Convict: A Bad Boy Romance (63 page)

Jack and Houston looked at each other.

“She thinks we’re easy,” said Houston.

Jack drummed his fingers on her thigh, leaning back in the booth, nudging her legs closer to his torso, his metal belt buckle cool on her calf.

“You made it pretty clear that we weren’t doing that tonight,” Jack said. “Maybe we don’t feel like it now.”

“You’re impossible,” she teased. “Both of you.”

“We’re respectable,” said Houston.

“What if we stop by Elvis first,” Kirsten joked. “Will that make you feel less taken advantage of?”

She was kidding, but when she said it, Jack looked straight at her, his face totally serious for a moment, a glimmer of something deep in his green eyes. Kirsten couldn’t see Houston’s face, but he kissed the top of her head.

We seriously could
, thought Kirsten.
I know I’m drunk, but why the fuck not? Either it works out or it’s a funny story I get to tell to my grandkids someday.

“We’d all be showering the glitter off for days,” said Jack. “Did you see that jumpsuit?”

“You wouldn’t have to dress like Elvis,” Kirsten said, laughing. “I think. I’ve never gotten married in Vegas before, you know.”

“So you want your first time to be drunkenly, to two wolves you met eight hours ago?”

It can’t go worse than the last time I got married
, Kirsten thought. It didn’t occur to her that she’d be getting married after about thirty-six hours of singledom, or that she didn’t even know their last names. She just wanted to keep the two of them around, for tonight and maybe for longer.

“Do you even know how drunk I am?” Kirsten asked, laughing. “Drunker than a freshman girl at a frat party. And having a
way
better time.”

Then she sighed.

“Room service champagne, at least?” she asked. “I won’t even ask you to take your shirt off again.”

She wasn’t totally sure how the night had gone from her refusing to let Houston pay for her drink at the casino bar to her promising not to try and bed them, but it had. And she was stretched out between them, warm and drunk and happier than she could remember being in years, and she didn’t want it to end.

“I have to use the ladies’ room,” she said, moving her legs down off of Jack. For a moment she got dizzy, but then the world righted itself. “At least think about it while I’m gone?”

“Don’t get lost on the way back,” Houston said.

Kirsten navigated her way to the bathroom, only grabbing the back of one chair to right herself when she misjudged a step. She pushed open the bathroom door and stood in front of the mirror. The bathroom was dimly lit, with dark walls and dark counters, a fake plant in one corner.

That’s one thing about Vegas
, she thought.
The bathrooms are usually really nice
.

Along one wall were a couple of urinals, which she thought was weird, but she just shrugged.

Maybe this place used to be a men-only strip club or something, and both bathrooms still have urinals
, she thought. She dampened a paper towel and started wiping the bright red lipstick from around her mouth, where she’d smeared it making out with Houston and Jack.

I can’t believe I suggested getting married,
she thought, as the paper towel turned bright red.

I’d do it, but I can’t believe I suggested it
.

The thought of getting to be with Jack and Houston long term was very,
very
appealing just then, but Kirsten took a deep breath, tossed the used towel in the wastebasket, and went to pee. When she came out of the stall, she washed her hands, dried them, and then grabbed onto the edge of the counter, leaning over toward her reflection, which swayed a little.

“Just sleep with them and get their numbers,” she said out loud to herself. “Have some fun. You’re allowed. You don’t have to be the good girl forever, and no one even needs to know—”

Mid-sentence, the bathroom door swung open and Houston walked in, then stopped, his eyebrows going up. For a second, they looked at each other in the mirror.

“You’re in the men’s room,” he said at last, walking up to her.

Suddenly, the urinals made more sense.

“Oh,” Kirsten said, as Houston walked up behind her and put his hands on her waist, pressing his body against hers, her hips driving into the bathroom counter in front of her. He bent his head down and kissed the side of her neck and Kirsten’s eyes slid shut, a noise she couldn’t identify coming out of her mouth.

“We’re not even going back to your room?” she managed to say.

That’s fine
, she thought.
They can just take me on this bathroom counter, I don’t care, I just want them...

He nipped her with his teeth, and then whispered into her ear.

