Lead singer of AD2 Demetri Daniels only wants one thing…
To marry the love of his life and make the day perfect for
But perfect isn’t exactly happening, not with his
sister-in-law going into labor, or with rabid fans discovering their wedding
location, or birds suddenly attacking the rehearsal dinner.
It doesn’t help matters that his bride to be is starstruck as
singer Ashton Hyde makes a drop in appearance to start recording his new album.
Nothing is going right.
And it’s about to get worse.
“What?” I tilted my head. “Chicken out? No striptease? Man, not even any boob. It’s like you’re too afraid to show me—“
She shoved something into my right hand.
I looked down and almost passed out into the seal tank.
A black lace thong.
Her black lace thong.
Holy shit, it was still warm from her body.
“Ah—“ My voice cracked like I was twelve.
“So…” Alyssa wrapped her dainty arms around my neck. “…I gave a little. Eat the damn fish, Demetri. That’s how these things work, don’t they?”
I nipped her lower lip then pressed her against the closest wall, ready to strip off her jeans and lay claim to what had been just out of my reach. “If I eat two fish, what do I get?”
With a sultry grin, she leaned up and whispered in my ear. “Use your imagination.”
“My imagination tends to be graphic.”
“Good.” She winked. “Mine too.”
“So maybe I’ll eat three just to be safe.”
“Depends on how many surprises you want in the next few hours.” She lifted her shoulder and examined her nails like she didn’t care what I did.
I freaking downed the rest of the cup of fish — swallowed them whole — then almost died a slow death as the taste of fish permeated my mouth.
When I looked up through teary eyes, Alyssa had her phone pointed in my direction, laughing.
“Tell me—” My voice was hoarse. I had to hit my chest to keep from gagging. “Tell me it’s just a picture and not recording.”
“Say hi to your Instagram followers,” she said cheerfully.
I flipped the camera off.
I forced a smile then gagged again. “The things I do for sex.”
“That’s the best part, Dem.” Alyssa laughed. “You were getting it within a few hours regardless. Duh, we’re getting married.”
“But…” I shook my head. “…I thought this meant I skipped ahead a few steps, like when you get the free-pass card in board games.”
“Name the board game, and I’ll say yes.”
“Er, shit.” I was a total blank. “Monopoly.”
She gave me a thumbs-down. “But look on the bright side! You made me laugh and, honestly… taking me back here, one of the most romantic things you’ve done in the last few days. It’s where we argued, made out, talked—“
I nodded my head. “It’s where I fell for you.”
“It’s where my obsession with those eyes started,” I whispered. “It’s where I decided I wasn’t going to go another day, live another second, without learning everything I could about my taffy girl.”
“And so the whore married the pimp,” she teased.
“I’m the whore in this scenario, aren’t I?”
“Well, I’m the supplier, so technically, I’m the pimp, right?”
We both burst out laughing as an elderly lady walked by us and glared like we were sitting in church talking about prostitution.
“Clambake.” I held out my hand. “Then tomorrow…”
“Married.” She clenched my fingers and let out a happy sigh.
Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she’s not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.
She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband and their snoring Boxer, Sir Winston Churchill. She loves to hear from readers! You can follow her writing journey at www.rachelvandykenauthor.com