Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

Blakely

“ Stop, ” I mumble into the pillow.

Instead of stopping, the phone begins ringing again. The sound pierces the air … and my skull.

My eyes are too heavy to open. A massive headache splits my head as I attempt to wake up—a headache so intense and painful that a shot of puke comes up my throat.

My mouth tastes awful. The air leaving my lungs is hot, and I smell … tequila ?

The ringing starts all over again.

I pull the pillow over my ears, desperate for the sound to stop.

It takes more effort than I’ve ever used to open my eyes, but somehow I pry the lids apart. I peek into the dark, cool room. What a relief. It must still be night. I’ll just go back to sleep.

My weight shifts as I curl one leg toward me. A warm, sticky liquid pools around my ass. In the haze of the migraine, and tequila, apparently, I try to make sense of the situation.

The phone begins to chirp. And again. And again. And again. Then it starts to ring. Again .

But this time, the pillow helps.

I’ll deal with all of this in the morning. It’s probably just some fuckhead from work thinking it’s cute to tell me happy birthday before anyone else.

I drift off into a sweet, comfortable slumber. But I can’t be asleep for more than a minute when the door flies open and slams into the wall. I jump, my heart going too quickly from sleep mode to speed mode , and I gag.

I’m never drinking tequila again.

“Get up!” Brock’s voice booms through the room. “Now!”

Lights turn on. Despite my closed eyes, they’re still too bright. The curtains are yanked apart, and the button is pushed that opens the space to the atrium. Bright sunlight floods the bedroom.

“Stop yelling,” I mumble, rolling over. “Turn the lights off.”

“Um, Blakely? You probably need to get up right now, friend.” Ella’s voice is soft and at head level.

I squint open one eye and see her pretty face. “No. I’m good.” I close it again.

“Blake …” Ella takes my hand and pats it with hers. “Come on. You need to wake up.”

I whine, straightening my legs. The warm stickiness sloshes around me. Fuck. What is that?

The phone starts ringing again . This time, it’s followed by another one.

“Oh my gosh,” I say, wincing with pain. “Turn that thing off.”

“They’re going to keep ringing until you two wake the fuck up and deal with this,” Brock says, his voice ten decibels too loud.

I groan, reaching behind me and pushing Ella away. My hand touches her. Wait .

I still. The fog begins to roll away, and reality starts to float in.

Ella is right in front of me . I squint again. This time, I see the knowing concern on her face. And Ella doesn’t have a dick .

Slowly, I withdraw my hand from what has to be a morning hard-on. Even more carefully, I open both eyes.

Ella stands. Her hair is a mess and she’s in Brock’s T-shirt.

My brother stands in a pair of boxers by the foot of the bed, looking like he’s ready to rip someone apart limb by limb.

So if they’re there, then …

Oh no.

I struggle to sit up. Ella loops an arm under my shoulder and helps me upright. The room ripples like we’re on a boat, but I distinctly remember we’re in Vegas.

With Renn.

My gaze drops to the bed beside me.

What. The. Actual. Hell. Happened. Here?

Renn lies beside me, completely oblivious to the situation unfolding.

“B—” Brock starts.

I hold up one finger. “I need a minute. Please.”

Ella whispers something to my brother. I, on the other hand, try to piece together what happened.

A bandage covers the skin above Renn’s left nipple. My shirt is draped over the lamp on Renn’s side of the bed. Clothes are strewn everywhere.

A trucker hat with Sudoku Champ written on the front sits on top of a giant stuffed llama smoking a cigar in the corner.

The chair by the bathroom door is turned on its side. But what’s most curious, and concerning, is what appears to be the imprint of two palms and two breasts against the window. In chocolate .

My stomach sloshes, the contents burning my insides. I’m going to throw up.

I nudge Renn as the phones begin again. “Hey.” I shove him again—this time, with both hands.

He moves, groaning like he’s in the same pain as I am.

My brain scrambles to put the pieces of last night together. What the hell happened ? I glance down at Renn’s body and spot the waistband of his briefs. Did that happen ?

At the mere suggestion that Renn and I had sex last night, my body fires off a set of internal explosions. Are they in celebration? Is it some kind of foreshadowing of what my life will be like now? Is it cueing the police lights that might appear once Brock gets his hands on Renn?

