One Wild Night A Forever Wild Novella Magan Vernon Text copyright © 2013 by Magan Vernon Smashwords Edition All rights reserved www.maganvernon.com This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form by or any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author. For information visit www.maganvernon.com Summary: One Wild Night can change everything. Valerie Wilder doesn't do serious relationships. She also doesn't usually wake up in Vegas next to a male stripper....A male stripper who happens to be her new husband. A quickie divorce seems like the answer, but the Nevada legal system doesn't think so. When her new husband suggests flying back to Chicago with Valerie she accepts, wondering if one night in Vegas could turn into something much more. First Edition, December 2013 Cover Design by Ashley Poston Cover photo by K Keeton Designs http://www.kkeetondesigns.com/ Cover models: Walter Veale and Suzanne Patterson-Smith Edited by Red Road Editing Other Books by Magan Vernon

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My Paper Heart Life, Love, & Lemons The Only Exception The Only One The First Night A Few Hours Earlier Another Hour Later Back To The Present An Hour Later Thirty Minutes Later A Few Hours Later Half An Hour Later The Next Day The Next Morning A Few Hours Later Leave a Good Reads Review More Valerie & Wes About Magan Vernon

The First Night If my pounding headache wasn’t enough to wake me, then the shifting on the other side of my bed was. Shit. How much did I have to drink? I hadn’t hooked up with a random since college and now I could feel whoever it was moving. I guess that’s what happens when your work sends you to a conference in Vegas and your co-workers convince you to go to a strip club. I wondered if that’s where I picked him up. If it was, I hoped he was at least hot because I didn’t remember a damn thing from the night before. Slowly, I opened my eyes and turned toward the other side of my bed. Damn. For being a Vegas hook-up he was about a hundred shades of sexy. The random was on his back with his arms propped up behind his head. They weren’t veined and overly muscular like the guys in magazines, but lean and cut like a guy who knew his way around a gym and probably a woman’s body. God I hoped those arms were all over me. My eyes trailed down from his arms to the hoops in his nipples. I always thought pierced nipples were meant for drunk college girls, but this guy with his toned pecs had me rethinking it.

He moaned, turning to his side before he opened his eyes—a gorgeous set of green ones that could have lit up the whole freaking Vegas strip. Blond spiky hair and green eyes, it was a freaking wet dream. “Mornin’, Valerie,” he said, taking in a deep breath and stretching out his arms. An accent. The guy had a southern accent. I was about to turn into a panting teenage girl right there. “Uh, morning.” I blinked. Shit. I had a tanned God of a man lying next to me and I had to be a hot mess with my makeup on from the night before and my breath, which had to reek like ass, since it sure tasted like it did. And I also had absolutely no idea what his name was. “Last night was something else,” he said, sitting up and dropping the blanket. It stopped where his amazing abs ended and there was definitely not any sort of underwear line. He was naked. In my bed. “Definitely.” I sat up, trying to appear confident, but there was no way my body looked half as good as his, so I kept the blanket over my giant boobs. “Want to get breakfast?” He was grinning from ear to ear with his green eyes locked on me. Wasn’t this the moment in which he tried to get out of my bed as quickly as possible? That’s what most random hook ups did. At least, that’s what mine did. Guys didn’t mind screwing me, but to be seen with the curvy chick? Nuh-uh. “No, that’s cool. You can go ...um ... home?” I arched an eyebrow. I wasn’t sure if he was another person there on business or something. He could have worked at the casino for all I knew. He crept over to my side of the bed and I gasped as he lifted the blanket up before he slowly straddled my hips with his toned thighs. I was surprised at how hard his body was yet smooth at the same time. His cock was pressed practically against my belly button and ready to go. “Now, darlin’, why would I leave when I have my beautiful bride in bed with me?”

A Few Hours Earlier... Vegas. Whose idea was it to get a bunch of PR people together in Sin City? “SHOTS!” Abigail Lewis, my supposed mentor, came to the table with another round of Kamikaze shots. She said we deserved it after being cooped up in a conference room all day, strategizing with a bunch of suits. I think she just wanted to spend all our daily meal allowance money on alcohol. “Abbi, you’re going to give us all a wicked-ass hangover for tomorrow’s meetings.” Pam Rodgers grabbed a shot off the tray as Abbi took the seat next to me at the tiny table. “Whatever, you’re only four years out of college. You should still be able to hold your own.” Abbi handed me the other shot glass on the tray. “And you’re not even a year out, Wilder, so drink, bitch and stop acting like a twenty-two year old pussy.” “You know it’s serious when you start calling me by my last name like this is some sort of sporting event.” I laughed and stared down at the swirling liquid in the glass. Abbi put her glass up for a toast. “This is some serious shit, ladies. I got us tickets to the Rock Hard Abs of Vegas contest and we need to down these and get our asses to the strip club.” “Seriously?” I asked. “Serious as hell, lady. Now drink!”

We all clinked our glasses together and then drank. It burned all the way down, and Abbi’s words gave me another surge of adrenaline. Rock Hard Abs of Vegas? How could I say no to that?

*** The room was packed, shoulder to shoulder with women. Mostly cougars who were wearing spandex and yelling at the top of their lungs. We all stood on a platform and below was a small stage with bright lights shining down on the words “Third Annual Rock Hard Abs of Vegas.” I didn’t exactly mind going out and ogling hot men. I wasn’t hoping to hook up in Vegas, anyway. I didn’t get out that much and had even fewer random flings. It’s not like I could afford the bar prices back home in Chicago, either. Entry-level PR jobs didn’t exactly pay well. But at least my company sent me to Vegas for the convention and hooked me up with a sweet hotel room. I wouldn’t have the money for a real vacation for a while and if they were going to have me working sixty-hour weeks, then I deserved to at least have some fun. “I got us more drinks!” Pam yelled, squeezing in between me and Abbi and handing us each a plastic cup filled with too much ice and some orange liquid. “What is this?” I asked. I had to practically scream in her ear. The music was blaring and the cougars were so loud I thought I might have burst an eardrum. “He called it an Orange Tease.” Pam took a tiny sip of her drink. “Honestly, the dude was wearing nothing but leather chaps and a cowboy hat so I would have taken anything he gave me.” I took a big gulp of mine. There was barely a burn to it and it tasted more like a Capri Sun than something alcoholic. I had to be careful or I could easily end up trying to go home with one of the guys on stage. “How did you land these tickets anyway?” I yelled to Abbi. The music was so loud I had a feeling I’d be hoarse by the end of the night. “The company that puts this on is one of my clients,” she said and leaned over, obviously talking to me though her eyes were on the stage below. “So jealous,” I replied and took another big gulp of my drink I’d been working at the PR firm exactly nine months and in that time my clients had been limited to either helping out Abbi when she was overwhelmed with her spastic gym owners who wanted their photos even more airbrushed, or fielding random calls from taxi cab drivers wanted to improve their image. Nothing like Vegas contests. Maybe once I had a few more years under my belt. “You’ll get these bigger clients someday, but for now just enjoy the ride,” Pam yelled. “Yeah, and you get to be single in the city. I’d kill to be able to ogle all of these men without comparing them to my husband’s saggy ass,” Abbi added. “Tell me about it. Chris and the kids Facetimed me this morning and they were all still in their ratty pajamas at ten. Nothing like these fine specimens,” Pam yelled. I looked down to where their eyes trailed and saw a guy walk into the middle of the room wearing nothing but a bow tie and a black Speedo with “Ringmaster” scrolled on his ass. And he had the body to pull off the outfit. Tattoos snaked down his toned arms and the words “Live and Let Die” were scrawled across his toned chest. I wasn’t much for a lot of tattoos on a guy, but with his body he could have done anything he wanted.

