6. Johnny

It's the morning after I apparently got hitched, and I'm studying the man on my floor. The one I woke up lying next to.

"Um," he says. He's super cute and kind of familiar—familiar beyond whatever happened last night, that is. He also looks hungover, with a gray tinge to his skin, his hair rumpled, and his eyes red from booze. My fingers ache with the desire to touch him. Soothe him. Make him feel good. "I'm Kurt Delmont."

"That's right. Now I remember." I get this strange, swirly, sinking feeling in my stomach when I hold up my left hand again. "Do you think this is for real?" I try to not sound too disgusted. I don't want to offend the man. I don't even know him.

I do want him, though. I don't know how I know that, but I do.

I want him like a cold drink of water on a hot dusty day.

Flashes of the night before are coming back to me. How I started drinking at a bar and ended up partying with Kurt all night.

How he derailed my plans entirely.

Shoot. Mama.

"I have no idea what the hell happened," Kurt whispers. He winces, his hand going to his head. "Sorry, I'm pretty damn hungover." He gets up, grabbing the sheet he took with him when he fell out of bed and wrapping it around his waist. It's fine with me if he wants to preserve his modesty, but I have no problems with nudity. Obviously.

Precious man. He's so cute. No wonder I wanted to keep him, if even for one night.

Guess I'm taking the "till death do us part" vow literally.

Kurt finds his tuxedo pants by the front door. After a moment's searching, he comes up with a pair of black boxer briefs and slips them on. I crawl out of bed, not bothering to cover up—although my morning wood's wishing us all a good day—so I can rustle up my own clothes.

I've got a feeling Kurt's fixed an eye—or both—on me but doesn't want to admit it. A small flame of pride flickers through me. Even though I make my living based on my looks and my body, I still like the validation.

Scratching his belly and yawning, Kurt pads over to the cluttered nightstand. His behind looks real pretty in his tight boxer briefs, and I stifle a groan. He doesn't need to know I'm perving on him.

I shuffle to my suitcase and find a pair of cutoff gray sweats under my award. I slip them on. I'll spare him from being confronted with my erection, which is the size of a spruce. My body can't help its attraction to him.

Truthfully, I'm happy my body's attracted to anyone. It's been pretty much broken since The Incident.

He turns to me. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just feeling last night." While I have a headache from all the booze, I'm plenty awake now. I crack open a bottle of water and down it.

That's better.

Kurt tilts his head and fishes an official-looking piece of paper out from under my cell phone and wallet. He swallows hard and then glances at me. His morning stubble is flat-out gorgeous, and the hard angle of his jaw is so sexy, it could start bar fights. Possibly turf wars.

I join him and peer over his shoulder at the document, which says "CERTIFICATE OF MARRIAGE, CLARK COUNTY, NEVADA. This is to certify that John Huckleberry Haskell and Kurt Arden Delmont were united in marriage …"

It looks pretty darn official.

"Shoot. We're really married?" I say in wonder, touching the blue signatures on the paper.

Kurt inhales sharply and turns toward me. His bare chest is broad, although not as broad as mine. He has soft-looking skin that's asking to be kissed and caressed. Heat radiates from him, and I'm attracted to it like a lizard to a sun-warmed rock. But I can keep my hands to myself.

Especially when my husband is a virtual stranger and his mind is very obviously racing. "Yeah. I think so. Shit. What happened?"

"I think I got very drunk," I say, rubbing the back of my head.

He snorts, then flinches. "Yeah. Me, too." He leans against the table while I stare at the paper some more.

Other parts of the night come back to me in short bursts. The convention. My award. All the faces glaring at me. Going to the bar to drink away my sorrows before I?—

"Okay, I'm sure there's a way to get it annulled." Kurt taps the paper with a slim finger and interrupts my thoughts.

For some reason, his suggestion annoys me. It's irrational—after all, we don't know each other—but a rejection's a rejection.

I guess it don't matter none, though, seeing as how this is it for me. I can sign whatever he needs me to sign.

Except… I want him. My hands reach for him without my volition, but I pull them back.

"You want to do that?" I ask.

"Definitely. We can't stay married. I've got an election to win. I've thrown my hat in the ring for a Senate seat. The primary is in March, and I can't be married to a …"

He doesn't finish the sentence, but I get the gist of it. He can't be married to a porn star. That'd be bad for his image.

Kurt catches my pinched expression. "Oh my god, I'm sorry. That came out totally wrong, and it made me sound like a jerk. I didn't mean it like?—"

I hold up my hands. "Don't worry. I don't care much for politicians, either." Then I feel bad for saying it so plainly. "'Cept you, of course."

His Adam's apple bobs. "That's not what I meant. I'm not going to shame sex workers. Not at all. And I certainly don't want to shame you. I'm a fan. I think you're amazing. I just don't know you. Or, rather, I don't know who you really are."

"Not many do," I say lightly.

Ain't that the truth.

"We really can't ignore this"—he gestures at the marriage certificate—"no matter how much I might want to."

"Yep. Mama says runnin' from a problem's the best way to slam into a new problem."

Kurt keeps shifting his weight. It's adorable, actually—sweet man trying to find a way to get out of being married to li'l old me. If he was a better politician, he'd be used to saying whatever lies he needs to and hiding how he really feels. Politicians act just as much as any professional actor.

The fact that he's not doing a great job of it makes me like him more. Kurt's no liar, even if he wants to be a politician.

"I'm completely accepting of adult stars," Kurt insists. "I just don't think it works with the image I'm trying to portray. And my mom's looking at a White House run." He bites his lip and does a little dance. "You know what? I'm making a mess of this conversation, and I'm sure part of that's my fault, but another part is because I'm hungover and really need to pee. Lemme have a few minutes in the bathroom, and then can we try this again?"

I squeeze his shoulder. "Of course, darlin'."

Kurt gives me a shy smile, and his gaze lingers on my face. I have the strongest desire to lean down and kiss him, but I don't. He heads into the bathroom to put himself to rights, grabbing his tuxedo shirt on the way.

As I watch his pert butt scoot in there, I shake my head and try to remember what the heck happened last night. Other than me getting hitched to a stranger, that is.

Shit. How am I supposed to go through with my plans if I have a husband? Mama needs her money. The faster we get this here marriage annulled, the better.

A thought strikes me, and my stomach bottoms out. There's no way he'd get the money, right? Now that he's my husband? I think they have to send it to whoever I say, but I'd better be sure. The violins wail in my brain. With my heart pounding, I do a quick Google search that confirms he won't get my life insurance, but that doesn't calm my brain down much. I need to check in.

Johnny

How are you feeling this morning?

Mama

I guess I've been better, but you know that. Don't you worry about me.

Johnny

I'm always gonna worry about you.

Mama

I know, son. But we'll get the money somehow. It's not your responsibility. You already do too much for me.

Johnny

No such thing. Yeah, you'll get the money. I'll make sure of it. I love you, Mama.

Mama

I love you, too.

Kurt'll need something to settle his stomach, so I order room service. A big pot of coffee, a greasy breakfast and a healthy breakfast—I'll have whichever one he doesn't want—a big pitcher of orange juice, and some toast. Hopefully something in there will soak up the alcohol and make him feel better. While I'm hungover, I'm not as knocked out as he seems. Maybe because I've felt so bad for so long that alcohol don't matter none.

Normally, I'm saving every penny to help Mama out, but the organization in charge of the award paid for my trip, and the room came with an allowance that I haven't used. So I can afford to spoil Kurt a bit. Besides, I don't think we should go anywhere until we figure out what we're going to do next.

One thing I know for sure: A failure like me doesn't get to keep a cutie like him.