of that."

But there we were, in full color. Me and Lennie kissing, standing at a makeshift altar with gold streamers, our arms wrapped around each other. Shit, we looked hot together. I was several inches shorter, and blond to his dark.

I wondered if he was a good kisser. Judging by the way I was about to climb his body in that photo, I'd say yes.

I read the text message that accompanied the photo. The message was sent to Mom. Holy shit, I'd texted Lennie's mom!

Lennie: I'm Payton, Lennie's hubbbiiiieeee. We're marrrrrrriiiiieed!!!! Loookie!

"Oh. My. God. How did this happen?" I squeaked.

"You were downing shots at the after-party like it was spring break!"

"Don't yell!" I shouted, making my head throb even harder. Then another memory flashed in my head. "And hey, I wasn't the only one. You were drinking along with me!"

"Jesus, I'm never doing that again."

"Fuck," I blurted out, running a hand through my curls. "But how did we end up getting to, you know, that?—"

I pointed to his hand, unable to say the word.

"Married?" Lennie stated with a raised eyebrow. "Right now, I have no freaking idea. But I have a feeling that by tracking my phone, texting Valen, and getting much-needed coffee, it'll eventually come to me."

"We can fix this," I insisted. "Or maybe it didn't happen at all? Maybe we bought cheap rings and posed as a joke?"

Lennie took his phone again and tapped on it. Then he showed me another picture. It was me and Len, signing what looked to be a marriage certificate. Both of us glassy-eyed, with ridiculous grins on our faces. Holy hell.

"Ah, shit!" Lennie exclaimed and sat down on the bed.

"What?"

"The chapel. I remembered. That's where Brodie and Van got married. I must've overheard Regan or Dawson talk about it."

Regan was Lennie's boss, and Dawson was his former colleague. Dawson was now married to Wayward guitarist, Iain Holloway.

Lennie's phone rang again. ‘ Mom ' flashed on the screen.

"I'll leave you to that," I suggested, all but running to the bathroom, the sheet around my waist. "Shower first. Then we need to find a divorce lawyer."

"The sooner the better."

I whirled around at the last minute."But I'm keeping the ring!"