My Anti-Marriage Read online

  “I know. Riley warned me against causing any drama to spoil Brad’s fun. I get it.”

  Chris frowned. “Does he know something?”

  “Nope.”

  It had been a close call when Riley noticed the ring on his finger, but Ant had bluffed his way through an explanation well enough to impress any poker player. Riley and Harry both seemed to buy the story that he’d bought a display ring at a wedding venue — some of which came fully stocked for the “spontaneous” bridal party — after it got stuck on his finger. He’d joked that he’d been drunk enough to buy the Hoover Dam if someone offered it, and sadly, it probably wasn’t far from the truth.

  It wasn’t the first time Ant had drunk enough to black out parts of the night, but usually all his memory was missing was rambling conversations at the bar. He’d never woken up in someone’s bed with no clue how he got there, and it was damn unsettling.

  But he was glad that if it had to happen, it had happened with Chris. Glad, too, that he’d been the one with Chris the night before. He shuddered to think of Chris waking in bed with some asshole who’d take advantage.

  Hit by a surge of affection, he ruffled Chris’s hair, earning an annoyed look. Still, it was the next-best thing to pulling him into his arms.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “If I can’t get away, we can always work on it tonight. Everything’s open late on Vegas, or we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “I guess that’s true.”

  Ant slipped out the door, glancing back to see Chris smoothing his hair. And he called Ant vain.

  “You’re going to bankrupt me,” Ant said.

  Riley grinned as he made a beeline for the blackjack tables. “I’ll spot you some cash.”

  After lunch, they’d headed back to the hotel. Ant had hoped to slip away, but Riley wanted to gamble again, and he wanted his two “designated” friends at his side. He and Brad had made some sort of pre-wedding agreement about which friends went where. Ant didn’t really mind being dragged along — he could hardly complain when he’d invited himself on this trip — but it did make it difficult to find any time for himself. Or his marriage snafu.

  That morning, they’d made a tour of casinos on the Strip, just to check out different settings.

  Ant recognized several from his night of carousing with Chris. It was infuriating to forget something as monumental as marriage while remembering meaningless details, like the layout of New York New York with its casino in the center with replica brick buildings evoking the feel of Greenwich Village along the perimeter.

  Now, Riley seemed content to stay at the casino attached to their own hotel until Brad and entourage returned for dinner, which suited Ant fine. It’d be easier to slip away at some point, he hoped.

  “Are you going to spot me too, high roller?” Harry asked.

  “Why the hell not?” Riley said with the air of a man throwing caution to the wind. “This is pretty much the last time I can be irresponsible with my money without grief. Brad will own my balls in a couple of days.”

  Ant snorted. “You mean he doesn’t already?”

  Harry chuckled, and Riley shot him a look. “Laugh it up. You might not be married, but Bret has your balls in the palm of his hand too.”

  “It’s an even ball swap in our household.”

  “All this talk of balls is kinda gay,” Ant said.

  Harry rolled his eyes. “Hilarious. I can’t see why Chris isn’t all over that genius wit of yours.”

  Riley lifted his hand for a high-five. “Aw, yeah! That’s retro Harry right there, the cynic from the pre-Bret era.”

  Harry flipped him off, but he was grinning. They continued to trash-talk each other all the way to the blackjack table.

  They each took seats, and Ant tried to focus on Riley’s brief instructions of how to play, along with the dealer’s rapid-fire delivery. He used his right hand to put down chips and tap the table for a hit. Even though Riley seemed to buy his story earlier, Ant didn’t want to push his luck by flashing the wedding ring around.

  As soon as he could excuse himself to the bathroom, he was going to sneak up to his room and get the damn thing off — even if he had to take a layer of skin with it.

  THURSDAY NIGHT

  “Next step, the wedding!” Chris said happily.

  His face was bright, overwhelming the surroundings around him. Ant had eyes for nothing else but the gorgeous man before him.

  “We don’t have rings.”

  Chris pursed his lips in thought.

