Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Right. He’d thought the team would want that pic, for the fans and all. Plus, Everly encouraged auction winners to post photos online. “How did that lead to someone figuring out we got married hours later?”
Asher spins his phone around and shows me the shot of us in the lobby with the tired but grateful parents. The caption under it says, “Lucky us! Tonight in Vegas, we met this great couple. He’s the face of CheekyBeast, and she’s his good luck charm. And can you believe it? They gave us their extra room…just to be nice! I say we pay it forward! When in Vegas tonight, spread a little kindness and do a favor for a stranger!”
I…I can’t…I can’t believe it. “But the wedding didn’t happen until much later,” I say, even though something tugs at my brain, like a clue I’m starting to decipher.
Asher hesitates, flicking through the images on his phone. “CheekyBeast shared it to their socials. And it became a thing, people talking about how they then paid it forward and spread kindness.” A hint of embarrassment colors his tone as he tells me, “We went viral in Vegas.”
This is more surreal than marrying my best friend for fun. “We spread kindness and didn’t know it?”
Scrolling some more, he says, “And since they posted that we were in The Extravagant, some people took pictures of us, calling us Mister CheekyBeast and The Good Luck Charm. Random shots. Like at the concert, when I held your hand as we walked to our seats.” A shiver runs through me at the memory of his possessive touch. “Then a shot of us walking through the hotel.” He quotes, “‘Spotted Mister CheekyBeast in Vegas and then opened the door for a stranger. When in Vegas, pay it forward.’ Or this—someone shared that pic and then said they gave up their bus seat for a senior. Someone else shared it and said they picked up litter.”
“We went viral for doing something...nice?” This doesn’t compute.
“Evidently,” he says, as surprised as I am.
“That’s...”
“Cool?”
My heart squeezes with warmth. “Yes. But did Mrs. Matrimony share the wedding pics, then? She’s the only one who had actual proof of us being married. We took our rings off when we left this morning.”
Asher sighs heavily, shaking his head. “It happened when we were playing roulette, Maeve.”
Oh.
Oh shit. I didn’t even think about the rings we wore in public. My focus was solely on betting on a kiss. But I remember Asher draped an arm around me and tugged me close, then stared daggers at a redheaded man next to me. I have no idea who took the shot, nor does it matter.
But when a memory swims to the surface, I decipher the clue. At the table, a woman in a fuchsia jumpsuit shouted, When in Vegas! and tipped her drink toward me. Was she toasting us? She must have seen the pic. When in Vegas, pay it forward.
It’s all my fault that we went viral. I’m the one who suggested roulette.
“Can I see it? The roulette pic?”
He shows me a photo of us leaning against the roulette table, his arm wrapped around my shoulder, with a claiming vibe. The shutterbug has two more pics, zoomed in on our rings.
My stomach flips with nerves and some seriously lusty chills. I don’t even know what is going on in my life right now, and my body decides to get a little turned on? What the fuck, hormones?
I try to ignore them and zero in on the problem.
This pay-it-forward movement is wonderful, but it’s making my career situation even more complicated.
Or am I just being overly cautious?
“We could let it blow over, maybe,” I suggest, desperate to fix this mess. I’m the girl who’s too much, too clingy. But I can’t lean on my best friend to fix my roulette mistake. Not right now. He has too much on his plate with hockey and his charity.
“Maybe we could,” he says, and his brain is clearly spinning in search of solutions too.
“So what if everyone thinks we’re married? Who do we have to prove this to? Beyond tonight? Beyond this party? No one, right?” I ask hastily, nearly convincing myself.
He nods. “Maybe it won’t matter. No one has a long attention span these days anyway. The Sea Dogs might not find out. They might not care. It’ll be fine.”
For the first time in fifteen minutes, I almost believe this ridiculous situation will work. I always find trouble, but I always find my way out of it too. “We’ll have a laugh later, I’m sure.”
“Definitely.”
Mister Butler clears his throat from the hallway—there’s no time to linger. We exit the bathroom with the conversation unfinished but with hope we’ll get out of this mess unscathed.
In the hall, the liveried man shoots me a look that says I’m an agent of chaos and I’ve met my match in him.