“We’re going back to the suite,” he said. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

She held his steady gray gaze in the mirror, then took one of his hands from her waist and moved it to her right breast, where he ran his fingers over her nipple, through two layers of cloth, and Kirsten shuddered.

“You’ve got my lipstick all over your face,” she said, and then the spell was broken, and he took a step back, the now-familiar grin on his lips.

“Yeah,” he said. “Go keep Jack company and get out of the men’s room.”

A
s Kirsten walked
toward the bathrooms, both Jack and Houston stared at her, moving across the bar toward the hall with the bathrooms, and neither spoke until she disappeared.

Then Jack leaned forward, putting his head on Houston’s shoulder.

“Fuck,” he said. “I’m drunk enough to get married by Elvis.”

I’m not sure I’d have to be drunk
, he thought, but since he
was
drunk, he couldn’t be sure.

“Same,” said Houston.

They both paused.

“What if we just do it?” asked Houston. “This is it, right?”

“What if we broke ourselves?” said Jack, his head still on Houston’s shoulder, slumped against the other man. “What if we just can’t tell anymore?”

He swallowed.

“This feels different, but what if we’re wrong, because we didn’t wait?”

Houston just shrugged.

“We’re not wrong,” he said.

Good enough for me
, thought Jack. He’d always trusted his mate’s judgment better than he trusted his own. Houston had never ridden rodeo, for starters, never put his life on the line for eight seconds of glory. He was the one who’d started the bed and breakfast ranch, the one who was solid and dependable, who kept the books.

There were days that he woke up next to Houston and
still
couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten.

“Let’s do this, then,” Jack said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Houston said, and Jack straightened up and kissed him, putting one hand tenderly on his chin as the world spun, slowly.

Across the bar, a couple of people stared, but Jack couldn’t have cared less.

“I gotta take a leak,” said Houston, and he got up from the table. “You’ve got lipstick all over your face, by the way.”

Then Houston sauntered to the bathroom. Jack made a face and picked up a spoon, looking at his reflection in the back of it. He wet a napkin with the condensation from an empty glass and set to work cleaning the lipstick from his face. He’d nearly gotten it all off when Kirsten came back, looking slightly flushed, her own lipstick totally gone.

Without asking, he pulled her down to sit sideways on his lap, catching her before she fell backward, the feel of her body against his making him
ache
. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I’m pretty drunk,” she announced, as though it were news. “You might have to carry me.”

“The whole way?” he asked. “It’s a pretty good hike.”

“Well, just hold me up,” she said, kicking her feet out into the aisle of the restaurant, getting a dirty look from a passerby. “That’ll do, I guess.”

“Think you can make it to Elvis?”

Before she could respond, Houston came back from the bathroom. Even though he looked almost as neat as ever, Jack saw the telltale signs that he was ridiculously drunk: his shirt was tucked in sloppily, his belt buckle just off center, and he walked in a casual, loose-limbed way. He offered one hand to Kirsten, and she took it, hopping off of Jack’s lap, and Jack followed.

A couple of heads turned as they walked past the now-crowded bar, some female, some male, but Jack didn’t look twice. They rounded the corner, and there was Elvis again.

Suddenly, Jack was nervous.

I’ve never done this before,
he realized.
With Houston we never talked about it, formally, we just met and fucked and then a month later I moved in.

“It’s y’all three!” Elvis shouted. He dropped rhinestone-covered sunglasses in front of his eyes and pointed, rotating onto one knee. “Whaddaya say now? Had enough to drink?”

Kirsten squeezed both their hands and laughed. Jack held his breath, looking at Houston over Kirsten’s head. His mate nodded, just barely.

Jack didn’t give himself time to think, he just bent and scooped Kirsten into his arms. She yelped as she put her arms around his neck, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Want to get married?” Jack asked.

Kirsten opened her eyes at last and stared at him.

I can’t believe I just did that
, Jack thought.
She’s going to say no, of course she’s going to say no, this is insane—

“You’re serious,” she said.

Jack just nodded.

“Yeah,” he said.

She kicked her feet a little, then looked over at Houston, standing on her other side.

She’s at least thinking about it,
he thought.

“You are too,” she said, reaching out one hand and touching the gray in his sideburn, just like she had in the taxi.

