Chapter 1

Rrring! Rrring! Rrring!

“Uhhhh.” Slate groaned from underneath his pillow. Rrring! Rrring! Rrring!

“What the fuck is that noise?” he grumbled. The sound stopped as suddenly as it started, affording Slate’s pounding head a small reprieve. Before he could sink back into blessed oblivion the noise started again. He could’ve sworn it was louder than before. Like it was pissed off he didn’t respond to it the first time.

Realizing it was the hotel phone, he blindly reached out to his right and found nothing but air. His hand should have come down on the nightstand at the very least. He grunted in annoyance and tried again. He kept moving his hand around, feeling for where the phone should be and still couldn’t find it.

“Motherfuck!” He pulled the pillow off his face and cracked his eyes. “What the hell?” Somehow, he’d ended up sleeping at the foot of the bed and the nightstand with the hotel phone blaring at him was at the opposite end. How the hell did he end up down here? He shoved the blankets off his naked self and slowly sat up. “Holy shit.” Slate’s head was spinning along with his stomach. He thought he might die until the phone stopped ringing, the complete silence almost deafening in its wake. Just as soon as he thought the madness was over, the phone started up again.

“Someone better be bleeding.” He crawled up the bed and yanked the phone up to his ear. “What?” he barked at the person on the other end of the line.

“Hey, man” Ruger laughed. “What crawled up your ass?”

Slate ran a hand through his hair, his eyes closed. They weighed too damn much to keep them open. “Is there a reason you’re calling this God damn early in the morning?”

“What time do you think it is?” Slate could hear the laughter in his friend’s voice and wanted to reach through the phone and strangle him. The only thing stopping him was the fact that Josie would be left raising their twins alone and Slate thought being the father of twins, one of which was a girl, was punishment enough. For now.

“Five?” he guessed. He wasn’t sure because the curtains were closed as were his eyes and he wasn’t facing that direction to see for himself.

“Hate to break it to you, but it’s ten and our flight goes out at 11:30. I don’t know what you, Cole and Trojan got up to last night, but you need to get your ass up, shower and get here in the next thirty minutes if you plan on getting through security and making the flight.”

“What?!” Oh shit, the sound of his own voice was hurting his head.

“Get up, get moving and get here. Everyone’s here but you.”

“What? Why didn’t someone try and call me sooner?”

“We did. Everyone was calling your cell. You didn’t answer. We thought it was dead. Then we thought you were coming with Cole and Trojan, but they showed up here without you. They thought you left without them.”

“Some fuckin’ friends you guys are. Didn’t it cross your mind to knock on my door as your were leaving?”

“Get your cranky ass down here before you miss your flight.” Ruger chuckled before disconnecting.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Slate stood slowly and shuffled toward the bathroom. Not even halfway there, he made a slight detour and shuffled his way to the minibar. He squinted his eyes open enough to see the little bottles of booze inside, spotted the Jack and pulled one out. He twisted the top off, brought it to his lips, tipped his head back and chugged it down. The hair of the dog and all that.

Flipping the light on in the bathroom had him jerking his head back in shock. Damn, it was bright in here. He turned the water on and fiddled with the knob until he found the temperature he wanted. He tossed the empty mini bottle in the trash next to the toilet and climbed in the shower. “Ahhhh.” The water was amazing. Leaning on his hands, his head under the spray, he peed down the drain for what felt like forever. How much did he drink last night? Were Cole and Trojan in as bad of shape as he was? Apparently not if they were already at the airport. Without him. Assholes.

Slate made quick work of showering and brushing his teeth. He was in and out in ten minutes. While he was packing his bag, he had set up his coffee maker to brew him a cup he could drink on the ride to the airport. He snatched it up as soon as he finished dressing and stormed out the door. He hoped like fuck there were some cabs waiting outside the door when he got down there. If he missed his flight, he’d have to wait until later tonight before the next one would be available.

“Son of a bitch.” Slate stowed his bag in the overhead compartment and plopped down in his seat next to Cole. He fastened his seat belt, heaved a huge sigh of relief and dropped his head back to rest on the headrest.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Sherlock. I feel like shit, too.” He chanced opening his eyes and faced Cole. “You look pretty rough yourself.” He leaned over and took a sniff. “Didn’t you take a shower?”

