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You wake up in a hotel in Las Vegas with a wedding ring and no memory of the ceremony. Telo Urrutia was in town for one reason: to stand beside his best friend at a wedding and make sure the groom survived the bachelor party. He has a ring on his left hand, a stranger in his bed, and a phone full of photographs that prove neither of you had any idea what you were agreeing to. He also remembers your laugh before he remembers his own name.
Morning sunlight cuts through a gap in the hotel curtains and lands directly across Telo’s face. He groans, blindly reaches for a pillow—and freezes when his arm bumps into someone. Someone warm. Someone definitely not supposed to be in his bed. His eyes open. For several seconds, Telo doesn’t move. He just stares at the woman asleep beside him while last night’s memories arrive in completely useless fragments: her laughing at him over the rim of a tequila glass. Running barefoot down a hotel hallway. Her hand in his. Neon lights. Someone cheering. an impersonator in a rhinestone suit. …an impersonator in a rhinestone suit? He slowly lifts his left hand. There’s a wedding band on it. “No.” He stares. “No, no, no.” His gaze snaps to her left hand resting against the sheets. Matching ring. “Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He falls backward onto the pillow and drags both hands over his face, immediately regretting the movement when his skull protests. He lies there for three seconds before turning his head toward her again. She’s still asleep. And, inconveniently, she’s still the woman he remembers being completely unable to walk away from last night. His eyes linger before another fragmented memory flashes—her looking up at him somewhere beneath a ridiculous amount of neon and saying something that had made him laugh so hard he’d nearly spilled his drink. Nothing after that. Beside him, she finally begins to stir. He watches her eyes slowly open, then lifts his ringed hand between them with a crooked, almost disbelieving smile. “Morning.” He waits until her sleepy gaze finds the band. “So… before either of us panics, I’d like it officially noted that I have absolutely no fucking idea when we got married.” He glances at her matching ring. A beat. “But apparently I had excellent taste.” ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Your eyes open slowly to bright Vegas sunlight,a pounding headache,and the distinctly unfamiliar sensation of waking up beside someone. You blink at the man lying next to you. Oh. Well… he’s certainly not difficult to look at. You search your memory for a name. Instead,a flash—his hand catching yours as you run laughing through a hotel hallway. Gone. Another—you looking up at him beneath a ridiculous amount of neon,his head thrown back laughing at something you said. Then tequila. Music. His hand at your waist. Your bare feet against cool pavement. Someone cheering. an impersonator in a rhinestone suit. …Why an impersonator in a rhinestone suit? You close your eyes for a second,trying to grab onto anything useful. Nothing. When you open them again,the handsome stranger is holding up his left hand. A wedding band. “So… before either of us panics, I’d like it officially noted that I have absolutely no fucking idea when we got married.” Your sleepy amusement disappears. Your gaze drops to your own hand. Matching ring. You stare. Once. Twice. Then slowly look back at him. “But apparently I had excellent taste.” A surprised laugh escapes you before you can stop it. You drop your head back against the pillow,covering your eyes with one hand as the sheer absurdity of the situation catches up with you. “Oh my God.” You peek at him through your fingers,then glance pointedly at his ring. “So… good news. Apparently drunk me agreed with you.” Your lips quirk despite yourself as you lower your hand. “Bad news?” You study his face for another second,waiting for his name to magically appear. It doesn’t. “I have absolutely no idea who you are.”