The lights lowered, along with the music and a spotlight shone on the guy’s toned abs that definitely were not Photoshopped. “Hello, women of Vegas!” he called into the microphone, a hint of a British accent in his voice, which made Abbi and Pam swoon like two girls at a boy band concert. “Tonight we have gathered some of the most abilicious men in Vegas for your viewing pleasure. They will be scored based on their looks, performance, and biggest crowd pleaser.” The guy walked in a small circle and then stopped, with a big smile on his face aimed right in our direction. “But to judge this, we need a few women who will help us tally up the scores. Do I have any volunteers?” Every woman in the crowd raised their hand, hooting and hollering. The guy walked around, still smiling with his fingers tapping his chin, making a big show of it. He did it for about thirty seconds until he stopped in front of us again. “How about you three up in front? Want to pick the hardest abs in Vegas?” “Hell yeah!” Pam cupped her hands together like a megaphone and yelled down to him. “Then get your fine asses down here!” Pam took my hand and I took Abbi’s, following her down a small staircase to the center stage. “Your client?” I whispered to Abbi. “The very one,” she said with a big grin. Once we were standing next to the announcer I was finally able to get a good look at the guy and I was not disappointed by how tiny his Speedo really was and how little it left to the imagination. “And what’s your name, love?” He pushed the microphone in my face. “I’m Valerie.” “Valerie, like the song?” He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah.” “And are you here on business or pleasure?” “Business.” He smiled, taking a tube of lipstick that a woman in a bikini handed him. “Okay, Valerie, then we will make this all business.” He handed me the bright red lipstick. “You and your friends will help judge each man by writing their score, from one to ten, on their abs. You can base it off crowd response or whatever tickles your fancy the most. Sound good?” “Definitely,” I said with a big grin on my face. I couldn’t contain my excitement. It wasn’t every day I got asked to judge a contest. Especially not a contest that involved lipstick and abs. The crowd cheered and the guy laughed before taking the microphone back. “Okay then, ladies, without further ado, let’s get to our first contestant. Born and bred in the south, but dancing his way through the desert nights is Wild, Wild, Wes.” The guy ushered us to the side of the stage while the lights dimmed and the music picked up. I recognized the familiar ‘dum-de-de-dum, de-de-dum-de-de-dum, de-daa-daaaaaa’ from the beginning of ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.’ I couldn’t help but laugh at the gimmickiness of it all, but my laughter quickly stopped when the song got going and out from the corner of the stage, sauntered a guy wearing a black cowboy hat, a red plaid pearl-snap shirt, and some well-worn jeans. When he looked up, I could see the wide white smile on his face and my knees locked at the sight of him. He threw his hat into the crowd and then as soon as lyrics to the song started, he ripped open his shirt and if I had to judge the hardest abs in Vegas, this guy would not only have that, but the

hardest abs I’d ever seen. He was hot. Not just skanky, male stripper hot, but like the kind of guy I only saw after our graphics department airbrushed him. I was eager to get my hands on those abs as part of my judging duties. The cougars screamed as he grapevined his way across the stage. But even as he worked the room, it felt like his eyes never left mine. His big, irresistible green eyes. As the chorus picked up he undid his John Deere belt buckle and dropped his jeans, kicking them to a screaming lady in a mini dress. That left him in nothing but a pair of black briefs. He smiled right in my direction before he circled his hips and flashed his flawless ass which only made the crowd go crazier. Slowly he pulled them back up and threw a wink in my direction before he danced back over to the other side of the stage. My entire face felt like it was on fire and so did the rest of my body.

*** Once the song ended Wild Wes sauntered over to us with a lazy grin on his face. My face felt like it was completely flushed and it was hard to look at the him. The British guy took to the mic once the crowd’s cheers died down. “Okay, now it’s time for our judges to give Wes, here, his scores.” Pam took her lipstick and delicately put the tube to his abs as if she was afraid they would fall off if she touched them. She drew a small 8, practically on his side. Abbi was next and drew a 7. Then he took a step closer to me, leaning over and whispering in my ear, “Whatcha got for me, darlin’?” My eyes trailed from his and then down to his abs. I had to be brave. I wasn’t a shy girl, but I also didn’t get attention from men unless they were expecting me to put out. Which I did a lot of in college. More than I’d like to think about. Of course a guy would screw the big girl, but that’s usually all I got. I didn’t get serious boyfriends. And I highly doubted Mr. Abs was gonna put a ring on my finger either. But I did have to give the crowd what they wanted and he was a good performer. I dipped my fingers into the waistband of his underwear and pulled him closer. I tried to ignore how completely manscaped he was, but my pinky did happen to graze his smooth skin and I clenched thinking how bad I wanted to go lower. With my free hand I traced the line from his pecs and down the middle of his abs. There was nothing Photoshopped about him. He was all muscle. I involuntarily mouthed the words “Oh my God,” once my fingertips felt his chiseled six pack underneath my fingertips. I didn’t mean to say it, but my brain obviously wasn’t thinking. I was surprised by how soft his skin was beneath my hand and I may have let my fingers trail a little longer than I should have, but the guy was a work of art that deserved to be admired. “Now, baby girl, don’t be teasing me or we won’t make it to the final judging round,” His words flowed like honey from his lips and into my ear. “Just trying to keep up the show,” I said before I took my tube of lipstick and slowly wrote a big ‘10’ smack dab in the middle of his abs. The crowd cheered and the British guy said something into the microphone, but my attention was still firmly on Wes and his eyes that stared into me as if there was no one else in the room. “Thanks for that, darlin’” “No, thank you for that performance.”

*** Wes Won. Obviously. No one could beat a genuine cowboy, but it was sure fun to watch a bunch of men parade around for women’s entertainment. “That was one hell of a show, Cal.” Abbi raised her glass to the British host who had since put on a pair of jeans and button-down black shirt. After the performance was over, he took us into the VIP lounge, where a few of the cougars paid a shit-ton of money to pose with the male strippers in horrible selfies and drink with them like they were college girls. Which was probably how old their daughters were. “I should probably thank my publicist for all of her hard work.” He smiled, really soaking in the charm. The guy knew what he was doing. No wonder he ran events like this. Women were putty for a guy with an accent. “I do what I have to do to make my clients look good,” Abbi said before taking a sip of her drink. There were male waiters walking around the VIP room carrying trays of appetizers and fruity cocktails. I was starving, since I hadn’t eaten since lunch, but I always felt like I was being judged when I ate, so I just kept drinking. And they weren’t the watered-down drinks I was used to back home in Chicago. “And here is the man of the hour!” Pam yelled as Wes sauntered over to us. Since the performance ended he had put on a pair of low-slung jeans and a big sash was draped across his chest that read “Rock Hard Abs of Vegas.” “Thank you, ladies. It’s all in a day’s work.” He smiled and tipped his head like he was some sort of gentleman cowboy. Even though he definitely wasn’t. I saw the way his hips moved on the stage. There was nothing gentlemanly about a guy who could thrust himself like that. Pam elbowed me in the side. “Valerie, you should give him your card. A man like this could definitely use your PR talents.” “A publicist for a stripper?” I asked before Pam pinched me and gave me a look that said ‘shut up and just flirt.’ He raised his eyebrows. “Stripping is just what pays the bills for now, but maybe a publicist could help me get to the next level, even though you look way too young to be one of those big publicity moguls. And a lot prettier than the PR suits I’ve seen.” Pam laughed. “Val is one of the best. She’s going to be running the company before you know it.” “Really?” He lowered his eyebrows, the grin spreading even farther on his face. “Oh please.” I rolled my eyes. I’d barely even started and the owner was a male chauvinist. I actually couldn’t believe that he hired me when he did. I wasn’t the typical male, public relations guy in a suit, but then again, neither were Pam and Abbi. But at least they were petite and had the resume to back them up. The only things I had on my resume were my grades and my summer internship with a publishing company. I figured at least I had a job, even if it did pay me shit and I had to live with a roommate in a tiny-ass place in Wrigleyville. I’d move up soon enough. Even if it took me ten years before I had clients doing shows in Vegas. But nothing seemed to faze Wes as he put his strong arm around me. “I think we’re going to have to talk more about what you can do for me. I could always use a pretty blonde telling me what to do.” I giggled. I never giggled. The drinks had to be really strong to get that reaction out of me.