  “We could go look for some quarter machines with kiddie rings inside,” Ant said with a laugh. “That would be suitably tacky.”

  “Ooh, I know! I have some rings we can use.” Chris grinned. “Call the Lyft. We need to run by the hotel.”

  FRIDAY EVENING

  Ant stood in the bathroom, a soapy gold ring clutched in his hand when he remembered with dawning horror just where Chris had found rings the night before. They’d been in his hotel room. And why would Chris have wedding rings in his room? Because he was the fucking best man to Brad and Riley.

  With a sick feeling, Ant dried off the ring and turned it in the light. It wasn’t some cheap ring, as he’d first assumed. Inside, there was an inscription.

  Wingmen, lovers, husbands.

  “Fuck,” Ant cursed.

  He carefully placed the ring in the soap dish. The engraving didn’t include names or dates, but there was no doubt in his mind now.

  They’d given Brad and Riley’s wedding rings a test run.

  He was surprised Chris hadn’t recognized the rings that morning. He was the best man, and he’d had them in his possession. Ant could only assume he hadn’t taken them from their case to study them, or that he was too weirded out by the whole situation to give them a close look.

  Either way, this was not good. This had the making of disaster. Worse even than accidentally getting married. Nothing would horrify Chris more than letting down his best friends.

  Ant had to find Chris and make sure he still had the other ring, or they were going to have two angry grooms on their hands.

  Chapter Six

  Chris pulled Ant aside as soon as the group convened in the lobby. “Please tell me you have good news.”

  Ant grimaced. “Not so much.”

  Chris grabbed his arm, dragging him a few feet from the loose gathering of their friends. It didn’t go unnoticed as Brad half-turned to watch them.

  “What did you find out?” Chris asked.

  Ant didn’t answer immediately. He was trying to decide which piece of bad news to deliver first. He’d been remembering bits and pieces of the night before, but nothing helpful, and he’d never found an opportunity to do much more than a Google web search for information about annulment. So, now he had to tell Chris about the reality of the wedding rings without offering anything positive to offset it.

  Chris snapped his fingers. “Ant! Focus. We need to talk about this annulment.”

  Ant rubbed his ring finger. “We’ve got bigger fish to fry right now.”

  “How’s that possible?”

  “Hold that thought,” Ant muttered as Brad strolled over, slinging an arm around each of them.

  “You two are getting cozy.”

  Brad knew very well that Ant would like nothing better. He’d had to come clean to Brad, swearing on his life he’d never hurt Chris, to get the greenlight for this trip. But the dude could be subtler. No, wait. This was Brad. He didn’t do subtle.

  When neither Chris nor Ant responded, Brad shook them playfully. “Okay, play it coy,” he said. “I’m thinking drinks, dinner, and another show.”

  Ant seized on the first excuse that came to mind. “You’re right, Brad. Chris and I have been catching up on old times this weekend.”

  “No, we haven’t,” Chris said, shooting Ant a dark look.

  “I was thinking we should go to dinner, just the two of us,” Ant continued. Fortune favored the brave, they said. He hoped that old edict held true b
ecause Chris looked murderous. “We have a few things to work out.” He lifted his eyebrows, waiting for Chris to catch on. “About our relationship status.”

  Brad made a high-pitched sound, and Chris held up a hand. “There is no relationship status,” he said firmly. But then he exhaled, and his defiance escaped with his breath. “But we can have dinner as friends.”

  “Friendship is a relationship,” Brad sing-songed. “In fact, you wouldn’t be the first friends to become lovers.”

  Chris rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, we’re not you and Riley or Harry and Bret.” He turned to Ant. “I need to go shower. I feel like I’ve done nothing but sweat all day.”

  “Stop flirting with me,” Ant teased. “I don’t need to hear about how I make you all hot and sweaty.”

  Brad laughed, delighted, while Chris was less impressed.

  “Catch you guys later,” Chris said.

  Brad grinned. “Sure, but I expect to see both of you later tonight. No ditching me for fun and games again.”