“I think you need to get up,” I say, noting a container full of melted ice cream and two spoons between us. Well, that’s one thing explained.

“You might want to put your whole boob back in your bra,” Ella says, pointing at me.

I look down and find half of my chest poking out the side. It’s no more than would be visible in a bikini, but I suspect we aren’t about to have a lighthearted, poolside-worthy conversation.

Renn runs his hands over his face. “What the fuck is happening?”

He sits up, pissed. But the anger quickly melts into confusion, and maybe a little fear , as the situation surrounding him sinks in.

“ Dammit ,” he says, swiping his phone off the bedside table. “Who keeps calling? My head is killing me.”

He pushes the red button … and then freezes. His jaw hangs open as he squints at the screen.

“ Yeah, motherfucker ,” Brock says, practically trembling in anger.

Ella grabs his arm and steadies me with a slight nod.

I cover my mouth as the taste of alcohol creeps up my throat again.

“Oh shit,” Renn hisses. “ Oh. Shit .”

“What?” I drop my hand, irritation getting the best of me. “What did you do now?”

He looks at me in disbelief. Slowly, his head turns to our friends. “Just … I need you to hang on.”

“Too fucking bad,” Brock says through clenched teeth.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” I rip the blankets off me. At the sight of my naked bottom half, I cover right back up. Oof. “Um … Well, that’s a … shocker.”

“Do you think this is funny, Blakely?” Brock asks, making it super clear he’s not amused. “Because if you do, I’ll let you deal with the fallout.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Ella disappears into the bathroom and comes back with my satin pink robe. “Here.” She helps me get out of bed and into the robe without showing everyone my ass.

Renn clears his throat. “Well, this is one hell of a way to wake up.”

I take a deep breath, holding my forehead and squeezing.

Nothing makes sense.

Brock’s anger. The repeated phone calls. The ice cream in bed.

The fact that Renn is in my bed. Practically naked.

How did that happen ?

“Look,” I say, tying the robe around my waist. My face flushes. “I don’t know what happened last night, but I feel like absolute shit. I need to go back to sleep.”

“You have to be kidding me,” Brock says.

I throw my hands in the air. “Listen, I’m as surprised as you are that I apparently, maybe …” I glance at a startled Renn over my shoulder. “Had sex with Renn last night.” I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth . I pivot back toward my brother. “But if I chose to do that, it’s really none of your business, and I’d appreciate you returning to your room so I can go to the bathroom and puke my guts out alone.”

“Blakely …” Ella says.

“ You can stay.”

Renn rips the blankets off him. His hair is wild, like it’s been pulled and twisted all night. He has the same melted ice cream covering his side, groin, and shoulder as I do. Aside from the bandage on his chest, there’s a red streak down his abdomen.

I glance down at my nails.

“It can’t be real,” Renn says, eyeing my brother. “Let’s all just calm down.”

“Oh, it’s real,” Ella says. “The media got a copy of the papers this morning.”

Renn’s eyes shoot open. “ What ?”

I sigh as a shot of pain flames behind my temples. “Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

“ Blakely —” Ella begins.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Brock yells at me, a vein in his throat popping out. “Do you have any fucking clue what you’ve just gotten yourself into?”

“Don’t yell at my wife like that!” Renn shouts back at him.

What ?

“Too soon?” Renn asks, the words leaving his lips just as Brock launches himself at Renn.

Ella grabs my arm, pulling me toward the bathroom door.

Renn sidesteps Brock as he comes hurling over the corner of the bed. Brock gets an arm hooked around Renn’s head, bringing him down with him on top of the bedside table.

Wood splits. The lamp breaks. My shirt flies across the room like a frisbee, landing on the back of the llama.

The guys fall to the floor.

I press a palm between my eyes. “ Will you knock it off ?”

Renn has one knee in the middle of Brock’s chest. The other is on the floor. They both pant while watching each other like they’re about to commit murder.

“I’m going to let you up, and you’re going to calm the fuck down. Got it?” Renn asks before slowly lifting himself off my brother.

Brock isn’t on his feet before he swings at Renn. Renn sees it coming and leans into it, taking the punch to the side of the head. As they collide, Renn’s face smashes against Brock’s. Blood trickles down my brother’s face.