“When you know, you know,” Houston said softly.

“Okay,” she said at last.

Jack felt his face break into a grin, and he kissed her hard, then kissed Houston over her. Then he carried Kirsten over to Elvis, still wearing the rhinestone sunglasses. Up close his wig was even more obvious, and he raised his eyebrows over the sunglasses.

“All right,” Jack said. “Marry us.”

“For real?” said Elvis, without a trace of his former accent.

“For real,” said Houston, walking up behind Jack and putting a hand on his mate’s hip.

“Hi,” Kirsten said to Houston, looking over Jack’s shoulder.

“Hi,” Houston said, leaning down to kiss her.

“Well, right this way!” said Elvis, his accent suddenly returning. He swept his cape out to one side, indicating a big wooden door. Houston opened it, letting Jack step through with Kirsten into a small chapel, complete with an altar, a few rows of pews, and two women dressed like showgirls milling around.

Jack finally put Kirsten down and she took his arm, leaning against him. He still couldn’t quite believe what was happening, and had to rewind all the way to earlier that night: had they really found her, finally? Had she really agreed to hang out with them, sing karaoke, get drunk?

Were they
really
getting married now?

“All right,” said Elvis. “If you’ll step right this way, we’ve got a variety of packages to choose from with a number of attractive options...”

Houston looked at a pamphlet for one second before pointing to something, then digging out his wallet and handing over a credit card.

“Thankyouverymuch,” said Elvis, and next to Jack, Kirsten giggled.

“Is that guy for real?” she whispered.

“I think he is,” Jack whispered back.

“This is awesome,” she whispered.

In a whirlwind, they tried on rings and signed paperwork, and then Elvis ushered Houston and Jack up to the front of the chapel, leaving Kirsten behind with the two showgirls and a bouquet. They went through a door at the back, and then suddenly, the only thing that Jack could hear was his own heart pounding in his chest as he stood at the front, facing Houston, while Elvis fussed with some flower arrangements.

He reached out for Houston’s hand and squeezed it, hard.

“This feels crazy,” he said. “Good crazy. But crazy.”

“I was always sure about you,” Houston said. “You were the one thing I was always sure about. Now there’s two.”

Over speakers, Jack heard the opening strains of a song he didn’t recognize, until the lyrics started:
Love me tender...

He held his breath. The door at the back opened, and a moment later, the showgirls emerged, holding baskets of fake flower petals.

Then Kirsten came out. She held a bouquet and had a veil clipped into her hair, her cheeks flushed pink.

Jack thought it might be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

After a few steps, she looked up at them, then waved.

Jack waved back, then started laughing. By the time Kirsten reached them, with the two showgirls walking in front, tossing the fake petals, she was giggling nonstop, her face lit up from within.

Then she was there, standing in front of Jack and Houston. One of her flower girls tapped her on the shoulder and pointed at the bouquet, and after a moment of confusion, Kirsten handed it over, then took Jack and Houston’s hands.

Holy shit
, thought Jack.
I can’t believe this is happening
.

Then Elvis stepped in front of the microphone, holding a spiral-bound notebook in his hands.

“Dearly beloved,” he said, his bad accent in full force, “we are gathered here today to witness the union of,” he looked more closely at the notebook, “Houston, Jack, and Kirsten. If anyone has a reason that these three may not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Both the showgirls sat quietly, one looking at her nails.

“Well then,” said Elvis. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

Kirsten giggled quietly, and Jack had to bite back a laugh of sheer delight.

“Do you, Houston, take this man and this woman, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, as long as you all shall live?”

“I do,” said Houston, without blinking.

Then he looked at Jack and grinned.

“Do you, Jack, take this man and this woman—”

“I do,” said Jack, his stomach doing flip-flops inside him.

Elvis raised his eyebrows and soldiered on, even as the three of them started laughing.

“Stop it,” Kirsten hissed. “It’s my turn, I want to get it right.”

“Do you, Kirsten, take these men as your lawfully wedded husbands, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, as long as you all shall live?”

“Yes,” said Kirsten, then caught Jack’s eye, her forehead crinkling a little. “I mean, I do?”

