Page 23 of All In

I flush the toilet and wash my hands before picking up my toothbrush. I glare at it for a second. My gag reflex is probably on a hair trigger today, and if this stupid toothbrush is the thing to make me throw up, I’m going to lose it.

“Both our phones are dead,” Harlow says, suddenly standing in the doorway. “I plugged them in. We’ll have to order food in a minute.”

I spit out my toothpaste, then rinse my mouth before shutting the water off. Harlow was right. Brushing my teeth did help. At least my mouth and some of the nausea. I still could use some pain relievers and water, though.

“Sounds good. Do we have anything for my head?”

Darting to his suitcase, he opens the front zipper and pulls out a bottle of ibuprofen. I always want to kiss Harlow. Always. But right now? I could actually fucking kiss him, and it has nothing to do with his full, pouty lips or his adorable freckles.

He hands me the bottle, and I open the cap and shake a couple into my palm before grabbing a bottle of water off the table and taking them. I’m working on drinking the water when Harlow gasps.

“Holy shit. I have, like, a million notifications.”

“From who?”

He scrolls, his thumb moving lightning quick, his eyes wide. God, he’s still in that fucking shirt, and it’s doing stupid things to my head.

“Everyone. My mom. Your mom. Josh.”

“What the fuck?” I move closer, looking over his shoulder. “Why?”

“Oh fuck.”

“What?”

He taps on a notification from Instagram with a shaking thumb, and we’re met with a video of the two of us. It’s almost impossible to tell what we’re doing because it’s so blurry and out of focus, but the caption says #thehubs and literally nothing else. It was posted eight hours ago and has hundreds of likes.

My heart takes off at a gallop. “What the fuck does that mean?” I ask, my face going numb.

He hits play, and I nearly stop breathing. It would be impossible to breathe with what I’m looking at—the two of us standing in the street in front of a building with a steeple.

We didn’t get married. There’s no fucking way we got married. I bite the inside of my cheek as I watch the video.

It looks like Harlow is holding the phone, recording us, and the video shakes for a second before he steadies it. “We just got married.”

He waves his hand in front of the camera, and even though he’s not wearing a ring in the video, I glance down at his finger anyway, just to be sure.

Darting my gaze back to the phone, I watch in horror as Harlow grips my shirt—my stupid fucking tux shirt—and drags me to him, slamming his mouth down on mine.

My heart thumps, and my stomach flips so hard I’m sure I’m going to throw up. From watching us kiss or from the alcohol, it remains to be seen.

Harlow pulls back slightly, then flicks his tongue against my lower lip before diving back in with a hungry moan that makes my cock swell to life.

I’ve known Harlow my entire life, and I’ve never once heard him make that sound.

The kiss seems to go on forever, with me tangling my fingers in Harlow’s hair and pulling him closer, and him nibbling on my lower lip and sinking his tongue into my mouth as I tug on the strands of his wild hair.

The video cuts off before the kiss does, and my fingers go numb as it starts playing again. That’s not real, right? It can’t be. There’s no way we got married. This has to be fake.

Harlow’s filthy moan echoes through the room, and my cock jerks against my sweats.

There’s absolutely no fucking way I finally got to kiss Harlow, and I don’t even remember it.

Chapter 8

Harlow

What did we do? What did we do? What the fuck did we do?