Another Hour Later... “Are you sure those abs are real?” I laughed, running my hand along Wes’s ab line. We were smooshed in a corner booth and every time I laughed a waiter would run over and hand me another drink in a crystal glass. I could get used to events like this. Especially with hot guys in the VIP room. Too bad that I lost count on how many drinks I had and how long I’d been sitting in the booth with Wes. “Everything about me is real. What you see is what you get.” “Are you trying to come up with your own slogans now? Because I think I could come up with wayyyy better ones.” I took another big gulp of my drink. I should have slowed down, but the more I drank, the better I felt. And this wasn’t like the bars in Chicago in which I was paying ten bucks for a watered down well drink. This was top-shelf booze that was flowing like a river into my mouth. “Please, you talk a big game, honey; show me what you got,” he said, motioning his fingers forward like he was saying ‘come and get me.’ I pushed my hair back. I was used to having to prove myself to guys, so I was always up for the challenge. “Okay, for starters, I’d go with something less cheesy. More original. Something that is unique to your personality. Something real.” “I don’t do anything fake, Valerie,” he said, meeting my eyes. I had to swallow hard to keep down the butterflies that were definitely going crazy in my stomach. I wasn’t used to this much attention from the opposite sex unless they were expecting to get some. Which he probably was. It was only a matter of time, I guessed. “Says the guy who just gave my mentor a lap dance in the middle of a Vegas strip club.” He put his hand on mine, running his thumb along the ridge of my knuckles. “Sometimes we all have to do stuff that we don’t want to do to get by. I can’t say that I want to be a stripper forever, but it pays the bills for now. And if I get to meet witty girls like you, then it’s worth something.” I cleared my throat, trying to gain my composure. I couldn’t go all giddy girl on him. Even if I did write on his abs with lipstick. I had to maintain a little bit of professionalism. “Okay, let’s start with your tattoo then. We can work with that. Is there any meaning behind it, or just something you did when you were young?” I traced the lines of the music notes above his left pec. He let out a soft laugh, but there was a hint of sadness to it. Something I wasn’t expecting “Well, it explains why I’m here in Vegas, I guess,” he said, his eyes briefly looking at the tattoo as if he’d just now noticed it and then his gaze was focused back on me. “Because you love the music scene?” He shook his head. “No, this was supposed to be a stop on my way to LA. I thought I could just pack up my guitar, stay at a friend’s for a little while, and then maybe get discovered. Even if that discovery happened while I was giving lap dances to old women on a nightly basis.” “So this isn’t your big dream? You don’t want to be Magic Mike forever? What is your ultimate goal? What did you always see yourself doing and what can I do to get you there?” He had a smile that instantly made me want to smile as well. The guy had charisma that could light up the whole room. No wonder he was so good at being a stripper. I didn’t even know if he could sing a note, but I knew he had a stage presence. “It’s funny, no one has ever asked me what I wanted. It’s always about them. I think you’re the first person since my high school guidance counselor to ask that.”

“I like to get to know people and I think someone’s aspirations can say a lot about what they want in life,” I said, taking a tiny sip of my drink. I noticed the more he talked the closer he got to me. His side was now pressed against mine and I wanted to reach out and run my fingers along his perfect ab line. It took everything in my power not to. “Okay, Ms. Valerie, what are your big dreams and aspirations then?” “To be more than everyone expects of me,” I whispered, almost wishing I hadn’t said it. I didn’t know what I was trying to say. I didn’t know if I was trying to be flirty or if I was really trying to be real with him. “And what does that mean?” he asked. His hand had now wandered to my leg, his fingers running along the inseam of my jeans. I knew where this conversation was going to lead, so best to stop talking and spilling my guts to the guy and just get him up to the bedroom. That’s all a guy like him really wanted anyway. He didn’t really care about my dreams. He just wanted an easy lay. I just hoped he wasn’t also a gigolo and expected me to pay for it. “It means you can stop talking and we can get to fucking,” I blurted and then quickly grabbed my drink from the table, downing it. I had to stop talking, so I thought maybe shoving more alcohol down my throat would help, but the more I drank, the looser my morals usually got. He leaned over, the stubble on his cheeks grazing my jaw line. “Now, darlin’, if you’re going to try and get into my pants we should probably go somewhere a lot more private.” “I do have a suite at my hotel.” “A suite, eh? This company of yours must really think something of you to put you up in a suite.” Truth was, I think everyone got one that came on the trip. We were all also supposed to have roommates, but mine bailed at the last minute since one of her kids was sick, so I was alone. “I’m kind of a big deal. Youngest one in the office has its perks sometimes,” I said, putting another drink to my lips, but Wes quickly pulled it away and set it down on the table. “I think we should just see how much experience you have and head back to that suite of yours.” His eyes were filled with desire and suddenly so was I. “I guess we can do that.” He put his hands on the side of my face, his fingers grazing my jaw line. “You guess?” “You think you can convince me that you’re worth my while?” I raised my eyebrows. His lips crashed into mine and I melted beneath his smoldering kiss. His tongue ran across my bottom lip before he nipped at it, causing a soft moan to escape my mouth. He took that as the opportunity to twirl his tongue with mine, letting me taste him. His kiss was sweet like liquid candy and I craved more of him. I put my hands on the back of his neck, pulling him closer as I softly sucked on his tongue. Wes sighed into my mouth as I released his tongue, his smile evident beneath his kiss as he moved his hands from my face and down to my lower back, drawing small circles on my skin. All I could think about was how good he tasted and how bad I wanted him in my bed, wearing nothing but his delicious smile. He slowly broke the kiss, nipping at my lip one last time before he looked into my eyes. “Now how about that suite?” Before I could answer, Abbi and Pam scooted in beside us in the booth. “Well don’t you two look cozy?” Pam said, holding a champagne glass in her hand. “We were actually just about to head out ...” I tried to move, but Abbi blocked me in. “Head out where?”

“Back to my room ...” Abbi raised her eyebrows. “Valerie Wilder, are you trying to bed the Hardest Abs in Vegas?” “Maybbeeeee,” I said with a giggle. Pam leaned over the table. “Are you serious right now? You’re about to hook up with him?” “Yes, Mooooom,” I whined. Since when did they get so protective? Abbi leaned over. “Look, I love you like a little sister, and I’m all for you having a little fun, but you probably shouldn’t be hooking up with a male stripper you met in Vegas.” My eyes widened. “Wait? He’s a stripper?” I clutched my chest in mock sarcasm. Pam rolled her eyes. “Please, don’t give me your sarcastic bullshit. I’m being serious.” “Ladies,” Wes interrupted. We all turned in his direction and he just smiled like he had a big secret. “You could be a little bit quieter if you’re gonna shit talk me.” “We weren’t shit talking you,” I protested. He holds up his hands. “It’s okay, I understand. I get it all the time.” Abbi sat up a little straighter. “I was just informing my colleague that I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to take someone she just met up to her room.” “It’s Vegas, baby, everything here happens fast.” He leaned closer. “But if Valerie wants me to take it slow, I can go all night long.” “Maybe she’s saving herself for marriage,” Pam blurted. My head spun so fast her in direction I was afraid I sprained something. I was definitely not saving anything for marriage. Not even my butt virginity. Wes slapped the table with a laugh. “Hell, then let’s get married!” “WHAT?” Abbi, Pam, and I practically said in unison before looking back at Wes. He shrugged. “Sure, why not? I got nothing to lose. You’re a smart, attractive girl and if you want to wait until marriage then let’s get this over with so we can get the honeymoon started.” I blinked, hard. He couldn’t be serious. Abbi tilted her head back, laughing. “Oh that’s rich. A stripper wants to marry Valerie. This cannot be happening.” Wes ushered Pam out of the seat next to him and tugged on my hand, pulling me to a standing position. Once we stood in front of the booth he took my hands in his and then slowly crouched down until he was on one knee. “Valerie Wilder, I can’t think of a better way than to end my night. Let’s get hitched. Whatta ya say? Wanna be my wife?”

Back to the Present The realization of everything that happened the night before washed over me. Followed by a giant wave of nausea. The tiny wedding chapel. Abbi throwing flower petals. Elvis standing at the altar and telling me that I could ‘kiss my hunk, hunk of burning love.’ “I think I’m going to be sick,” I muttered before throwing the blanket off of us. Luckily Mr. Wild Wes moved out of my way so I could make a beeline for the spacious bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