  Chris took off, and Ant had to jog across the lobby to catch him at the elevator. They stepped into the crowded box, ending up on opposite sides.

  As the floors went by, other passengers stepped off until it was just them and one woman in a tight, form-fitting dress that stopped mid-thigh.

  She moved closer to Ant. “Enjoying your stay in Vegas?”

  “Yeah, it’s been an adventure,” he said, glancing over at Chris. He didn’t smile, but Ant could see the hint of amusement in his eyes. As if he were thinking, major understatement.

  “Ah yes, well, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, hmm? That’s our motto for a reason.”

  “If only,” Chris murmured.

  She ignored Chris, placing a hand on Ant’s forearm. “If you’re looking for new experiences during your stay, there are many options,” she said.

  Startled, he took in her carefully applied makeup — tasteful, but thorough — the short dress, the manicured nails. Then the business card she extended to him, including a phone number.

  “Oh, uh …”

  Ant floundered for a response, trying to wrap his head around prostitution that came with business cards. He definitely wasn’t in the Midwest anymore.

  He glanced down at the card, reading the name printed in lipstick red type.

  “Thanks, Marissa.”

  The elevator came to a stop on the tenth floor. “This is my floor.” She smiled back at him. “Have a very good evening.”

  When the doors closed again, Chris turned to him. “Fish to fry?”

  Ant blinked. “Huh?”

  Chris huffed. “You mentioned we have bigger fish to fry than an annulment? I’d like to know how that’s possible.”

  “Oh, uh… right.”

  Chris laid his hand on Ant’s arm, in the exact same place Marissa had touched him. He stepped in close and lowered his voice. “Bryant, I need to know something.”

  Ant shivered as his full name slipped from Chris’s lips. Virtually no one called him Bryant, but hearing Chris say it in that low, sexy tone fired up all his nerves.

  “Hmm?” he asked, unable to find his words.

  “Are you bisexual? Or do you just really like people in your personal space?”

  Ant blinked. “Uh, what?”

  Chris drew back, laughing. “God, you’re ridiculous. You let an escort get you all worked up.”

  It’s not the escort getting me worked up.

  Ant shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not into women. She just surprised me.”

  Chris rolled his eyes. “Likely story.”

  The elevator came to a stop, this time on their floor, and Ant followed Chris to his door. After pulling out his keycard, Chris paused. “If you’re following me to my room in hopes of some action, that ship sailed last night.”

  That was sad news.

  “Nah. Bigger fish to fry, remember?”

  Instead of going inside, Chris turned, leaning back against the door. “Tell me about these fish.”

  Ant glanced down the hallway. He would have preferred to hold this conversation in the privacy of Chris’s room, but they were alone for the moment.

  It’s like a bandage, Ant. Just rip it off.

  “Remember those rings we had on?” he asked.

  Or, you know, be a coward and take the scenic route to the truth. That works, too.

  Chris’s gaze shot to Ant’s now-bare finger. “You got yours off. That’s a relief.”

  “Well, yeah. But Chris, have you thought at all about where we might have gotten those rings?”

  Chris blinked. “Not really. I was too busy freaking out over the fact we were wearing them. I assumed we bought them somewhere. God, don’t tell me they were super pricy or something.”

  “Worse,” Ant said. “I think they’re Brad and Riley’s.”

  Chris clapped a hand over his mouth. He couldn’t hide the horror in his eyes.

  “Mine had an inscription inside,” Ant continued. “No way we would have gone to those lengths if we’d bought something cheap.”

  Chris lowered his hand. “Oh, God. How does this keep getting worse?”

  He looked sick. Ant placed hands on his shoulders. “Just breathe. It’s going to be okay. I promise, whatever happens, everything is going to be okay.”

  Chris sucked in a deep breath. Then exhaled. Breathed in. Breathed out.

  “I’m overreacting,” he said in a shaky voice.

  “Yes,” Ant said gently.