“No. I didn’t take a shower.” Cole sounded a little miffed himself now. Good. Fucker should’ve woken him up or checked to make sure Slate hadn’t already left for the airport.

“Well, you need one.” He leaned his head back against the seat again and closed his eyes. He was planning on sleeping the whole flight home. He wouldn’t be able to do that if Cole decided he wanted to talk. Deciding to poke the bear one more time to ensure Cole’s silence, he said, “And you could’ve at least brushed your teeth. You smell like a fucking bottle of Jack.”

“You are such an asshole.” Cole laughed, knowing exactly what Slate was trying to do. “Go to fucking sleep, you grumpy ass. Hopefully, you’ll be in a better mood when we land.”

Slate’s need to take a piss woke him from a much needed sleep. He saw that Cole was staring out the window. “Hey, how much longer until we land?”

Cole turned to answer. He looked him over once before saying, “Glad to see nice Slate is with us now.” He smiled big at Slate’s scowl. “Twenty minutes.”

“Thanks.” He stood, making sure not to hit his head on the overhead bins. He nodded his head in greeting as he passed his friends. He couldn’t help but smile as he spotted Ridley passed out on Blue’s shoulder. His brother was having fun tickling her lip with a strand of her own hair. She kept swatting at it and he kept fighting not to burst out laughing. Slate shook his head and continued toward the bathroom.

He closed the door behind him before he tried to turn in the tiny space. These bathrooms were not built for people with wide shoulders and stood six feet three inches. He quickly relieved himself, feeling somewhat human now that he’d slept and emptied his bladder. It was while he was washing his hands that he noticed it. A silver wedding band on his left ring finger. “What the fuck is that?!” he shouted.

How the hell did he end up with a God damn wedding ring on his finger? Were the guys playing some kind of joke on him? He tried to remember what all he’d done last night and getting married didn’t even register. Surely, he didn’t get drunk and marry someone. Did he? No. He couldn’t have. If he’d gotten married he wouldn’t have woken up in his bed all alone this morning. He didn’t remember seeing any signs of a woman being anywhere in his room. So, yeah, it had to be a joke Cole and Trojan were playing on him. Just wait until he got home. He was going to kick their asses.

“Sir? Are you all right?” a female voice asked from the other side of the closed door as she knocked.

“Yeah. I’m good.” He opened the door to find one of the flight attendants and felt heat flush his face. “Sorry. All yours.”

He stepped out of the bathroom, trying to get by her in a hurry without knocking her over. He rushed to his seat and dropped down. Before he could confront Cole, his friend burst into laughter. “Dude, do you need to see a doctor when we get home?”

Slate’s face scrunched up. “What? What are talking about?”

“You know. When you shouted ‘what the fuck is that?’ while you were in the bathroom.” He shook his head. “I thought since you eat so many fruits and vegetables that you didn’t have any problems with that.”

“Trouble with what? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Cole leaned in and lowered his voice conspiratorially. He cleared his throat and said, “Constipation.”

Slate jerked back. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He leaned back in and growled through clenched teeth. “I don’t have constipation. I shouted that because of the ring. Which one of you fuckers put the ring on my hand?”

Cole’s brows dipped in confusion. Or was it? Maybe he was playing like he didn’t know what Slate was talking about, but in reality he knew exactly what he was talking about and planned on blaming it all on Trojan to stay out of trouble.

“What are you talking about? What ring?”

“Don’t play dumb. It’s not going to get you out of an ass kicking.”

“Seriously. What the fuck are you talking about?” Cole was getting a little pissed now himself.

“This, asshole.” Slate whipped his left hand up between them, wiggling his fingers. He pointed at the shiny silver band with his finger from his right hand. “Does this look familiar to you? Which one of you fuckers put it on me?”

Cole’s eyes flew wide and his mouth fell open in shock. Uh oh. That wasn’t good. If he didn’t know anything about it, that meant maybe it was real. He was back to wondering if he got married while he was drunk and who he might have married last night. There was a whole chunk of time from last night he didn’t remember. He couldn’t help but wonder again, that if he did get married, why wasn’t she there this morning when he woke up?