I lurched forward until I was at the toilet, gripping onto it for dear life. I never puked, but purging the entire night before seemed like it would be a good idea. Of course that didn’t mean the night would go away. Especially when I caught a glimpse of my ass in the mirror. I stood and backed up until I got a full glimpse of the words scrolled on my left butt cheek. “Mrs. Wild?” I licked my finger and then rubbed furiously at the writing, hoping that it was just temporary or something maybe even the stripper wrote on my ass. No such luck. It was permanent. And now stung like hell. I bit down on my bottom lip, trying not to scream at the new pain that went straight from the tattoo into me. God. This couldn’t be happening. This kind of stuff only happened in stupid movies. I sank down to the floor, and leaned my head against the wall. Shit. Shit. Shit. What to do? What to do? LAYLA. Layla would know what to do! My sorority big sister was now a lawyer in Chicago. She could easily help me figure out how to get a divorce that would hopefully go just as quickly as my marriage did. Now if only I could find my phone... I grabbed one of the white, fluffy robes that was hanging on the back of the door and wrapped it around me. The guy may have been my husband, but I still didn’t want to parade my big tattooed ass around. I slowly opened the door, hoping that maybe my new “husband” had left. No such luck. Instead he was sprawled out across the bed with his hands propped behind his head and his eyes glued to the TV. But that’s not where my eyes went. While I chose to put on a robe, Wes decided that staying naked was the better option. I tried to look at his face, but my eyes couldn’t help but roll downward. Especially when I saw something shiny between his legs. “Enjoying the view?” he asked I snapped my gaze up to his face. “Do you think you could maybe put some clothes on? What if housekeeping came in or something?” “It’s our honeymoon, baby. Why would we need to get dressed?” He patted the seat next to him. “Now get back in here before your side of the bed gets cold.” I sighed, taking slow methodical steps to the bed before I sat down at the end. “Look, Wes, if that is your real name and not just a stage name, you can cut the shit. We got married in Vegas in a drunken stupor. I’m going to call my lawyer friend and see the easiest way to get a divorce and we can both get out of this and go on with our lives like it never happened.” He leaned forward, dropping his hands down by his waist. “Who said that I want a divorce?” I arched an eyebrow. “Oh please, don’t try and put on the charm with me. I’m not the kind of girl that falls for that shit, despite what my drunken antics might have said last night.” “Hey.” He put his hand on mine and I tried to keep my eyes from roaming over him, but no such luck. The guy didn’t have an ounce of fat on him; even when sitting he still had a rock-hard set of abs. No wonder he won the contest ... and his way into my bedroom. “We don’t have to rush to stop this marriage. We can take it nice and slow. I’ll come back to Chicago with you, get set up in the sweet little apartment you probably have ...” “Wait a second.” I put my hand up, stopping his words. “Are you thinking that I’m just going to be your sugar mama or something?”

“Now, darlin’, I didn’t say that ...” “Shut the front door!” I stood up. “That’s what this is, isn’t it?” I shook my head, pacing in front of the bed. “God, I should have known! You see the nice suite, hear about my job, and just expect that you can be some kind of a gold digger.” I stopped and stared at him and he didn’t even flinch. I was completely right. “Well, darlin’,” I mocked his accent. “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not the big exec that you seem to think I am. I’m just a measly first-year PR assistant, making less than 40K a year.” He blinked, hard, the color completely draining from his face. Guys that looked like him didn’t go for girls like me. I knew there had to be something else. I just never actually thought it would be for my money. Money that I was lacking. “But if you still want to stay married, you can come back to my apartment in Chicago, which I share it with a roommate and her very angry cat. I’m sure she would love for me to bring a guy home who I don’t even know his last name.” I sighed. “Or I guess my new last name.” “It’s Cockrell,” he muttered. “Wesley Cockrell.” I put my hand over my mouth, trying to stifle a giggle. “You’re shitting me. Cockrell? Now my name is Wilder-Cockrell?” “Hey, it’s not that funny,” he protested. I held my breath, trying not to laugh, but it was no use and I burst into a fit of giggles. “I’m married to a stripper and my name is Valerie Wilder-Cockrell. Doesn’t get any weirder than that.” “You know, Valerie.” He stood up and I couldn’t help but let my gaze fall again to what was between his legs. More importantly, what was pierced there. “Hey!” he snapped. “Stop staring at my dick and look at me.” “Sorry.” I shifted my eyes back to his. “This may not be the best situation, but if you want to end it now, we can drive down to the courthouse and see what we can do. Sound good?” I let out a deep breath and glanced at my watch that was sitting on the side table. “I have another meeting this afternoon. I can text Abbi to stall if I need to but this has to be quick.” “Quicker than our twelve-hour marriage,” he muttered.

An Hour Later... I tried to text and call Layla, once I found my phone buried under Wes’s underwear, but she didn’t answer. She was probably working and not heading to the courthouse for a quickie divorce. My new husband didn’t happen to bring a shirt with him up to my room, so before leaving for the courthouse I had to buy him a tacky T-shirt in the tourist shop. I walked in wearing a skirt suit and he was wearing ripped jeans and a T-shirt with a bedazzled Vegas sign on it. I prayed someone would take us seriously. I’d never actually been to a courthouse, except for when I apparently stumbled in there before they closed at midnight to apply for a marriage license with Wes. I wouldn’t have believed it if my cell phone didn’t have an enormous amount of selfies that I took of us signing the documents and then hailing a cab to one of the twenty four-hour chapels.

Ugh. I had my fair share of hookups, but in Illinois none of the courthouses stayed open past five and I’d never had a willing suitor. The nightmare just kept getting worse with how calm Wes was. He just kept staring out the window, taking in the scene and not saying a word. Like this wasn’t a big deal. Like we weren’t a walking cliché. While my knees were shaking and I kept fidgeting with the hem of my skirt every five seconds, he just kept smiling. What the hell was with the guy? Maybe he was on drugs or something. It’s not like I really knew him or anything. God, I really screwed up. When we got to the courthouse I practically jumped out of the cab after paying the driver, eager to get it over with and on with my life. “I’ve never seen someone so happy to go to court,” Wes said. I rolled my eyes as we ascended the cement stairs. “How can you be so calm about this? You just married a girl you barely know.” He shrugged. “I could’ve done worse.” I sighed. “You know, the more you sweet talk me, the more you make me seem like a bitch.” “You aren’t a bitch. At least, I don’t think you are. You just seem to know what you want and there’s nothing I can say that’s going to stop you.” I stopped in front of the door. “Are you saying that you don’t want a divorce?” I raised my eyebrows and faced him. He shoved his hands into his pocket, aimlessly kicking his foot against the cement. “I don’t know. I know it’s not an ideal situation, but I don’t think we should rush into anything.” “We kind of did rush into a marriage,” I replied. He put his hands up. “I know, but hear me out. You know that this divorce thing isn’t going to be quick. There’s going to be a whole lot of legal shit going on and I don’t have the money to pay for a lawyer or any of that. So why deal with it?” I blinked, hard. “Look, Wes, you seem like a nice guy and all, but I think we are both in different points in our lives and it would be silly to try and think that we could ever work.” “Are you breaking up with me?” A lazy grin spread across his face. I shook my head. “You’re too much.”

Another Hour Later We had been sitting in the Family Law area forever, waiting for one of the clerks to call us up. I had no idea what the hell I was doing, but I just needed to get out of there. I needed to try and forget that I married a stripper and move on. “Number one-four-two,” a woman called in a nasally voice. I sprang up from my seat and ran over to the counter, not even noticing if Wes was following. “One-four-two, that’s us!” I placed the number on the counter and the older woman behind the glass barely looked up from her computer. “How can I help you today?” “I’m here to file for a divorce,” I replied matter-of-factly. Like it was something I said every day. The women didn’t even bat an eye at my response. I guess it really was something she did deal with on the daily. She sighed, typing in some information in the computer. “Name and state of residence?”

“Valerie Wilder, Illinois.” She stopped typing. “Is your husband a Nevada resident?” “No I’m not, ma’am.” I didn’t even realize Wes was standing right beside me, but at least his voice got the lady to look up from her damn computer. I swore she even blushed when she caught sight of him. Yeah, he was hot. Great. Fine. She could marry him once the divorce was over. “You aren’t?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “Nope. I’m from the great state of Alabama. I haven’t had a chance to change my address over or anything. This is kind of just my temporary residence,” he said, shifting from one foot to the other. I turned back to the lady. “Is that a problem?” She let out a deep breath. “If neither of you has been a resident of the state of Nevada for at least six weeks, then you can’t file for a divorce here.” I whipped my head back in Wes’s direction. “Please tell me you at least have some sort of residence here?” “No ma’am. Just been crashing at a friend’s place for awhile.” He said it as if it was no big deal. Like it was just something that couldn’t be helped. As if he planned it that way. How he could be so casual about the whole thing was beyond me. “What does this mean?” I pleaded with the lady behind the counter. She shook her head, barely any sympathy in her eyes. “I’m sorry, but you will have to file the divorce in either Illinois or Alabama. We can’t help you here.” I let out a deep breath and turned away, walking as fast as my heels could carry me to the front door, not even caring if Wes was following. Once I got out into the desert air I tilted my head back and let out a loud scream. A few people walking into the courthouse made sure to walk around me. Like I was insane. And maybe I was. I slumped on the steps, putting my head in my hands. What the hell had I done? Wes took the seat next to me. “That’s an impressive set of lungs you got there.” “Don’t start.” “Darlin’, you’re kind of stuck with me now, so you might as well get used to me.” I glared at him and then grabbed my phone out of my purse. One last call to Layla couldn’t hurt. I punched in her number and let out a deep breath when she finally answered. “Don’t you have a fucking job?” she hissed. Sounded just like Layla. Always blunt. “I do. And somehow my job last night included judging the Hardest Abs of Vegas contest and then marrying the winner.” “Shut the fuck up! You had to have made that shit up.” I shook my head, even though I knew she couldn’t see me do it. “I wish. Now I need my sorority big sister to help me out with a quickie divorce since apparently my stripper husband isn’t a resident of this state so we can’t file for divorce here.” Big sister was a loose term. Layla was older than me, but I was the token chubby chick of the Sigma house. My mom was a sister back in the day so they kind of had to take me when I rushed. At least they liked me once I got in. I fit in better with a lot of the girls in that house since they were able to get over the curves once they got to know my personality. Not like the bitches in high school who only saw me as the thick chick. My sorority sisters loved me through thick and thin. Pun intended.