Elvis remained unperturbed, reaching into his pocket and coming out with three simple silver bands. He stared at them for a moment, then handed them to Houston and Jack, one by one.

“That’s hers,” he said about the smallest one. He held two more up, squinting a little. “But I think these are the same.”

Jack slid Kirsten’s on, she slid on Houston’s, and Houston slid on Jack’s. Jack flexed his left hand a couple of times, the ring already feeling strange there.

Elvis cleared his throat.

“By the power vested in me by the state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husbands and wife. You may kiss,” he said. He tossed the notebook away and grabbed an acoustic guitar, sliding the strap over his head.

Houston bent to kiss Kirsten, his hand on Jack’s back, pulling his mate in toward them until their faces met as well in a strange, slightly-awkward three way kiss but then before he knew it, Jack was laughing and so were Kirsten and Houston. Then he was kissing her and then kissing Houston, the other man pressed against him, Kirsten between them as Elvis began to sing
Viva Las Vegas
.

The showgirls, seated in the front pew, looked politely bored.

Houston grabbed Kirsten again, picking her up and walking back down the aisle with her while she whooped and yelped. Just as they went through the big wooden door, she tossed the bouquet back into the chapel, where it landed on one of the pews.

The three of them spilled back into the brightly lit casino hallway. Jack felt high like he never had before — still very, very drunk, but elated, like he was soaring above everything.

Right in the middle of the hallway he grabbed them both and kissed them again, Kirsten’s veil getting in the way as the air conditioning kicked on and blew it over her face.

“Come on,” Houston said. “There’s a limo waiting outside the west entrance.”

“Where’s that?” asked Jack, putting his arms around Kirsten from behind, resting his chin on her head.

“West, I guess,” said Houston.

It took them a while to figure out where west was, but at last, they spilled out of a revolving door in front of a bored man holding up a whiteboard that said HOUSTON TWIST.

“That’s me!” Houston shouted, holding up both arms like he’d just scored a touchdown.

The driver didn’t say anything, just held open the back door, and Houston practically dove in, followed by Kirsten and Jack, tumbling on top of him, landing in a pile of giggles on the limo’s back seat.

The driver got in and opened the partition.

“Where we going?” he asked, not bothering to look in the back.

“Where
are
we going?” Houston whispered.

“The big gold one at the end,” Jack said to the driver.

“Mandalay Bay?” the driver asked.

“Yeah, that one,” said Houston, already distracted by Kirsten, giggling and sitting halfway on him.

“Champagne’s in the mini fridge,” the driver said. “Complimentary with the wedding package.”

The partition closed again, and Kirsten twisted around in her seat, her skirt riding halfway up her thighs.

“There’s a fridge in here,” she said, very matter-of-factly.

Jack reached for a handle in the side of the car and was rewarded when it pulled open, revealing a bottle inside. In moments he’d ripped off the wire cage and yanked out the cork with a loud pop, then looked around for glasses.

He didn’t find any in two seconds, and then Kirsten was grabbing the bottle from his hands, shrugging at it, and taking a long swig right from the bottle. Then she handed it to Houston, who did the same, finally handing the bottle off to Jack.

“How long until we’re there?” she asked as Jack gulped, holding her hand out for the bottle again. As he handed it off, his brand new wedding ring caught the light from a neon sign outside, and he reached up and switched off the overhead light in the limo, leaving the three of them lit only by the dazzling street outside.

In the near-dark, Kirsten giggled. As his eyes adjusted, for a moment Jack focused on his other senses — and especially on the deep, musky, almost-overwhelming scent of arousal.

Houston took a last drink and gave the near-empty champagne bottle to Jack, just as Kirsten swung around to straddle his lap. She had to pull her dress nearly up to her hips and Houston ran his hands up her legs right away. Kirsten bent down and sought his mouth with her own, making a breathy moan of satisfaction as she found it.

Jack swallowed the last of the champagne and put the bottle in a cup holder, never tearing his eyes from his mates as they kissed furiously, Houston’s fingers leaving indentations in Kirsten’s thighs. He felt himself straining at his jeans, his own erection aching and
desperate
to be free, but he forced himself to be still for another moment, just drinking in the most perfect sight he’d ever seen.