Chapter 2
"This is me," Mike stopped in the hallway, pointing to room 1247.
I don't know how I ended up following him upstairs. Maybe it was the caffeine from the coffee, maybe it was those blue eyes, maybe it was my deep-seated craving for a stable, protective man.
"Nice room," I said, though the room was as spartan as a military barracks. One bed, one chair, one suitcase neatly placed in the corner.
"I don't need much," he said, then turned to face me. "Jess, I should probably tell you something."
Here it comes. He's going to say he has a girlfriend, or a wife, or that he's actually a serial killer. Why do the good-looking ones always have issues?
"What?"
"I'm not really good at... this." He gestured between us. "Dating. Talking to women. The whole thing."
I blinked. "You're joking."
"I wish I was. My last girlfriend said dating me was like dating a robot. A very boring robot."
An honest man. In Vegas. In 2024. Did I win the lottery?
I stepped closer. "Well, robots can learn new programs, right?"
He looked at me with an expression that made my heart race. "Yeah, I guess they can."
Then he kissed me.
It wasn't perfect and coordinated like in the movies. He was a little nervous, I was a little drunk. But something exploded in my chest, like fireworks.
"Mike," I whispered against his lips.
"Yeah?"
"Maybe robots are underrated."
I woke up to a spinning world. Not metaphorically spinning—literally spinning, like I was inside a washing machine.
"Jess? You awake?"
Mike's voice came from far away, though he was actually sitting right on the edge of the bed. The hangover made everything blurry and distant.
"What time is it?" My voice sounded like sandpaper.
"Seven AM. We need to talk."
What do we need to talk about? Last night we... oh, right. We did that. And then we... wait, why do I remember someone in an Elvis costume? And music?
I slowly sat up, and the world finally stopped spinning. There were things in the room I'd never seen before. Flowers. White roses. And...
"Mike," my voice was small, "why is there a wedding bouquet on your nightstand?"
He held up a piece of paper. An official document.
"Because apparently, at 3 AM, we decided to get married."
Time stopped. My brain refused to process this information.
"We what?"
"Got married. At the Little Chapel of Love. Elvis officiated." He looked like he wanted to dig a hole and crawl into it. "Do you remember any of it?"
Fragments started coming back to me. Mike saying he'd never done anything impulsive. Me saying he should try it. Seeing the neon chapel sign on the street. Me saying "let's do something crazy."
"Oh my God." I buried my face in my hands. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God."
"Jess, listen—"
"We're married?" I looked at him through my fingers. "We're actually married?"
"Legally, yes. In Nevada, yes. According to Elvis impersonator Jerry, yes."
I drunkenly married a cop I've known for less than six hours. Madison is going to kill me. My mom is going to lock me up. My Instagram followers are going to think this is a brand partnership gone wrong.
"This is insane," I said. "This is absolutely insane."
"Yeah," Mike agreed. "It is."
"What do we do?"
He was quiet for a long time. Then said, "I don't know. I've never been married before."
"Me neither!"
We just sat there, two complete strangers who had suddenly found themselves legally bound together.
"Mike?"
"Yeah?"
"What's your last name?"
He almost smiled. "Sullivan. What's yours?"
"Parker. Was Parker. I guess now it's... Sullivan?"
Jessica Sullivan. Sounds like a cop's wife. Sounds like a completely different person.
"So," Mike finally said, "Mrs. Sullivan, what now?"
I looked at the marriage certificate, then at him. This handsome, honest man who had no idea how to use emojis was now my husband.
"Well, Mr. Sullivan," I said, trying to make my voice sound calmer than I felt, "I guess we better figure out if we can stand each other long enough to make this work."
He nodded. "Agreed. But first—" He stood up and walked toward the mini bar. "Want some coffee? Real coffee this time, not whatever that casino stuff was."
I watched him, this man who had suddenly appeared in my life. Twenty-four hours ago I was single Jess Parker, whose biggest worry was Instagram algorithm changes. Now I was Jess Sullivan, with a cop husband and a need to explain why I didn't come back to my own room last night.
"Yeah," I said. "Coffee sounds good."
Mom always said life is full of surprises. I don't think she meant this kind of surprise, but... we'll see, Mr. Sullivan.