“We prefer the term ‘exotic dancer’.” Wes wiggled his eyebrows, eavesdropping in on the conversation. “Is that him? Does he have a freaking southern accent?” Layla asked. “Yes, yes he does. My new husband, Wild Wes, is from the great state of Alabama. Isn’t that lovely?” She laughed. Like anything about my situation was funny. Maybe if it was anyone else it would have been. “Sorry, this just seems like something straight out of a cheesy rom com.” “Yeah, well, it isn’t, so can you help me out?” “I wish I could, sis, but divorce isn’t really my specialty. I could try and dig up some numbers for a good divorce lawyer if you want, but you’ll probably have to come back and do everything here in Chicago.” “Does my new husband have to be present?” “He doesn’t, but you’ll probably have to serve him all the paperwork and he’d have to agree to it.” I let out a puff of air through my nose and looked at Wes, whose eyes were intensely focused on me. The guy had an intense pair of green eyes that I wanted to screw off of his face. I had to stop thinking about the fact that he was sex on a stick. This wasn’t about pleasure. This was about business. I couldn’t be married to a male stripper. “And what if he doesn’t agree to it?” “Then you should consider yourself lucky that you married a stripper that wants to stay married to you,” Layla said with a laugh. “Seriously.” “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” she said, but didn’t sound sorry, more like she was still holding back a laugh. “It would probably be a longer process if he didn’t agree to it, but either way, from what I know about Illinois divorces it takes at least six weeks for it to go through, but probably longer.” “Six weeks?” I couldn’t keep the screech out of my voice and Wes winced. I mouthed ‘sorry’ before I went back to my conversation with Layla. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” “Serious as shit, Val. But listen, I have to go. I’ll text you with some divorce lawyer info later, all right?” I sighed. “Fine. I’ll talk to you later.” “And say bye to Tex for me.” “He’s from Alabama.” She laughed. “Okay, say bye to the Alabama Slammer for me then.” I hung up the phone and met Wes’s waiting gaze. “Take it that didn’t go as well as you wanted?” “Looks like we may be married for at least another six weeks.” I stood up, dusting off my skirt. “I can just get your info and send the divorce papers to wherever you’re staying for you to sign.” I started to walk down the stairs, but then his hand caught my wrist, pulling me back to him. “Or I could just go back home with you and you don’t have to worry about all the mailing and getting us two lawyers and all that shit.” I stepped back, slowly meeting his gaze. His eyes were completely serious and his lips were pressed in a thin line. He wasn’t joking. “You want to come back to Chicago with me? A girl you just met and married on a whim?”

He shrugged. “I’ve done worse things. Hell, this was just supposed to be a pit stop anyway, one more trip couldn’t hurt.” “I don’t know. This seems like a really bad idea. I mean, I still have another day of work here, and my roommate is sort of a bitch, and you’d be stuck in my apartment all day by yourself and—” Before I could finish my sentence his hands were at my cheeks and he pulled my face to his, crushing his lips against mine. I didn’t immediately reciprocate, but once I felt the flicker of his tongue ring against my mouth, I melted into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and feeling the hard contours of his chest through his thin T-shirt as he pressed his warm body against me. He slowly broke the kiss, pushing a fallen strand of my hair behind my ears as his eyes stayed on mine, with a large grin spreading across his face. “I think I can manage spending a little more time with you,” he said, his words as soft as a southern lullaby. I swallowed, slowly nodding. “Okay. Let’s see where this quickie marriage takes us.”

Thirty Minutes Later “This is where you live?” I stared at the dingy apartment building. It may have been daylight out, but I couldn’t help but wonder if some creeper with a bag of candy was waiting to jump out of the shadows and try to take advantage of me. “We all can’t have fancy PR jobs,” Wes said with a grimace before he headed up the rusty stairs to the second floor of the stucco building. There was a small courtyard with what was once probably a swimming pool but now was full of weeds. Each of the floorboards squeaked under my heels as I followed Wes down the hallway. No wonder he was so eager to get out and go home with me. “I’m not saying I live in a palace in Chicago, so don’t think it’s going to be like that. And it’s only temporary with me, so don’t get any ideas that you’ll like it better than your place.” “Whatever you say, Valerie.” He stopped in front of a door marked 12B and pulled out a set of keys from his back pocket. He jiggled them in the handle a few times before he shoved his shoulder into the door and pushed it open. I gasped when a loud moan came from the flannel couch in the middle of the room. A girl sat completely spread eagle in nothing but a pair of fishnet thigh highs and some guy with long, black hair was rubbing his face in-between her legs. “Jesus, Brick, can’t you at least use the bedroom?” Wes asked, rubbing his shoulder. The couple was barely fazed. The girl just casually put her legs down and licked her lips as she eyed Wes hungrily. “And who might you be?” The guy finally pulled his face out of the girl’s crotch and sat on the couch next to her, wiping his chin. He was wearing nothing but a black leather vest and some tight jeans, but at least it was more than the girl was wearing. And she didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed that her giant tits were staring me in the face. “That’s Wild Wes, baby, you remember him from Ladies Night at the club,” the guy said in a gruff voice, like the kind that smokes two packs a day. “Oh yeah!” She smacked her lips together and tossed her fiery red hair behind her shoulders. “How ya doing, Wild? You and Blondie here looking to join?”

“Uh, that would be a hell no.” I grabbed Wes’s arm. I may have not wanted to be married to him, but I wasn’t about to get myself in the middle of some fucked up ménage with other strippers. And if it took gripping onto him for dear life then that’s what I’d have to do. Wes didn’t miss a beat, sliding his arm around my waist and pulling me close to him. I instinctively put my head in the crook of his shoulder. I didn’t want to feel so comfortable with him, but there was something wonderful about being pressed against him and feeling his warmth against me. I couldn’t help but inhale deeply and take in his scent. He smelled manly. Not like the men in my office who always wore too much cologne, but woodsy, like a guy that worked outside or used his hands. A lot. “Me and Valerie are just here to pack up my stuff before I head out,” Wes said. “You finally found a sugar mama to shack up with and get to LA?” The guy raised his eyebrows. Man, he was classy. “Naw, I wouldn’t call her that. She’s just ...well ...” He looked at me; his green eyes were so intense I didn’t know if I would be able to resist anything he was about to ask me. This divorce thing was going to be harder than I thought. “Baby, what would you call us?” “I’m his wife,” I blurted. “WIFE?” the girl and Brick shouted practically in unison. “When the hell did this happen?” Brick asked. “Shit, son, you must be pretty desperate.” I snapped my head in his direction. “Excuse me?” “No offense, Blondie, but you ain’t no prized hen. You must either be one hell of a lay or have a damn good bank account to rope Wes in,” he said with a hoarse laugh. I was used to guys not thinking much of me. It’s why I sort of developed a reputation in college. At first I thought that guys actually wanted me for me, then I realized that no one wanted to be seen with the thick girl and they just wanted an easy lay. I got used to it over the years and learned to roll with whatever chance I could take with a guy. That didn’t mean it stung any less when Brick said the words. Wes squeezed my side, bringing me back into reality. I could feel tears wanting to break through my eyes, but I wouldn’t let them. I was a grown woman and I could take some shit talk from some douchebag in a shitty apartment. “Maybe he just prefers girls that actually have a bank account. And class,” I said, raising my eyebrows in a challenge. Brick glared at me. The silence between us was so thick, it couldn’t have been cut with the sharpest knife. Finally, Brick broke the silence and let out a big, whooping laugh. “Now I see why you like this chick, Wes. Girl’s got some lady balls.” “Yeah, too bad we’re—” I squeezed Wes’s side, not letting him say another word. I didn’t want to him to add in that he was coming with me to get divorced. I had a tiny bit of an ego boost and I wanted to keep it going before another joke was made at my expense. “Babe, let’s get your things so we can get back to my hotel.” Wes looked at me, his expression taken aback with his eyebrows raised. “Whatever you say, darlin.” “Aw, aren’t you two just the fucking cutest thing?” the girl said with added sarcasm. I didn’t even have a response for her; instead I squeezed Wes’s side again and he replied, “Yeah, looks like we’d better get my stuff packed up.”