“Dude. Did you get married last night?”

Slate swallowed hard around the lump growing in his throat. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?! How can you not know?!” Cole was half twisted in his seat, freaking out as badly as Slate.

“Well, if you were with me all night, shouldn’t you know if I got married?” Slate was trying to think logically so he could maybe figure out how he ended up with a ring on his finger.

Cole held his hands up in front of him, warding off Slate’s wrath. “Hey. Don’t look at me. You were single and ringless when me and Trojan went off to take a piss and play a couple slots. What you did after that, I haven’t got a clue. We just assumed you found a woman and headed up to your room when we came back and you were gone.”

“You left me alone that drunk?”

“I’ve seen you worse,” Cole defended himself.

“Not in Vegas, you asshole.” He let his head fall back against the seat once more. He closed his eyes and whispered to himself, “I am so fucked.”

—

Two of the prospects were waiting at the airport to pick everyone up. Shooter, Quinn, Ruger and Josie piled into one SUV and Slate, Cole, Trojan, Blue and Ridley in the other. Slate sat in the front seat with his duffel in his lap, hoping to see if there were any clues about what happened last night inside. He unzipped his duffel thinking maybe there were receipts or something in his jeans from last night. Nope. He pushed the jeans aside and froze. “What the fuck?”

Cole laughed from the third-row seats. “What’d you find?”

Slowly, as if picking up a bomb that could go off with the slightest movement, he pulled out a piece of paper. “A marriage certificate.” His voice was hoarse and full of disbelief.

Blue leaned forward between the seats. “The fuck you talking about, a marriage certificate?”

“You know on the plane when he was in the bathroom and shouted what the fuck is this? He found a wedding ring on his finger and before you ask, no, me and Trojan didn’t have anything to do with it.” Cole filled Blue, Ridley, Trojan and the prospect, Drew, in.

“You got married!? Why? Who did you marry?” At least his brother, Blue, was as shaken up about it as he was.

“It appears that I did although I have no memory of it. Why I did it, no clue, other than I was drunk off my ass. And according to this marriage certificate, I’m married to someone named Sophie Ferguson.”

They pulled up to the front gate at the Minions clubhouse and was let in. Slate hopped out and went straight to his room and pulled out his phone. Maybe he’d get lucky and find a picture of himself with this Sophie woman. If not, he’d see if Cole or Trojan had anything.

Slate found his friends already outside at a picnic table, the club’s wedding reception for Shooter and Quinn already in full swing. He lifted one foot over the picnic table seat and dropped down. By the time he’d joined them, word had spread among his brothers that he’d gotten married last night and he had no idea to who. No doubt there was going to be a lot of teasing at his expense.

“I think Sophie might be one of these three women.” He turned the phone for the others to see. “You’ll have to scroll.”

“Let me see that.” Cole took the phone and scrolled through the pictures. “Yeah. I remember meeting these two, the blonde and the red head. The brunette I would’ve remembered. He laughed and passed the phone around. “Damn, Slate. What if you’re married to the blonde with the crooked teeth?”

“He can get her braces,” Shooter volunteered, earning a disgusted scowl from Slate.

“What about the red head?” Cole went on. “She has tiny titties.”

“He can get her implants,” Trojan offered, trying to be helpful. Not.

“But what’s he gonna do about that lazy eye?” Jeff chipped in before passing the phone. “He can’t fix that.”

The whole table broke out in an uproar. Everyone was either laughing, or crying, or a combination of both. Yeah. He knew it. All at Slate’s expense.

He growled under his breath in frustration. He was suddenly second guessing his decision to have voted for the man to get patched in. Didn’t anybody realize the seriousness of the situation? Did no one care that he was married to a woman he couldn’t possibly pick out of a lineup if his or his brothers lives depended on it? Sure, if this was happening to someone else, he would be laughing his ass off, too. But it wasn’t and he wasn’t finding anything funny about it at all.

He watched as Shooter pat his chest, trying to calm his breathing down before the man asked, “How did you end up married, anyway?”

Slate rubbed his hand down his face and answered slowly, so everyone would know he was getting tired of answering this particular question. “I don’t know. I was drunk off my ass.”

