Chapter 14 Spencer Nash

It's Now or Never

The Wedding

"Right now is perfect," I confirm, and I hang up.

I went with the Elvis package—the one that sends a limousine directly to the hotel to pick us up. Why the hell not?

I fill out the form online, leaving questions I can't answer about Grace blank—for now. The chapel I chose has a service where they'll take couples in a limo to the marriage bureau so we can get our license and make it official first.

I have to close one eye to focus on what I'm typing, and I have to type two or three times, but I get my end of things filled out.

I don't have time to second-guess this decision. I'm not even sure why I stopped kissing her to tell her I'd marry her. It's wild, impulsive, and all the things I'm not.

It's nuts.

And it feels like it's the right thing to do. Filling out the digital paperwork hasn't scared me from doing it anyway. Choosing between the Elvis package and the standard one didn't, either .

She wants the vineyard. I'm dedicating my life to football for the next few years anyway. Win-win.

It's a good twenty minutes before she emerges from the bathroom, and when she does…

"Wow," I breathe quietly. "You look…stunning."

"It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress before the ceremony, but since this is more of a business deal, I think it'll be okay."

"Yeah," I murmur, and I can't take my eyes off her.

I'm staring. I know I'm staring.

But she's just so…so…so stunning.

And she's about to become my wife .

Whoa.

The word pulses a bead of anxiety in the pit of my stomach.

We'll worry about that later. A little more tequila should fix the issue. On that note, I grab the bottle from the minibar and take a healthy swig. I pass the bottle over, and she takes a swig, too.

"Ready?"

She nods. "Ready."

"Oh! Wait. I have some questions." I read off simple things I should know about the woman I'm marrying, like her middle name and birthdate , and then we're all set.

I get a text that the limo has arrived, so we stumble back downstairs and out the front door to the waiting limousine.

Never once do we stop and think maybe this is a bad idea. It only seems like a good idea. A great plan.

We're taken directly to the bureau, where we get our certificate. I stare at the paper in the back of the limo—with one eye closed, naturally—and yep…it's real.

We pull up in front of a white building with hot pink lettering, and we're ushered to the lobby, where a receptionist dressed like Lisa Marie Presley asks us a few questions, including whether we have rings to exchange.

We do not.

She sells us some, and she also sells us on an upgraded photo and video package, and then we're taken to a chapel.

In no time flat, Elvis is making it official .

"It's ‘Now or Never.' We ‘Can't Help Falling in Love,' and that's what brought you, Spencer, and you, Grace, here today. We'll begin with the vows. ‘Don't be Cruel,' and don't be a ‘Hound Dog.' Don't have ‘Suspicious Minds,' or you'll end up in ‘Heartbreak Hotel.' Got it?"

He looks at me first, and I can't help my chuckle as my eyes meet Grace's. "I do."

"‘It's ‘Now or Never,' Grace. Do you?" Elvis asks her.

She nods resolutely. "I do."

"The rings?" Elvis asks.

The witness, who happens to be Lisa Marie, hands over the two bands we just purchased a few minutes ago.

"These are a symbol of your ‘Burning Love.' Repeat after me as you place the ring on your bride's finger. With this ring, I thee wed."

I repeat the words as my eyes meet hers again. I slide the plain gold band onto her finger.

She says the words back to me as she slips the gold band on my finger, too.

"You both have got me ‘All Shook Up.' I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride," Elvis says.

"Viva Las Vegas" starts playing at full blast, and I look into her eyes before I lean forward and press my lips to hers, sealing in the commitment we just made.

It's just for the next year.

Why does a small voice in the back of my mind want it to be longer than that?

We take several photos before we walk down the aisle arm-in-arm.

"The photos will be in your email by morning, video by next week," Lisa Marie tells us, and then we get into the limo.

"Where to?" the driver asks.

I glance at my bride. "Back to the hotel, or out to dinner?"

"Dinner. And more drinks," she says with a gleam in her eye.

I nod. "You got it." I glance up at the driver. "Take us to the closest restaurant with the best food."

"Yes, sir," he says, and he takes off. We stop in front of a quaint little brick building with the name Chicago Joe's perched on top.

Chicago Joe's for our wedding feast. Sounds magical.

We each order tequila as soon as we sit, and my wife orders spaghetti and meatballs.

Neither of us stops to think that ordering a meal with red sauce when we're wearing someone else's clothes is a bad idea.

Our server points that one out. "You sure you want spaghetti in that dress?"

"Oh, right," Grace says. "Yeah, don't want all that pasta making the dress too tight."

"No…I meant the sauce."

She giggles. "Oh! Right. Okay…how about just a Caesar salad then?"

The server nods, and I order the lasagna since my tux—or Grayson's tux—is black.

The food is delicious, though it does nothing to quell the buzzing in my head. Probably because I'm adding more tequila on top of the tequila.

It's my first meal as a husband.

I'm married now.

Reality hasn't hit me yet. I don't know whether it'll hit me at all—at least not until morning, when the buzzing is replaced by a headache.

We laugh all through dinner as we reminisce about the wedding that literally happened twenty minutes ago. Patrons of the restaurant congratulate us constantly, and someone at some point recognizes me. I sign autographs, and Grace does, too. She signs Grace Nash .

Grace Nash.

That's my wife.

Holy shit.

We somehow make it back to the hotel, but don't ask me how, and we arrive back in my room. Again, don't ask me how. I'm drunk and horny, and the loopiness of the Benadryl has started to dissipate, though the tequila is keeping my buzz fresh .

And now that the loopiness has subsided…I want to fuck my wife.

It's been a long time since I've had sex.

Too long.

Maybe it's the tequila talking, but it's been talking all night, and it's been doing a damn fine job making decisions for me.

"I should hang this dress back up," she says softly.

"Let me help you out of it."

She turns around, and I tug on the zipper, every centimeter exposing more of the smooth skin of her back.

I have the urge to taste it, and I do. I bend down and drag my lips along the path of the zipper, and she shivers.

The dress falls in a pool around her feet, and she spins around. She's not wearing a bra, just a pair of lacy white panties, and her breasts are exposed to me.

My dick is immediately hard.

Holy hell, this woman is gorgeous. I don't know how I never really acknowledged that before.

And, for the next year…she's my wife.

She presses her chest to my still tuxedo-clad body, and I wrap my arms around her as my mouth crashes to hers. I kiss her like my life depends on it, and how have we only done this once before? It's like our mouths were made for each other. I can only imagine our bodies will feel that way, too.

She pulls back. "Give me one sec, okay?"

I nod, and she rushes toward the bathroom. She emerges a beat later, the veil that was in her hair no longer there.

"I'll take a second in there, too," I say, and she nods as I head toward the bathroom.

I strip out of the tux and my boxers down to nothing, and when I return to the bedroom, the lights are off and my bride is wearing one of my San Diego Storm T-shirts…and she's fast asleep. Or passed out. Either way, sex is off the table.

I climb into bed beside her, not discounting the possibility of morning sex with my wife, and pass out beside her.