“All right, man, should I expect you back or you out for good?” Brick fist bumped him as we walked past the nasty couch. Wes gave me a questioning look with a slight smile on his face before he looked back to Brick with a shrug. “I don’t know, man, we’ll see where life takes us.” With that he opened the door directly in front of us and quickly closed it as soon as I entered the room. If one could call it a room. It had one film-covered window and a small closet. The only furniture was an air mattress on the floor. “This is where you sleep?” I stared at the un made little mattress on the floor. I may have complained about my cramped apartment, but it was nothing compared to his place. “Yeah, for now. I didn’t really have anywhere else to stay when my parents said they weren’t going to pay for me to dick around with music and kicked me out. I was lucky Brick said I could crash here for a while and helped me get a job. Even if it is stripping,” Wes said as he grabbed a duffle bag from his closet and took his shirts off the hangers, neatly folding them and placing them in the bag. “Your parents kicked you out? How old are you?” God I hoped he was at least eighteen or I’d feel even slimier than I already did. He stopped folding and looked up from the bag. “I’m twenty-two. I got injured playing football at college and lost my scholarship so I had to move back home.” He turned back to his closet, pulling out the last of his clothes. “It wasn’t too bad at first, then I got tired of working construction and wanted to go back to doing what I loved, music.” “I guess that explains the tattoo,” I said softly. His eyes barely met mine, a hint of sadness behind them. “No, that was for my Meemaw. She used to sing me this old southern lullaby called Sleep My Baby. When she passed away I got the last few notes tattooed above my heart for her.” “Oh ...” It was all I could muster. I actually had tears in my eyes. Truth be told, I really thought it was just some lame tattoo he got at eighteen like one he picked off the wall (which was exactly what the tribal symbol was that I had on the small of my back). “And that’s where the idea came to move?” I asked, trying to change to a lighter subject. He let out a short laugh. “No, that idea came when I quit working for my dad and he said that my ass had to have a job and not spend all my time fucking around with the guitar or else I wouldn’t have a place to live.” “Oh ...I’m sorry ...” I didn’t know what else to say. I just kept bringing up all the shitty things. It wasn’t like I was privileged or anything. My dad walked out on my mom the year I started college and left her an emotional and financial wreck. I was lucky that I had a scholarship for school and a kickass internship that got me the job at my PR firm. All that I had, I worked for and was pure luck. But to Wes, I must have just looked like some spoiled bitch. He put his bag down, taking slow methodical steps over to me. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, darlin’. At least you know where I’m coming from. I’ve got to make the best out of any situation and if it means that I have to move around for a while until I find the best one, then so be it.” Wes grabbed an acoustic guitar that was propped against the wall. He was an internal optimist and I couldn’t hate him for that. I didn’t know what scared me more, that I had an accidental husband or that I was starting to really like the guy.

A Few Hours Later

"Ah! I can’t believe that's real!" Abbi screamed. I pulled up my skirt, turning back toward her. We were cramped in one of the bathroom stalls in the hotel lobby, but she said she absolutely had to see my tattoo and wouldn’t stop bugging me about in our boring meeting. "Yeah, and he has a matching one that says Mr. Wild." "Awww, true love." I rolled my eyes and pushed her out of the stall with me. "Yes, matching tattoos with my husband of less than twenty-four hours who I’ve known just as long as we've been married." "Hey, it can’t be all bad if you saw his tattoo." I pushed a strand of hair that fell out of my bun behind my ear. "That’s because dude doesn't like to put on clothes and I happened to notice it when he got out of bed this morning." "I’m sure he got up in more ways than one." She winked. "This isn’t funny! This is seriously real life." I leaned against the sink, putting my hands on the cool granite and letting out a deep breath. "I know, I know, I’m sorry." She put her hand on my back. "So what are you going to do about it?" "We fly back to Chicago in two days and my friend said she can hopefully get us a meeting with a divorce attorney on Monday, but until then, I’m the sugar mama for my now ex-stripper husband." "Oh he's leaving the stripper world behind for you?" I rolled my eyes. "He was only a stripper for like a few months to make money here. Who knows maybe he'll find a place to keep up his practice back in Chi-town." An older lady in a bedazzled sweater came into the bathroom, giving us a polite smile. I wondered if she heard any of our conversation. "Should we get back to the meeting?" I pushed off the counter. Abbi sighed. "I guess, though I’d rather hear more about Mr. Wild's tattoos."

*** "Shut the fuck up! No he is not coming back with you!" Pam practically spit her drink all over the table. Our meetings were over for the day and after sitting through hours of listening to a guy drone on about branding, I had a giant headache so I agreed to grab a quick bite with Pam and Abbi. "He is. But just until the divorce is final, then he can do whatever the hell he wants," I said, poking at my salad. I really should have just ordered a cheeseburger. "You know, my divorce took six months before it was finalized. What will you do if it takes that long?" Abbi asked. I shrugged. "Roll with it, I guess." "Or what if you actually fall in love with him and you don't want to go through with the divorce?" Pam asked, raising her eyebrows. I snorted, practically choking on my food. "I don't do love and especially not with a random guy that I got drunk with and married in Vegas." "Stranger things have happened ..." Abbi mused. I sighed. "Look, I’ll put it out there in my no-holds-barred, Valerie Wilder way. Guys like Wes want one thing from a girl like me. They'll screw the chubby chick or use her for money or

homework assignments, but when it comes to things like love and forever, that’s reserved for the pretty chicks." "You aren't trying to give us a pity party now, are you?" Abbi asked flicking her strawberryblonde hair over her shoulder. "Nope. Just stating the facts. Not going to kid around and pretend like this is going to be some glamorous fairy-tale romance." I may have said the words, but truth was, I did want the fairy tale. Someday, that is. Maybe not with Wes. Maybe with my second marriage. I wanted the guy who would sweep me off my feet. The guy who would love me for me. But marrying a stripper in Vegas just proved how far away from that dream I really was.

A Half an Hour Later I slid the keycard into my door and pushed it open. The TV was blaring but quieted as soon as I walked in. "Hey, sorry about that." Wes stood up from the bed. He had changed out of the ridiculous Vegas shirt and into a pair of cargo shorts and a fitted black T-shirt, which gave me an even better view of his toned legs. The guy had to be a regular at the gym. He could have been a personal trainer. He did say he got injured playing football, but I wondered how long ago it actually was. "Oh, it’s no problem. Sorry I left you up here all day." I took a few more steps in the room and stopped when I saw a dry cleaning bag draped over the chair and all my clothes folded next to it. “What’s this?” I pointed to the bag. He glanced at the clothes. “Oh, I hope you don’t mind. I know the lady that does the costumes for Cirque over at the Mirage so I asked if she could dry clean your stuff and had the rest of it washed. I figured it was the least I could do instead of sitting around all day.” I swallowed, hard. Even though I didn’t like the idea of him seeing my clothing size it was one of the sweetest things a guy had done for me. Which showed how much of a love life I actually had. “Well, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.” I let out a deep breath and took a few steps to the bed, kicking my heels off and sitting down. He took the seat next to me and lifted my feet into his lap. I gasped until he brought his fingers to my ankles and started kneading them with his palms. Then, instead of being shocked, a soft moan escaped my lips. He grinned. "Hard day of meetings?" His hands continued to work their magic up and down the length of my foot and it took a lot of effort to form a cognitive thought. "Not hard. Just long. I’m ready for a shower and bed." "Mind if I join you?" He raised his eyebrows, his fingers lying still on my feet. What the hell did I have to lose? I was already married to the guy, might as well have some fun with him. I yanked my bun out, letting my hair fall in loose waves over my shoulders. "I don't mind at all." The grin spread wider on his face before he leaned back and peeled his shirt off, tossing it on the bed beside of him. I gripped onto his biceps, my fingers trailing along the lines of his arms.

