Page 15 of The No Try Zone
I plop it on and nod at Matthew. “Flip.”
He does, palming the coin and pausing dramatically before revealing yet another head. “Twelve to go.”
The coin lands on heads six more times, and by now, we’ve got a crowd. “Here’s my lucky keychain!” someone says, handing it to Matthew. He tucks it into his back pocket and flips again.
Heads. “Five more, Sam.” His voice is steady. Calm.
My pulse, on the other hand, is through the roof. “Five more.”
I’m handed a lucky scarf, and he’s wearing someone else’s lucky baseball hat.
Three more flips. Three more times it lands on heads.
“Only two to go,” Matthew says, and the crowd whoops.
My hands are sweaty. There’s no way.
Another flip…and it lands on heads again.
The Elvi surround us. “One more time,” calls one of them. “If it lands, I’m donating my services for free.”
“I’ll waive the license fee!” says the woman at the table.
“Flowers are on the house!” calls the florist on the other side.
Because of course they do.
Matthew and I lock eyes. I’ve realized over the span of the night that the starbursts of yellow fade into green before the navy blue takes over. His expression is serene. Far calmer than mine must be. “Ready?” he asks.
No. No.This is madness.“Do it.”
He flips.
Chapter5
Colin
THE BLISSFUL DARK of sleep recedes as images flash through my consciousness: the flip of a coin toss, Elvis impersonators clapping and smiling, a bouquet of wildflowers, a diamond ring, a gap-toothed smile, a kiss.
Akiss.
I bolt upright, breathing hard through a cold sweat. It’s pitch-black in the room. I reach for my phone on the dresser and find it, touching it to bring the screen to life.Please, I think.Please let this all have been a dream.
Holding my breath, I aim the dimmed screen at the bed, and there, sleeping beside me on top of the bedcovers, is the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.
Fully clothed.
I angle the screen down a bit farther, and sure enough, she’s got a ring on her finger. There’s one on me, too; its weight is a two-ton shackle.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.This is no dream. Not even close. I remember everything. Including why my pants are off.
I slip out of the bed and check the phone to see the time: five a.m. I almost laugh, because of course it is. I wake up at five every day no matter what, so it’s no surprise that my body kept the internal alarm system going despite three hours of sleep and the unholy number of drinks I had last night. Scratch that. More like three hours ago.
After grabbing my pants off the floor beside the bed, I walk out of the bedroom toward the other portion of the suite, shutting the door softly behind me and letting out a deep sigh and taking stock of the situation. I only remember kissing her. There was a dare issued, and I met it – hence the no pants – but at least we didn’t…at least we didn’t. Though, God, I wanted to. Scanning the room, a cream-colored document catches my attention.
My pulse ratchets up. It can’t be. Can it?
I near it like I’m approaching a deadly snake, tiptoeing and holding my breath and praying to the Las Vegas gods that it’s not what I think it is. But it is. It very much is. There on the coffee table, lined in gold foil and inked onto the certificate as pretty as you please, is our marriage license. Official as hell, with both our names on it. I pick it up, reading it over. Samantha Abigail Nash and Matthew Colin Thicke. Married.
