Forbidden Fling

My incredible dream begins to fade as I wake to the embrace of strong arms and the strangely comforting aroma of day-old cologne—a mixture of spice and leather—combined with musk and cinnamon. Before I can fully process the possibility that my dream may not have been a dream, soft sheets kiss my skin as I’m pulled closer to a warm, hard body.

“Good morning. How are you feeling?” Trevor asks in a deep whisper, his voice dragging me from a dense, sleep-induced fog as butterfly kisses pepper the top of my head. His tone is thick with the gravelly stirrings of waking.

As I process his question and the reality that I’m in bed with a man I hardly remember, my eyes pop open to a dimly lit hotel suite. Pushing through the sensation of reality versus dreams, my pulse quickens as I slowly lift my chin, bringing my gaze upward from the bare chest before me, to a thick neck covered with a day’s beard growth, and then all the way up to his green eyes, now open and filled with as much question as mine.

“O-oh,” I stutter. “Oh my!”

I wiggle away from his comforting embrace as my mind fills with pieces of scenes from the night before. The memories are like a sliced-up film reel, the missing snippets now lying upon the cutting-room floor. With large gaps in my memory, I search for answers, for anything that will make sense of where I am, where we are, and how we got to this point.

I’m in a hotel, in Indiana.

We’re in a hotel, in Indiana.

We’re both here because...

The wedding.

The reality hits me with enough force to rock my already topsy-turvy world.

My best friend is getting married, and I’m her maid of honor.

She’s getting married today.

Oh my!

“Oh no. What time is it?” My voice cracks with the desperation currently coursing through my bloodstream as I search the room, my eyes adjusting to the sliver of faint light seeping from around the thick curtains. “This isn’t...”

It isn’t my room. It’s similar, but I recall hanging my maid-of-honor dress from the curtain rod after my flight and leaving my shoes on the chair. Since neither is here, I have the undeniable feeling I’m not in my suite, but in Trevor’s.

“Hey,” he soothes as he reaches for my hand. “Slow down. It’s still early. No wedding obligations for a few hours.”

“Okay.” And yet my head moves contrarily to my agreement, shaking vigorously back and forth as I try to formulate my thoughts and find the correct words capable of leaving my dry lips. “No, this...” I motion between the two of us. “...what is this?” I sit up. “No matter what it is, we can’t tell them. Not today. Not on their wedding day. Oh...” My temples seize up—from memories or possibly from alcohol, I’m not sure. Closing my eyes to the pain, I collapse, lying back onto the soft pillow. “Oh, what will they say?”

“Well, they might be happy for us. After all, they’re happy. Why shouldn’t we be?”

Happy?

Happy that the bride’s best friend and the groom’s brother had a one-night stand the night before their wedding?

Is that what happened?

Damn wine. No, it was more than that.

I lick my lips, the lingering taste of cinnamon a stark clue to what my mind forgot.

No, not just wine. Fireball.

Oh dear Lord.

I’m not a drinker. Why did I do it? And more importantly, what did I do?

My head continues to shake. “No. They don’t even know we met.”

“Oh, Shana...” He lifts my hand, his grasp sure and warm as his fingers surround mine. “I’m very glad to meet you.”

“That’s not... no,” I say, more as a prayer than a testament to our meeting as I pull my hand away. Immediately, I miss the connection I hardly know and yet suddenly crave.

With my eyes still closed, I sense the shift of the bed, the way Trevor’s weight settles closer to my side, his long fingers as they gently tease my messy hair away from my face. His soft yet sure lips as they once again kiss my forehead and hair.

Afraid to open my eyes—to see him or to remember—I swallow before asking the million-dollar question, “Oh goodness, Trevor, please tell me, what did we do?”