Wes leaned over and ever so gently pressed his lips to mine, as if he were afraid to do it. I let him know he had my permission by fisting his hair and deepening our kiss, running my tongue along his irresistible lips. His unbuttoned my blouse and pushed it back off my shoulders. His lips trailed down my neck. "I’ve been thinking about this all day," he whispered into my chest before he nibbled at the tops of my boobs that spilled out from my bra. "I doubt that," I said with a gasp as he unhooked my bra and peeled it off my shoulders before his warm mouth was on my nipples, his teeth nipping at them slightly. I guess if we were moving fast, he didn't want to waste any time. "Shower. Now." I could barely get the words out as his soft tongue drew circles on my chest. He grinned and looked up at me. "There's nothing I’d rather do than get you wet." He sat up, pulling me with him until we were both standing, then he walked backward, guiding me until we were in the bathroom. I was so turned on I couldn't get him naked fast enough, clawing at the button of his shorts and yanking them down as quickly as I could. "Damn, you don't waste any time, do you?" The grin was so wide on Wes's face it must have hurt. "I can stop if you want me to," I breathed, hoping he wouldn't say no or I would have to spend the night double clicking my own mouse. He wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me against him. "Hell no I don't want to stop." With that, he pressed his lips to mine, his tongue teasing my bottom lip. I moaned into him and put my hands at the waistband of his boxers. He smiled beneath the kiss as one hand massaged my breast and the other one unzipped my skirt, letting it fall to my ankles before I stepped out of it. There was nothing between us but the thin fabric of our underwear. He broke the kiss gently. “Let me get the water started.” He walked backward until he was at the large shower that was big enough for at least five people. He turned around and I got a great view of his tight ass as he turned on the water, keeping his hand underneath it, probably checking the temperature. Wes turned slowly back around to face me and then slipped his boxers off, kicking them aside. He was primed and ready, something I wasn’t used to. Usually the guys I hooked up with were half cocked and it took me forever to get them going. He reached into his discarded shorts, fishing through his pockets. “If you’re looking for a condom, you don’t need it. I’m on the pill.” He looked up at me, a slight smile on his face. “Are you sure? I mean, I’m clean. Mandatory part of the job to get checked. But I can go get a condom if you need me to.” I slipped my panties off, kicking them at him so he caught them just as he dropped his pants. “I’m absolutely sure about that, husband.” His smile spread to an all-out grin as I walked past him and stepped into the shower. He smacked my ass just before I stepped fully in and I let out a little yelp. “Get yer ass in there, Mrs. Wild,” he said with a laugh. I yanked him in the shower with me by his bicep. He closed the door behind us, letting the water fall over his muscular frame and form small droplets on his kissable lips. “Are you saying you like it rough, Wild, Wild Wes?” I cocked an eyebrow. He pushed me back against the ceramic wall of the shower, his hands pressed beside me and his hardness firmly sitting at my belly button. “I can go as rough and wild as you want it, darlin’”

“Prove it.” I bucked my hips to meet his. We fit perfectly together. There was no standing on my tippy toes of him needing to crouch down. A devilish grin spread on his face as he grabbed my right leg, lifting it up and wrapping it around his waist. He pressed himself into me and I let out a small whimper as I felt his fullness take hold of me. “Damn, baby, you feel good,” he hissed into my neck before thrusting hard. I gripped my fingernails into his ass, pushing him deeper into me and causing a low groan to emit from his throat. He continued pressing into me, over and over, my back slamming into the ceramic wall of the shower. I found a quick release thanks to how big he was—not to mention his piercing, which had a direct connection to my Gspot. “That’s it, baby, come for me again,” he whispered into my ear, and then his lips trailed down to my breast, tugging my nipple with his teeth. My body shuddered underneath his and my orgasm took over, causing my knees to shake. I felt like I was going to fall on my ass but then Wes grabbed my other leg, hosting it up and around his waist so he carried my full weight. I gasped, “Are you sure you can hold me?” His eyes met mine, full of lust and carnal desire. “I can hold you all night long if I’m going to have this effect on you.” He slammed into me again, causing another wave of pleasure to come over me. “Fuck,” he groaned and his shoulders shook feverishly before he went completely still. I dropped my legs to the floor and he pressed his head against my chest, breathing in the same pattern as my heartbeat. We stayed like that for what seemed like forever until he lifted his head, the water falling over his face. I wiped a few droplets from his lips and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “That was amazing,” he said. “You sure you still want this divorce?” “Great sex doesn’t exactly mean a great marriage,” I whispered. He pulled out of me, stepping back. “You’re probably right.” He kissed my cheek. “I’ll see you in bed, okay?” “Um, okay?” With that he turned and got out of the shower, leaving me there wondering what the hell just happened and what the future held for me and Mr. Wild.

The Next Day My credit card was usually stored at the back of my wallet. I tried to only use it when I really needed to. And buying a plane ticket for my accidental husband was definitely a case that I really needed to use it. “That flight to Chicago is how much?” My eyes practically bugged out of their sockets when the lady repeated the number. I heard her the first time, but was hoping maybe it would change. “$1,052.80 to get on that same flight. We could do a later flight that goes through Denver and Omaha and you could get in the next morning at 6:10,” the lady said the words with a deep sigh, like this was a big chore for her to do her job. I sighed and looked at Wes, who just had that damn grin on his face that caused me to get drunk and hitched to him in the first place. “You’d better be worth this,” I muttered. “Okay, I’ll take the first flight. Charge it to my Visa,” I told the lady.

I rattled off my credit card number and then wrote down the confirmation number she gave me before hanging up the phone and falling back onto the giant hotel pillows. In less than fortyeight hours I’d judged a contest in Vegas, got married, found out I couldn’t get legally divorced unless I did it back in Chicago, and then invited my new stripper husband back with me. And I almost forgot to mention that my new stripper husband was extremely hot. And VERY good in bed. “I wish I could have paid for that, darlin’, but you know ... no credit card.” Wes crawled onto the bed, hovering over me, his bright green eyes fixated on me. He knew that calling me darlin’ was one of the things that made me melt. The guy was too good at what he did. But good sex and a hot body didn’t mean a good marriage. Especially when said stripper husband was an aspiring musician and looking for my ass to be his sugar mama. I closed my eyes. “Yeah. I know.” He pressed his lips to my temple and then kissed down my jawline to my neck before resting his chin between my breasts. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.” I opened my eyes and met his. “I’m really not in the mood for sex right now.” He sat up. “Not everything is about sex.” He slowly crawled off the bed and picked up the beat-up acoustic guitar that we had to bring back from his apartment. I propped myself up on my elbows and raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to sing?” He slung the guitar strap over his shoulder and strummed a few chords. “I told you that I was a musician. Do you think I just carry this thing around as part of my act to get women?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.” A slow smile appeared on his face. “Then I just have to prove you wrong.” He took a few steps closer and strummed a few chords, humming along to them. Then he played a few notes that I recognized. He started in with a soft hum, then he opened his mouth and it was pure, panty-dropping gold. I didn’t think Wild World by Cat Stevens was a sexy song until I heard Wes sing it. His accent came through with a smoky edge to it. If I could have fucked his voice right there, I would have. When he got through the chorus again he stopped playing and looked at me with his eyes shining. “Still think it’s just something I pretend to do to get women?” It took me a minute before I could finally talk again and when I did I felt like a nervous teenage girl about to speak to her crush and had to clear my throat a few times. “No. Definitely not. I mean, not that I really thought you used it just to get women. But—” Wes leaned over his guitar, lightly pressing his lips to mine. “Darlin’, sometimes you talk too much.” “Then maybe you should do something to shut me up.” I raised my eyebrows. What could I say? The guy was amazing in the bedroom. If I was going to be married to a male stripper for a few more weeks at least I could enjoy it. He set his guitar down on the floor and then slowly crawled up the bed until he was hovering over me. “What did you have in mind?” I yanked his shirt collar, pulling him down until his lips met mine, his hard body pressed against me. But just as his tongue grazed my lips a knock came at the door. He pulled back slightly, his eyes looking into mine. Damn, he had beautiful eyes. “Should you get that?” I shook my head. “No, it’s probably just room service or something.” I leaned up on my elbows. “BUSY, COME BACK LATER.”