  “There are people starving, losing their homes and their jobs. So, you know, using my best friends’ rings to marry a guy I don’t like doesn’t rank very high in world problems.”

  “And you’re insulting me again. There’s the Chris I know.”

  Chris winced. “Sorry. My brain-to-mouth filter must be on the fritz.”

  “A good shock will do that to you. Listen, man. This isn’t a crisis. We have the rings, right? We just return them.”

  Chris nodded. “Right. Good. That’s good.”

  “So, I can get my ring from my room. Where’s yours?”

  Chris bit his lip. “I don’t know. In my room somewhere?”

  “Then I guess we better look for it.” Ant took the keycard from Chris’s shaky hand and nudged him aside to unlock the door.

  Chris stepped inside his room and stared blankly at the tidy space. The cleaning service had come by and gotten rid of the mess of empty bottles, chip bags, and other trash they’d strewn around during their all-nighter. The bed was neatly made, a looming presence screaming, “You slept here with Ant!”

  Ant stepped past him, walking over to a small table and chair in the corner. “Do you remember where you last had the ring?”

  “On my finger.”

  Ant glanced back at him. “Yeah, I meant after that, genius.”

  Chris flipped him off while he thought it over. “You were there too. You don’t remember where I put it?”

  “No.”

  “Stop giving me grief, then,” Chris said as he slid open the bedside table drawer. No ring, but now he knew where to look if he wanted to order room service. He closed the drawer.

  “Dude, you sucked my finger. I have a good excuse for not remembering anything.”

  That’s right. They’d been standing by the bed. Chris had slid off his ring, but Ant’s had stuck. He’d grabbed Ant’s hand and used his mouth to try to get his finger slippery.

  His cheeks heated. What the fuck had he been thinking? Maybe he’d still been a bit drunk even then.

  “Chris?”

  Ant’s voice next to his ear made him jump.

  “Just thinking it through. We were next to the bed,” Chris said.

  “Okay, let’s start there.”

  Ant dropped down to his hands and knees. Tilting down until his chest was flush with the floor, he peered under the bed. Like most hotels, it had about a foot of space before there was a solid frame that went to the floor, keeping things from being lost too far underneath it.

&nbs
p; Ant’s position pushed his ass into the air. He wasn’t wearing tight clothes, but it was impossible not to see the shape of his ass in the clingy nylon fabric of those god-awful shorts he wore.

  Chris stared, wondering how one person packed so much muscle into just one part of their body, much less all the others. Chris had never been able to accomplish much other than to exhaust himself when lifting weights. Ant had offered to train him, saying that he merely needed to understand the best strategy and results for his body type, but that was before their fifth and final date. Chris doubted he’d ever be the model weight-lifting student, even if everything hadn’t gone wrong between them.

  “Nothing on this side,” Ant said.

  Chris jerked his gaze away. Right, looking for a wedding ring, not drooling over Ant’s ass. Chris hurried around the other side of the bed and checked quickly.

  “Not here either.”

  He stood and together they glanced down at the perfectly made bed. “You did push me to sit down on the bed while I was freaking out, right?”

  Ant nodded. “I give good pep talks. Kind of a required skill when trying to encourage a person to add one more rep when their muscles are burning like hell.”

  Ant flexed his muscles, and Chris rolled his eyes. “Time to exercise your brain, not your brawn. If you—”

  “I have a brain,” Ant cut in sharply.

  “I know. I was going to say, ‘If you could grab that side, I’ll grab this one.’ We can search the bed.”

  “Oh. Yeah, let’s do it.”

  Ant gripped the comforter in one fist and drew it down as Chris tugged the other side. Methodically they stripped off the second blanket and then the sheet, shaking out each linen by the foot of the bed with the hope a ring would fall free. When that didn’t get a result, Chris picked up a pillow to check under and around it, then stuck his hand inside the pillow case to feel around for anything hard.

  Ant mirrored his actions. “I do, though. Have a brain.”

  Chris nodded. “I’ve never thought you were dumb. Vain, maybe.”