I wake up to the pounding in my head, sunlight stabs through the curtains, making it worse. I squint, forcing my eyes open, trying to piece together where I am...and more importantly, how I got here. The first thing I notice: clothes scattered across the floor, half-empty glasses on the nightstand, rose petals littered across the carpet, a bouquet tossed aside and this definitely isn’t my hotel suite.

I jolt upright. Documents are strewn across the room like confetti. Then I hear it—a soft snore beside me. I turn. There’s a girl half on, half off the bed, makeup smudged, lips slightly parted, completely and utterly bare for me.

Damn.

I instinctively lift the blanket. I’m just as bare, of course. A small smirk appears on my face as I see that my body’s not even pretending to be subtle about it—morning glory in full bloom. I look away, catching sight of an open box of condoms on the nightstand, next to it, a document.

Why are there so many?

As I reach for one, something catches my eye. A ring, on my left hand.

Oh no.

“Fuck,” I mutter, barely breathing the word.

I glance back at you, searching your hand like I’m hoping to find nothing—but there it is. A matching ring.

What the hell happened last night?

I was in Vegas for my buddy’s bachelor party. We hit a strip club. Got way too drunk. After that…it’s a blur. I remember flashes: some guy dressed like a priest, exchanging rings, a tattoo artist, this suite. Then—blank. None of it makes sense. The order’s all wrong. Or maybe I am.

You stir, your eyes blink open while I try to keep mine above your shoulders as you groan and sit up.

“Morning,” I say, voice hoarse. No idea why I sound so calm. I’m anything but.