The person at the door either didn’t hear me or chose to ignore it and knocked even harder. Wes looked at me expectantly. “I guess I’ll get it.” I groaned as Wes rolled off of me and I climbed off the bed, straightening out my top. I’d changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt after another long day of meetings. My last night in Vegas and I was holed up in my fancy suite. At least I had someone to keep me company. I threw open the door, expecting there to be a cleaning lady with a big cart, but instead it was Abbi and Pam standing in the door way in going-out clothes with their hair and makeup fully done. “Hey, guys.” Abbi did a once-over of what I was wearing. “Are you seriously going out in that?” “Uh, no, I wasn’t exactly planning to go out.” Abbi peered around me and her mouth dropped open when her eyes landed on the bed. “Oh my God! I thought you were joking about him still being here!” Abbi and Pam somehow took that as their cue that they could barge into my suite and walk over to the bed to stare at Wes. “Uh, I did tell you that he was coming back with me to Chicago, didn’t I?” Abbi and Pam looked at each other like I just told them the Pope wasn’t Catholic. Wes scooted down to the end of the bed, standing up and giving both the girls a large grin. “Hey, ladies. It’s Pam and Abbi, isn’t it?” He held his hand out. Abbi and Pam pried their gaze away from each other and onto Wes, both shaking his hand lightly. “Yes, yes it is.” Abbi raised an eyebrow at him before dropping her hand. “Wes, is it?” “Yes, ma’am. I thought you’d remember that since you were the matron of honor at our little wedding.” He had an all-out grin on his face that really helped to slap on the charm. No wonder women couldn’t help but stuff money in his underwear. The guy was too damn cute for his own good. Pam covered her mouth to stifle a giggle, but it still came out loud and clear. Abbi glared in her direction before looking back at Wes. “And what exactly are your intentions in coming back to Chicago with my Valerie?” “Whoa, Abbi, since when did you become my mother?” I held my hands up, but Abbi wasn’t even looking at me. Her gaze was completely focused on Wes and not in a good way. “Hey, I’m just hoping to help to speed up the divorce process and if we can have some fun in the meantime then so be it.” His smile was forced, like it was taking everything he had in him to keep it on his face. “And you aren’t just hoping to have a sugar mama? Because if so you’re barking up the wrong tree, dude.” Abbi raised her eyebrows. Wes sighed, sliding his hands in his back pockets. “You know, you can think whatever you want of me, but I guess you’re stuck with me for at least the next few weeks. You don’t have to like it, but I’m here as long as Valerie lets me.” Abbi’s gaze fell from his to mine and then back to him. Her eyes were focused, like she was deep in thought, before she nodded. “Okay, then. If he’s sticking around his ass better be useful. Is he going to help us find a place to go tonight?” “Actually ...” I said. “I was kind of thinking of calling it an early night.” “What?” Abbi and Pam’s eyes practically bugged out of their sockets. I shrugged. “It’s better to stay in than end up with a second husband.”

Wes put his arm around me, pulling me close to his side. “Now, darlin’, I don’t think we have to worry about that happening.” A small smile went across Abbi’s face. “Oh, I see what this is. You’re just trying to kick us out so you two can continue on with your honeymoon. I get it.” I shook my head. “I totally didn’t say that.” Pam laughed. “But you made it more than clear.” “If that’s what you want to believe.” I shrugged. “Then, yes. Yes, I want to stay here and screw my stripper husband. Happy?” Abbi laughed. “Yep.” She and Pam headed for the door before she opened it. “We’ll see you at the shuttle tomorrow. Don’t be up too late.” With that they shut the door behind them. West turned toward me, his brows slightly furrowed. “Are you just going to call me your stripper husband forever?” “Um, what?” I blinked. “When we go to Chicago tomorrow, are you going to tell everyone that I was the mistake you made in Vegas? Because that’s not what I’d prefer to be called.” “Seriously?” I thought my jaw might have completely dropped to the floor. “We got drunk and got married in Vegas. I didn’t know your last name. You thought I had a better job than I do, and I got your name tattooed on my ass. We are a walking, talking romantic comedy trope. I don’t even know what else to call it.” He took a step toward me, interlacing our fingers. “I know it’s not perfect and if you don’t want to refer to me as your husband, that’s fine, but I don’t want to just be known as your mistake or your stripper husband. That shit stays with someone forever. You can tell people I’m your new boyfriend and then after the divorce is final I’ll leave, you’ll never see me again, and you can tell people whatever you want. Does that work?” There was something in his eyes I’d only briefly saw the night before. It was a hint of vulnerability. There was definitely something he wasn’t telling me. I didn’t think he was exactly hiding something, but there was certainly something I would need to dig beneath the surface to find. “Okay, Wes, I won’t call you a mistake.” I rubbed my thumb along his. “And we can figure out what to tell people in Chicago. And what happens afterward. Okay?” He leaned in and placed the lightest kiss on my lips. “That’s all I can ask of you.”

The Next Morning The hotel shuttle was ready bright and early to take us to the airport. Besides me, Pam, and Abbi, there were two other guys from our firm that traveled with us. I never saw them outside of the meeting room and when I walked up to the shuttle with Wes by my side, they did a double take. “Valerie? I didn’t think you brought a guest?” the older of the two, Rodney, asked, giving me a look like I was some high school girl who showed up with a creepy boyfriend for dinner. He probably wasn’t far off from the truth. Pam quickly jumped in the conversation. “He’s her husband, Wes. He flew in to surprise her. They’re newlyweds. Young love and all that.”

So much for trying to keep the marriage a secret. I probably should have told Abbi and Pam that’s what we were doing. “Valerie’s married?” The younger guy, Donald, rubbed his hands on his plaid shorts. The guy was a total goober. Every time I saw him around the office he was adjusting his glasses and talking to me like I was a little kid. Wes didn’t miss a beat, grinning and putting his hand out to Donald. “Hi, I’m Wes.” Donald and Rodney shook Wes’s hand before Rodney climbed into the shuttle. But Donald wasn’t about to give it up. He crossed his arms over his chest, sizing Wes up. “Valerie, you never told me you were married. I thought Wilder was your maiden name?” Wes put his arm around my shoulder. “It is. She’s a modern woman and wanted to keep her own name. I couldn’t complain. She usually just bats those big green eyes at me and I agree with whatever she says.” He squeezed my shoulder. The guy was laying it on thick. Donald opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Abbi was there to the rescue. “Hey, we don’t have all day to chat. Let’s get in the shuttle so I can get frisked by some TSA people.” “Sounds good to me.” Wes picked up his guitar case and shot a wink at me. Donald finally closed his mouth and walked to the shuttle. “You’re way too good at this,” I whispered to Wes. “Just trying to make you happy, darlin’” He took my free hand in his and we piled with everyone else into the shuttle. Ready to get back to reality.

A Few Hours Later “Wesley Cockrell to the desk, please. Passenger Wesley Cockrell!” Shit. Why did they have to call his name? God, I hoped my credit card wasn’t overdrawn and they were declining his ticket. Wes stood up, slowly, but I sprang from my seat like my ass was on fire. He just shook his head with his adorable grin on his face as we walked up to the counter. “Is there a problem?” I asked the dark-haired woman, who was staring down at her computer. She glanced up, but then did a double take when she saw Wes. I guess the cowboy hat and goofy grin made people take notice. “Are you Wesley Cockrell?” she asked, barely even registering that I was next to him. “Yes, ma’am.” I noticed he laid on the accent thicker when he was trying to charm someone. That’s how I ended up agreeing to marry him in the first place. Damn his sexy accent. “It looks like we had an overbooking in coach, so we’re moving you up to first class. I hope that’s okay?” My eyes practically bugged out of their sockets. “You’re moving him up to first class? Are you charging extra for that?” I didn’t even want to think about the extra cost to my credit card. She shook her head, smiling warmly. “Oh no, there’s no extra cost. We’re just terribly sorry about the inconvenience.” “And it’s just him moving up, or me too?” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, your name?” “Valerie Wilder. That’s what the credit card is under for both of our tickets.”

She typed in a few keys, her eyes flickering to the computer below her. “You two aren’t married?” Wes opened his mouth, but I intercepted first. “Newlyweds. I just haven’t changed my last name yet.” She nodded, a tight-lipped smile on her face. “I see. Well, Mrs. Cockrell, it doesn’t look like we have another opening in first class, so it would just be Wesley. Is that okay or I can see if I can get you both on a later flight?” I sighed. “No, that’s fine.” We turned and went back to our seats. Once we sat down, Wes leaned over and whispered. “Thought you didn’t want to tell people that we were married?” “Yeah, well, when a flight attendant is looking at you like you’re a piece of meat, I have to step in. It’s for your own protection.” His laugh tickled my jaw line. “I kind of like this mama tiger instinct you have going on.” “Don’t get to fond of it. I just did what I had to do to explain our tickets.” He nodded and slowly pulled back. “Okay. I understand.” I let out a deep breath and put my head back, slowly closing my eyes. It wasn’t the first time that day I had to explain who Wes was and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

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Want more Valerie and Wes? Keep up with all of the books in the Forever Wild Serial Wild Hearts The Wild One The Wild Side Wild For You Forever Wild

About The Author Magan Vernon is a Young Adult and New Adult writer who lives with her family in the insurance capital of the world. When not writing she spends her time fighting over fake boyfriends via social media. You can find her online at http://www.maganvernon.com

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