Renn grinds his face against Brock’s. “Stop it. Do you hear me? Stop it .” With a final shove, Renn steps back.

“Do you think they’ll stop?” Ella asks.

I start to shake my head, but it hurts too much. “Nope.”

Brock’s chest heaves as he glares at Renn. Blood pours from his nose. He brings a hand to his face and then pulls it back, looking at his crimson-stained fingers.

He lifts his eyes to Renn again, letting the drips fall to the floor. “You know what?”

“What?” Renn asks, his phone ringing from somewhere behind Brock.

“ Fuck you .”

Brock tackles Renn again, knocking them both to the bed. They’re too close to punch each other, thank God , and too evenly matched to do too much damage. Renn almost has Brock mounted when he throws him off. They land side by side in the middle of the bed—Brock wiping the blood off his face—and then ice cream from his chest—and Renn coughing.The entire scene is hilarious … or it would be if it made sense.

“That could’ve been hot,” Ella says, assessing the two of them.

“Really, El?”

Pillows are everywhere. The blankets are on the floor and the sheet is ripped off. The lamp on the other side of the bed, the one not broken, sits perilously close to the table’s edge.

“Are you two done?” I ask.

“I’m done if he’s done,” Renn says, gasping for breath. He turns his head toward Brock.

Brock’s chest heaves as he struggles to breathe.

They sit up. Blood and melted ice cream coat them both. A spoon is stuck to the side of Brock’s head. It falls to the mattress with a thud.

They look at one another, taking in the mess, and burst out laughing.

“Can someone please, for the love of God, explain to me what’s going on?” I ask as they get to their feet. “Why are we fighting first thing in the morning?”

Brock looks at Renn. He looks at Ella. Ella glares at them both before turning to me.

“You married Renn last night,” she says flatly.

I what?

The smile slides off Brock’s face.

I half laugh. “What? I married Renn ?” My heart pounds. “No, I didn’t. What are you talking about?”

Ella hands me her phone. An article from Expose?, a tabloid that has almost transformed its image into a real news source, is on the screen.

My stomach drops.

I take the phone in my shaky hands.

A photo of Renn and me from last night—me in my silver dress and him in the Sudoku Champ hat—appears under a big, bold headline.

Breaking News: Rugby’s bad boy marries his best friend’s little sister

My gaze snaps to Renn’s.

“Blakely, I don’t know …” he says.

I go back to the article.

File this under—we didn’t see this coming.

Our sources confirm that the Tennessee Royals own Renn Brewer married friend and teammate Brock Evans’s sister last night in a surprise Vegas wedding. Witnesses say the rugby phenom and his fiancée stood in line with other couples eager to get their marriage licenses. Afterward, they made their way to King and Bling Chapel and said their I do’s . This is a developing story. We will keep you posted.

“ Oh my God, ” I say, almost dropping the phone. My hand shakes as I hand it back to Ella. “That … can’t be right. We didn’t …” I look at a half-naked Renn. “I wouldn’t …”

I mean, I would, but not marriage . Marriage? Marriage ?

There’s no way.

I shuffle to the bed and sit on the edge.

“There are pictures,” Ella says. “If it helps, you look beautiful.”

“No, that doesn’t help.” I look up at her. “Who lets two inebriated individuals get married?”

“The State of Nevada.” Brock comes out of the bathroom with a towel. He throws one to Renn a little harder than necessary. “You are legally married. I had my lawyer check to be sure before I came up.”

Renn’s phone rings again. He plucks it out of the heap of sheets and cracked wood, sighing as he looks at the caller.

“Why don’t you take that? I need a few minutes alone,” I say, finding it hard to breathe.

He wipes the towel down the side of his face. “Okay. I’ll be back, and we’ll figure this out.”

I nod.

He walks by me, pausing to grab my shoulder for a moment. The look he gives me—like he’s as bamboozled by this news as me—helps.

I look at Ella. “Could you get me something for this headache? And could you,” I say to Brock, “leave me alone for a little while? I need to … think.”

Brock doesn’t look pleased but appears slightly less angry than before. I’ll take it .

They form a line and leave the room, Ella shutting the door softly behind her.

I head to the bathroom to throw up.