Cole shook his head, a huge smile splitting his face. “I can’t believe you’re married.”

Slate glared at one of his closest friends and fought the urge to reach across the table and punch him in his face. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”

“What?” Cole shot up straight in his seat, his hand over his heart, as if wounded. “Are you blaming me because you got married last night?”

“Yes. I most certainly am. If you and Trojan,” Slate was sure to include the other man in his displeasure, “hadn’t wandered off and left me all alone, in an unbelievably drunken state, this,” he shot his hand sporting the wedding ring in his face, “would’ve never happened.”

“You got married?!” Shooter’s little sister, Mia, shouted in disbelief from where she was getting ready to take a seat next to Quinn. If he didn’t know better, he would swear she looked wounded. Her look of pain and betrayal couldn’t be right. That didn’t make any sense. He’d always thought of her like a little sister and enjoyed their back and forth teasing. Her attempts at flirting with him weren’t for real, were they? He’d always thought she was just teasing him, like he liked to tease her. He watched helplessly and somewhat confused as she bolted from the table and disappeared inside.

He looked to Shooter to see if he knew what that was all about.

“Sorry, man. She’s been half in love with you for a couple of years now. Thought she’d grow out of it.” Shooter shrugged, obviously uncomfortable having to explain it to him. Quinn leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek, then went in search of Mia.

“I didn’t know.” Slate glanced once more in the direction Mia took off. “I always thought of her like a little sister. I would never go there with Mia. She’s your sister.”

“I know, man. It’s fine. Give it some time and she’ll get over it.” Shooter took a long pull from his beer. “So what do you plan on doing with this mystery bride? Get a divorce?”

“Yes. Absolutely. I don’t even know the woman. Odds are she was as drunk as I was and doesn’t want to be married anymore than I do.”

“Uh, Slate?” One of the prospects stood at the end of the table, trying to get his attention.

“Yeah?” Slate was starting to feel a little defeated. He knew his brothers were all giving him shit, but he was truly freaked the hell out. And now this whole thing with Mia, he felt guilty. For what, he wasn’t sure.

“You got a visitor and she says she’s your wife.”

“Please be the brunette. Please be the brunette,” he chanted with his eyes closed. He really needed to catch a break right about now.

“Hi. I’m Sophie.”

At the sound of the woman’s sultry voice, silence fell over their table. Shit. Did that mean it was a good thing or a bad one? He couldn’t see her as she was hidden behind the prospect. He prayed she was as hot as her voice was sexy.

She smiled a little timidly and waved as she stepped out from behind the prospect. “I’m your wife.”

Holy. Fuck. His wife was breathtaking. His picture didn’t do her justice.

“Fuck. Me.” Cole’s voice sounded a little strained.

Hell. Her voice alone was enough to cause every man here to have wet dreams. Her long ash brown hair fell to below her shoulders and had the prettiest gold highlights that complemented her tan skin. Her large light green eyes slanted slightly up at the corners and twinkled with mischief. She had full, lush lips that were tipped up at one corner at the moment, not sure whether to smile fully or not. Her breasts looked to be a little more than a handful and her hips were nice and curvy. The kind of hips a man could hold onto. He couldn’t wait for her to turn around so he could check out her ass in those faded blue jeans. Her nipples were getting hard under her white tank top the longer he looked at her.

Well, if that last observation along with the erection he was instantly sporting now was any indication, they would get along physically just fine. On the outside, she was beautiful and her voice sexy as hell, but what was her personality like? Would they be compatible that way? Why did he care if he was planning on divorcing her? He blamed his dick. From the dawn of mankind, man’s dick has always gotten him in trouble. Then he looked at her again and thought, who wouldn’t want to fuck someone as fine as Sophie?

Glancing around the table, seeing his brothers’ expressions, he could almost bet money that if Cole stood up right now, he’d have an erection. Probably best Cole didn’t stand up right now or Slate might knock his ass out for looking at his wife like he could eat her alive. Deciding he needed to get her away from everyone’s prying eyes, he stood.

“We need to talk.” He bid his friends goodbye, took her by the hand and led her inside.

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