“Oh hell,” I mutter.
“What?” Greer asks.
With the robe securely around my waist, I turn toward them, part the lapels, and flash them my boobs.
Well, my tassel-covered boobs.
A boisterous laugh falls out of Stella’s mouth and Greer leans forward for a better look. Keiko dramatically shields her eyes, but then peeks through her fingers.
When she notices the tassels, her hand drops and she says, “I’ve heard of wearing such devices on your breasts before, but never quite considered it for Kelvin.” She takes a step forward. “How do they feel? May I examine them?”
“No.” I whip my robe shut and then grip my head from the pounding pain.
“How am I supposed to make an accurate assessment of fringe pasties for your bosom if you deny me an experimental observation?” Keiko asks. Keiko is a dear friend, quirky, a tad nerdy, and incredibly socially awkward. Has zero boundaries, but we love her for it. Even if she does get on our nerves sometimes.
“Buy some, try them on, and reach your own conclusions.” I move to the living room, where I take a seat on the couch, cross one leg over the other, and then lean back against the cushions. “Honest to God, I can’t remember why I put tassels on my boobs. Or why I’m naked, for that matter. Or why I was on the entryway floor.” I smirk. “But I guess it was a good night, right, ladies?”
Stella and Greer exchange glances, while Keiko sits next to me, a little too closely, as if— “Keiko.” I swat away her hand as she attempts to sneak it into my robe. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“It’s not my fault you’ve stimulated my genius with inquisitiveness.”
“For the love of God.” I reach into my robe, pull off one tassel—oh my God, I think I ripped my nipple off—and I hand it to her. “There, go ham with it.”
Keiko examines it closely as she stands up. “I shall retreat to my quarters. Please inform me when our morning meal has arrived.”
And then she’s gone, leaving me with Greer and Stella and their concerned faces.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
My phone beeps with a text message, the sound echoing in the vast space of the living room. I glance around, spotting my phone on the end table.
“Do you not remember who we ran into last night?” Stella asks.
“Elvis?” I ask. “Uh, doesn’t everyone run into him? I kind of wish ours hadn’t smelled like onions though, because, woof. That was rough.”
“Not Elvis,” Greer says as I pick up my phone. “Who we ran into at the bar.”
I think back to last night, trying to recall what we did.
We got ready. I put on a killer emerald-green dress that was far too slutty for me; my ex would’ve had a heart attack if I wore it out with him—which was the reason why I wore it. Got to take advantage of the whole rebellious ex-wife thing. We pre-gamed in the suite with some Keiko-mixed cocktails, saw Elvis in the elevator, and went to dinner . . .
“You know, I think I ended up wearing tassels because I wasn’t wearing a bra last night. I remember saying my nipples were cold. Do you remember that?”
Stella shakes her head. “No, because you left us at the bar.”
“What?” My brow crinkles. “I didn’t leave you. That would mean I was alone last night, and . . .” A flash of a square jaw passes through my mind. “I . . . definitely . . . wasn’t . . .” Dark, piercing eyes penetrate my thoughts—oh God. “Alone.”
A deliciously dirty voice sharpens in the back of my mind.
The press of a large hand to my bare back.
The smell of a deeply masculine scent, which is engrained in my brain.
In the blink of an eye, I snap my phone off the end table and glance at the screen.
GULP.
A message.
From . . .
**Husband**
My eyes flash up to Greer and Stella as the entire night unfolds right in front of me.
Shots.
A British accent.
Bad decisions.
More bad decisions.
And then . . .
“Oh fuck,” I say quietly.
“I don’t think that was a good ‘oh fuck,’” Stella says from the corner of her mouth as both my friends stare at me.
“No, that sounded like an ‘oh fuck,’ oh fuck,” Greer says.
Stella slowly nods. “As if she did something really stupid, like get married.”
Greer chuckles. “Could you imagine? Getting married on your divorce-cation.” She shakes her head. “No, that sounded like an ‘I stripped in front of strange men’ oh fuck.”